Wickeds Scandal by Kathleen Ayers
11
“Tell Miss Dunforth the Dowager Marchioness of Cambourne and Lady Miranda Reynolds have arrived to call on her.” Donata commanded the snide butler at Oliver Burke’s townhouse. How dare he refuse her entry. The man smelled of onions and his clothing disheveled. Atrocious. Donata did not care for his insolence one bit. She rapped her cane against the door.
“Madam, Lord Burke is not home. He left specific instructions for Miss Dunforth to rest with no visitors.” The butler put his hands in desperation against the door, attempting to politely shut it.
“I am not just any visitor. I am the Dowager Marchioness of Cambourne. If you wish to find gainful employment after Lord Burke falls into poverty, which is likely at any moment given the state of your uniform, you will step aside this instant. Or I shall have you removed.” Donata’s silvery head gestured to the large Cambourne footman hovering protectively over her. “Do I make myself clear?” Her tone brooked no disobedience.
The butler eyed the muscular young footman and moved aside, muttering to himself he’d be sacked for sure.
Donata was neither impressed nor surprised. Few people ever defied her.
“Grandmother, are you sure? Perhaps Alexandra is ill or—”
“Absolutely! Harry,” Donata smiled at the footman. “Please stay here.” The Dowager gestured to a space just under the stoop of the door. She turned to Miranda. “If she is ill, all the more reason to see her. And Harry, should you hear me raise my voice, I am in need of your assistance.” Donata stared down Lord Burke’s butler as she walked through the door.
“Yes, my lady. I shall come running.” Harry nodded, his eyes never leaving the butler.
Donata thought Harry a good boy and a very capable footman. He adored Donata.
Burke’s butler nodded to Donata, leading her and Miranda down a dark entryway. “This way, milady.”
“This visit is most overdue. Most overdue. Several invitations have been sent to Miss Dunforth inviting her to join us for tea, and an outing to Thrumbadge’s, and a drive in Hyde Park. She refused them all. Strange behavior from a woman with Miss Dunforth’s lively and curious mind. I refuse to believe she means to keep herself sequestered in this... house.” Donata choked on the word as she took in the state of the hallway the butler led them down. She stared in horror at the garish decorations of Burke’s home. It was enough to make her run screaming back to her carriage.
“Good Lord! What a hideous display of poor taste,” she said out loud to the butler’s back as he shuffled ahead of them.
Miranda’s eyes widened, taking in the dim corners of the hall. One gloved finger touched a side table. She gasped as it came back black with dust.
“And filthy to boot,” Donata muttered, seeing Miranda’s ruined glove. “Does Lord Burke not employ a housekeeper?”
The butler ignored her question. He opened the door to a small salon. He studiously avoided Donata’s question, only nodding as he stepped aside.
Donata’s eyes widened at the state of the salon. The entryway and hallway, while horridly decorated, were in relatively good repair. This room, however, spoke of neglect and desperation. She could not help but notice the chipped paint around the doorway, or the way the corners of the wallpaper peeled away from the window edges. She could clearly see the oval and square shapes left behind on the walls that bespoke of pictures sold long ago. The rug underneath Donata’s feet was worn and threadbare. The design of the rug was so faded it was impossible to guess the original design. So, Lord Burke is on his way to the poorhouse. The pompous ass was no doubt busy selling everything within his reach, including Miss Dunforth. Alexandra’s association with that depraved cur, Archie Runyon, started to make sense.
Donata shivered, not from the room’s dampness but at the thought of Archie Runyon once again on the loose in London. She prayed fervently that he would never return, but Miranda’s near-hysterical arrival from Thrumbadge’s two weeks ago crushed Donata’s fragile hope that he was gone from their lives.
“Grandmother, he’s back!” Miranda sobbed that day. She collapsed against her grandmother hugging Donata tightly.
Confused, Donata stroked Miranda’s dark hair, wondering whom Miranda could possibly be talking about. “Who, Miranda?”
“Archie! We saw him. Spoke to him. He was at Thrumbadge’s with Miss Dunforth. How could he possibly know Alexandra?”
A chill settled over Donata at the mention of Archie Runyon. She recalled the man she saw across the room at Lady Dobson’s ball. Archie had been there. Hiding in the shadows.
“Sutton didn’t speak a word on the carriage ride home. Not a word. I know Archie did something awful, truly terrible to make Father and Sutton hate him so.”
Donata stayed silent. Miranda had every right to know, but Donata did not have the strength at that moment to tell her granddaughter such a vile story.
“I think Sutton means to kill him.” Miranda’s green eyes were wide.
“Well, I wish someone would,” Donata said as she comforted Miranda. She did indeed know what Archie had done, or had almost done, and to whom. The thought solidified her hatred of her daughter-in-law, Jeanette. Donata dried Miranda’s tears that day and sent her granddaughter up for a nap before dinner. She needed to think. Her grandson had not come into Cambourne House after dropping off Miranda. Sutton’s coach pulled away before Donata could have Harry fetch him.
Archie was a fool. He had come back to London at his own peril. Donata did not doubt Sutton would kill the man. But what of Miss Dunforth? Donata could not allow a young woman, any young woman, to be taken in by that monster. Especially as she suspected Miss Dunforth’s affections lay in another direction. Later that same day after several unsuccessful attempts to find her grandson, Donata sent her favorite footman, the same Harry who now guarded the door, on an errand.
Lord Burke’s offensive butler cleared his throat bringing Donata back to the dismal parlor. At least a fire lit the hearth, although the flames needed stoking and another log should be added. The curtains of one window were open a bit to let in the weak morning light. Donata thought she spied a form perched in the corner.
“Lady Cambourne?” Alexandra’s voice sounded from the dim room.
“Open these curtains immediately!” Donata thumped her cane. “Send someone in to tend to the fire!”
The butler rushed to open the curtains, scattering dust throughout the room.
Miranda sneezed.
Miss Dunforth sat on a faded, overstuffed chair with a book, unopened, in her lap. She had been peering through the crack in the curtains at the garden outside. Or what passed as a garden, thought Donata, a kind word for the weed-infested expanse she glimpsed through the window.
“My child!” Donata hobbled over to Alexandra. She lowered herself onto an ugly couch, wincing at the pain in her hip. How she detested old age! “Are you ill? Why are you sitting here in the dark?”
“Forgive me, my lady. I’ve had headaches that leave me quite exhausted. The dim light seems to help.”
“Headaches? Really, Miss Dunforth, that is not a valid excuse for ignoring the Dowager Marchioness of Cambourne. I’ve issued you invitations for delightful outings. Invited you for tea. You have ignored me. I had to venture out into this dreadful weather to search for you,” Donata raised a brow. “Me. The Dowager Marchioness. Forced to call upon you, Miss Dunforth. Why, it simply isn’t done.”
Alexandra didn’t flinch at her tone. She gave Donata an apologetic smile. “I’m so sorry to have disappointed you.”
Donata cheered silently at the note of sarcasm in Alexandra’s words.
“Such a tone, Miss Dunforth. Remember to whom you are speaking.” She squeezed Alexandra’s hand, which was cold and slightly clammy. “Miranda is here as well. Poor Miranda cannot enjoy tea when her mother is around, you know.”
Miranda agreed cheerfully. “It’s true, Alexandra. I’m not even permitted a tea-cake. No scones or sandwiches nor even a cube of sugar with my tea. Mother says I’ll become stout and pop my stays.” Miranda swept her hands down her trim figure. “Going somewhere else for tea is the only chance I have.” Miranda sneezed again.
Alexandra raised her arm to grab at the bell-pull just behind her.
The girl’s arm shook slightly, though she did not seem especially sickly, only tired. Weak. Miss Dunforth showed neither of those tendencies earlier. She did not strike Donata as nervous and given to physical ailment. Donata’s sixth sense, ever useful in these situations, told her something else was wrong with Miss Dunforth.
The parlor door flew open, the knob thrusting into the opposing wall with a bang. A bulldog in female form gave a snarl and fixed beady eyes on Miss Dunforth. “You rang?” The woman stopped at the sight of Donata and Miranda. The bulldog cleared her throat. “You ain’t supposed to have company, Miss Dunforth. Lord Burke says you’re to rest. You have headaches and you must get better.” The woman’s gaze shifted to the ceiling as her tone sweetened.
Donata found the servant appalling. Appalling. What an ugly woman. So seedy.
“Balderdash. I am not company. I am the Dowager Marchioness of Cambourne, and this is Lady Miranda. She nodded to her granddaughter. “You.” She pointed her cane at what she considered another worthless servant of Lord Burke. “Bring us tea and sandwiches. Now.”
The woman’s features contorted into a mask of blank pleasantness. “As you wish. I will let Lord Burke know you are here, Lady Cambourne.”
Donata snorted. “Lovely. I look forward to renewing my acquaintance with your master, although I was under the impression he was not at home.” She raised her chin, queenlike. “Don’t dawdle. Go get us some tea.”
The woman didn’t move. She snuck a look at Alexandra.
Donata pounded her cane on the floor. “Harry!”
The young footman appeared magically at the door of the parlor. He gave the servant an evil look. “Yes, my lady?”
“This is…?” Donata pointed to the servant who seemed to shrink a bit under Harry’s regard.
“Tilda.” Alexandra interrupted from the couch. “My maid.” Alexandra put her hand to her mouth to stifle a giggle, as if she knew how ludicrous it was that Tilda was a maid. “My uncle is a bit short-staffed it seems, and Tilda must do double duty.”
Donata was suitably horrified. “That woman is not a ladies’ maid,” She shook her head. This was far worse than she thought. “Tilda is bringing in tea, Harry. Once she does, you are to stand by the parlor door in case I need you. We shan’t like to be disturbed.”
Tilda bit her lip.
“Well?” Donata pointed at Tilda with her cane. “I am the Dowager Marchioness of Cambourne and I do not like to be kept waiting!” Tilda dropped an awkward curtsy and scurried out of the parlor.
“I fear you have frightened Tilda. No easy task is that.” Alexandra brushed a curl off her head. “Her bark is much worse than her bite. I’m not sure where my uncle found her.”
“Hurrumph.” Donata snorted in disapproval. Probably in the sewers along the Thames.
Miranda flitted around the room like a hummingbird. Every so often, her eyes met Donata’s over Alexandra’s head. She regaled Alexandra with the latest brace of suitors to cross the steps of Cambourne House, making Alexandra laugh softly.
Tilda reappeared, her bullish looking face red and determined. Two teapots sat on a tray along with an odd assortment of tiny cakes and some bruised fruit.
“Interesting.” Donata wondered at the two teapots. “Is there a reason there are two pots of tea?”
“Well, Miss Dunforth likes a special kind of tea. I make it just for her. The doctor says it helps with her headaches. You and Lady Miranda would not enjoy it so much.” The beady gaze shifted to the right, away from Donata.
“Thank you.” She waved at the maid, dismissing her. “Youmay go.”
The woman remained rooted to the spot, unwilling to leave the tea. A nervous tic appeared in her cheek.
The woman was really terrifyingly ugly. “Well? You may go. I shall pour.” Donata commanded.
Harry’s head appeared around the doorway. “My lady, is all well?”
Nervously, Tilda looked at Harry, then back to Donata. She bobbed once and left the room sparing a glance at the tea as she exited.
“Yes, Harry. Pray do shut the door.”
Donata waited until the door shut, relieved Harry stood guard. They would not be disturbed again. Not even by Lord Burke if he appeared. Donata poured three steaming cups of tea from the second pot ignoring Alexandra’s “special” tea. She handed a plain cup of tea to Alexandra.
“Lady Cambourne, I should drink my tea.” Alexandra pointed to the first pot. “The doctor prescribed it for my headaches.”
Donata pretended deafness. She pushed aside the first pot.
While Miranda chattered lightly to Alexandra, distracting her, Donata lifted the first teapot’s lid. She sniffed. A sickly, sweet smell wafted up into her nostrils. She knew that smell. Memories of her husband, the elder Marquess, flooded through her. Her husband reeked of that particular odor the entire last year of his life. He had died slowly and painfully, but the laudanum helped to ease his passage into the next world. Many doctors favored prescribing laudanum for headaches. Particularly for wives who perhaps were considered unruly, opinionated, or full of female complaints. Her gaze flew to Alexandra. The girl left early during her first visit to Cambourne House due to headache. Donata assumed that headache to actually be her grandson. The spark between the two was so bright one would be blind not to see it. But perhaps she was incorrect? Donata cocked her head, taking stock of Miss Dunforth. Alexandra wasn’t ill, exactly, but she did not sparkle quite as brightly. Donata was sure the diagnosis of Alexandra’s headaches was false.
The Dowager’s mind raced. She had plans for Miss Dunforth. Plans which did not involve headaches or special tea, but which did involve her grandson, Sutton. Lord Burke was no match for Donata Reynolds. Nor Archie Runyon. Miranda, her chattering, but highly intelligent granddaughter, would no doubt be delighted to help.
Donata pasted a smile on her face. “Miss Dunforth? How would you like to go to the Royal Exhibition today? An outing is just the thing to clear the cobwebs out of one’s head! I’m told Lord Bishop is lecturing on his travels to the Far East.”
Miranda clasped her hands. “Yes. You must come.”
Alexandra’s face lit up. “Oh, that would be lovely. But I’m not sure my uncle—”
“Oh pish! Lord Burke is likely at his club and will never know you’ve gone, my dear. I would so hate for you to miss a lecture by Lord Bishop. He’s famous, you know.” Donata detested dry, dull lectures. But she was correct in assuming that Alexandra did not. Nor did her grandson. He adored them.
