Wickeds Scandal by Kathleen Ayers

4

Donata Reynolds, Dowager Marchioness of Cambourne, grabbed the head of her cane and watched with interest as a small, slight girl slid to a halt next to the couch where the Dowager sat. The girl was dressed plainly, although still fashionably, in a watered blue-gray silk gown trimmed in dark lace. She took several deep breaths and patted her hair. The girl was either running from a lover or to a lover. Intrigued, Donata leaned forward.

The girl’s hand flew to her coiffure, or rather what was left of it. She took one curl and pinned it back up, only to have another fall down and take its place. Donata heard an unladylike curse erupt from her lips.

Damnation!

The girl proceeded to stab another pin viciously at the back of her head, as if attempting to kill something hidden there. The Dowager coughed politely to announce her presence.

Wide gray eyes locked with hers in horror. No, not gray. The girl’s eyes caught the shimmer of the candlelight, reminding Donata of opals. Her face flushed red and her mouth gaped open. Her brow wrinkled in concentration as she worked on a plausible excuse for her behavior. Donata nearly clapped in delight. Finally. Someone interesting to talk to.

Cocking an eyebrow, Donata said in her most severe tone, “running from an amorous suitor, are you?”

The girl sucked in her breath and flushed a deeper shade of red, which seemed to seep down the ivory skin of her most generous bosom. She was quite well endowed for such a small woman. The girl’s hair was rather forcefully restrained but was a lovely chestnut color, and exceptionally curly. Altogether ordinary-looking. Attractive but certainly no competition for the beauties that crowded Lady Dobson’s ballroom. Donata nonetheless sensed something sparkling about the girl in front of her.

“No, my lady.” The girl had the sense to curtsy. “I beg your pardon. I didn’t see you sitting there. Forgive my intrusion.” Ready to run from Donata at the slightest censure, she bit her lip and looked up at the ceiling, unsure as how to proceed. She reminded the Dowager of a vexed kitten.

“Here now, miss.” Donata nodded towards the bench. “Sit next to me and catch your breath. I am sure your mother will find you directly. I shan’t tell, you know.” The Dowager smiled at her. Who was this child? Positive she knew every dull virgin of age to marry in London, Donata pondered the question. Perhaps that’s why I don’t know of her, for this girl does not strike me as dull.

The girl sat carefully next to Donata. “I’m here with my uncle, Lord Burke.”

Donata hid her distaste as the girl mentioned Lord Oliver Burke. She did not know the man personally, but she knew his reputation. The man was a dull-witted glutton, known for gambling away his late wife’s substantial fortune. He was related distantly to Lady Dobson. She did not know Lord Burke had a niece.

“I see. How are you acquainted with Lady Dobson?”

Donata nearly laughed out loud at the expression on the girl’s face at the mention of Agnes Dobson. The girl’s mouth curled as if she sucked on a lemon.

“Lady Dobson is kind enough to chaperone me. I had my first Season so long ago, you see. My uncle wishes that I find a suitable husband.” She didn’t sound grateful, as most girls would be, at having someone so well-known help her navigate the ton.

“I was not aware Lord Burke even possessed a niece.”

“I wish he did not possess one as well.” The girl clapped her hand over her mouth and looked at Donata in horror. “My lady, I apologize. I-”

Donata patted her hand. “It’s all right, my child.” Donata peered at her. “You do not sound happy about the prospect of a husband. Or is it just Lady Dobson you object to?”

The girl took a deep breath which sighed out of her. Clearly, the child was distressed.

“What is your name, my dear?”

“Alexandra Dunforth, my lady.”

“Well, Alexandra Dunforth, if I may ask, what has caused you to run into Lady Dobson’s ballroom with your hair coming down?”

Miss Dunforth reached up anxiously to tuck in several stray curls. “Nothing you would be interested in, madam, except that my hair does not appreciate the confinement of pins.” She looked up and her nose wrinkled. “Oh dear, there’s my uncle and Lady Dobson.” It sounded as if she were accusing the duo of murder.

An obese man plodded his way across the polished parquet floor towards Miss Dunforth, with Lady Dobson following in his wake. Donata struggled to hide her distaste for her hostess, composing her features into something that she hoped would be regarded as bland and polite. Donata did not care for Agnes Dobson, finding the woman to be a social-climbing harpy who ruined the reputations of those she deemed unworthy for sport. Lady Dobson was afraid of Donata.

She thought that the only bit of wisdom the woman ever displayed.

Turning her attention to Lord Burke, Donata had to stop the sneer that threatened to curl her lip. The cravat he wore was tied in a bumbling knot, his mustache much too waxed, and his waistcoat. Atrocious. Donata could see a food stain, something dark, spotting the left side.

Lord Burke stopped directly in front of Miss Dunforth. “Alexandra! Where have you been? Lady Dobson told me you disappeared. You are so dull you fade right into the woodwork. It’s likely she just didn’t notice you.” The beady eyes bored down on Miss Dunforth as he gave a short bark of amusement.

Donata wanted to swat the man with her cane. What a rude and vulgar man! Lord Burke was a brilliant example of overbreeding in the ton.

Lady Dobson winced as she noticed Donata and nudged Lord Burke.

He nudged her back with an irritated look on his face.

Lady Dobson thrust her chin, so pointed it could likely cut glass, in the direction of Donata. “Lord Burke, may I present the Dowager Marchioness of Cambourne.” Lady Dobson curtsied and tried to pull Lord Burke into a bow.

Lord Burke gave a perplexed look as the words took their time filtering through what Donata assumed was a brain the size of a pea-hen’s. Remembering his manners at last, Burke bowed deeply to her, stretching his waistcoat to its limits. Donata thought for a moment his enormous girth would split the fabric, sending the brass buttons flying into her face. She sighed with relief when he straightened.

Lord Burke lurched forward to grab Miss Dunforth’s arm and pull her from the couch.

Clearly, Miss Dunforth needed a friend and Donata was ever taking in strays.

“Lord Burke.” Donata inclined her head in a regal manner and used her most coldly superior tone, “I was just telling the delightful Miss Dunforth that she must come for tea.”

Miss Dunforth gave her a surprised look.

Lady Dobson cleared her throat as the blood left her face.

“My granddaughter is of the same age and I feel certain they have much in common. I also find Miss Dunforth exceedingly entertaining. She is a treasure.”

Lord Burke gave Donata a look of confusion.

Lady Dobson elbowed him.

Apparently, Lord Burke did not find his niece charming. The dumbfounded look on his face reflected his surprise that anyone did. All the more reason for Donata to champion Miss Dunforth.

“She would be most happy to.” Lady Dobson answered before Lord Burke opened his mouth. She grinned like an idiot at Donata.

Donata wanted to swat the turban off of Lady Dobson’s head with her cane. She didn’t think she could reach it though. Lord, but she hated getting old.

Without waiting for Lord Burke to agree, since if he didn’t she would overrule him anyway, Donata said, “Wonderful. I will send my coach for her. Tomorrow perhaps?”

Lord Burke seemed about to say something but thought better of it.

Miss Dunforth murmured her goodbye, surprise clearly written on her face. The girl had no idea, thought Donata, of the powerful ally she had just made.

Lord Burke grabbed Miss Dunforth by the arm and dragged her across the ballroom. As Donata watched them, a man darted from an alcove and followed. He was slender and impeccably dressed, with hair the color of ripened wheat. Donata blinked, shocked by a face she hadn’t seen in years. When she opened her eyes, the man had disappeared.

She must be mistaken, or possibly her eyes were playing tricks on her. A trickle of anxiety ran down her spine. There was no mistaking the hair. It was the same color as her daughter-in-law’s.

* * *

Odious Oliver pinched Alexandra’sarm and gave her a shake.

“Stop it, Uncle. You are hurting me.” She tried to pull her arm out of his grasp.

“What did you say to the Dowager? Where have you been?” He accused as he took in her flushed features. Sweat dripped from her uncle’s broad brow and down his puffed, reddened cheeks. Spittle sat in the corner of his mouth. A vision of a rabid dog she had seen once ran through Alexandra’s mind.

“Nothing, Uncle. I lost a pin from my hair, then another fell out. I went to the Ladies Necessary Room to fix it, but I fear I didn’t do a very good job.”

Her uncle snorted. “That’s an understatement. You look like you have a rat’s nest on your head.” He chuckled at his joke. “No matter. Your suitor has arrived. Finally. He wishes to meet you.”

Lady Dobson and her purple turban swayed. She clucked her tongue and gave Alexandra a look of disapproval.

“Agnes, I thank you for your assistance tonight. As you can see, I am overburdened with the girl.” Her uncle mopped his brow with his free hand then wiped it on his trousers.

“How she attracted the interest of the Dowager Marchioness I will never know. What could they possibly have to talk about?” Lady Dobson shook her head in disgust and wandered towards a group of women who were gesturing to her.

Uncle Oliver looked at Alexandra with skepticism. “How did you insinuate yourself with such a woman?”

Alexandra pulled her arm from his grasp. “She only introduced herself and bade me sit down. What do you think I said, ‘my uncle is forcing me to marry’?”

Her uncle snorted and eyed her with avid dislike. “Don’t get lippy with me, girl. I am merely doing my duty as your guardian. You should consider yourself lucky I don’t throw you into the streets to beg for food. Besides, I doubt that wrinkled aristocrat could care less who you married.”

Alexandra swallowed the panic that rose at the truth in his words. She lifted her chin.

“And you will marry. If you wish to show your love for that ancient group of retainers you so adore. If you want to save that pile of manure you call a farm in Hampshire.”

Fear welled in her throat. Possibly this mysterious suitor would find her wanting and decide to call off the arrangement. Alexandra was halfway across the floor, towed by her uncle like a tiny boat being pulled along in a frigate’s wake when the connection hit her and stopped her cold in her tracks. The Dowager Marchioness was the grandmother of Satan Reynolds. The man those women had been discussing.

“Come along, Alexandra! Don’t dawdle. What’s wrong with you? Have you been drinking?”

“No. I’m just a little tired.” Her uncle had certainly been drinking though. The fat man smelled of wine and she saw a purple line just underneath his mustache.

They wove through Lady Dobson’s guests who were chattering like magpies as they dissected dresses, gentlemen, and marriages. The ladies’ gowns were bright spots of color, lovely yellows, subdued rosy pinks, dark blues, and greens. Alexandra looked down at her blue-gray gown. Her gown contrasted sharply with the hues floating through the room and she suddenly felt like the drab country mouse Lady Dobson had called her. Casually, she looked through the crowd hoping to catch a glimpse of Lord Cambourne but his dark visage was nowhere to be found.

Her uncle brought her alongside a slender, blond gentleman who stood against a far wall. Apart from the other groups dotting the ballroom, he lay partially hidden in the shadows of a far corner. His eyes, a pale blue, immediately ran over her form in appraisal.

The color rose in Alexandra’s cheeks along with anger at being inspected in such a way. But her ire dissipated as the man gave her a warm, kind smile. His evening clothes, a formal black, fit him to perfection. His cravat was expertly tied and in such a complicated knot that Alexandra marveled at his valet’s talent. Hair, which reminded her of ripened wheat, toppled over his forehead. One pale hand rested on a fashionable walking stick. A wolf’s head, the eyes glittering rubies, graced the top. Good breeding emanated from him and Alexandra wondered how in the world he knew Oliver Burke.

“Mr. Runyon, my niece.” Her uncle practically pushed her into Mr. Runyon’s arms. “Miss Alexandra Dunforth.”

Alexandra stumbled a bit as Mr. Runyon took her arm. Her uncle discarded her none too gently. Humiliation made her face burn.

Mr. Runyon wrinkled his perfect nose at her uncle’s manner but said nothing. His touch was light and polite, the elegant fingers warm on her arm. He was not as tall as Lord Cambourne, but still much taller than Alexandra.

“Miss Dunforth.” His voice was smooth and melodic. He took Alexandra’s gloved hand and brushed it with his lips. The pale blue eyes looked at her with curiosity.

Odious Oliver pinched the back of her arm, reminding her to dip into a small curtsy. “Mr. Runyon,” she tilted her head, “It is a pleasure to meet you.”

Lord Burke rubbed his ham-like hands together. “Well? We can sign the papers this evening.” The ballroom wasn’t overly warm, but beads of sweat clustered on her uncle’s forehead. One of his eyes twitched.

Alexandra now knew how horses felt as gentlemen haggled over them. How she hated her uncle.

Mr. Runyon gave her uncle a pinched, unpleasant look. The lips under the light blond mustache curled a bit.

Alexandra was given the distinct impression that Mr. Runyon didn’t care for Oliver Burke.

“Miss Dunforth, it is a great pleasure to meet you.” He gave Lord Burke an icy glance. “Your uncle did not do justice to your looks or charm.”

Alexandra nodded to him wondering at the oddity of having two handsome men flirt with her in the same evening. And Mr. Runyon was handsome. She’d wrongly assumed that her uncle would try to marry her off to one of his gambling cronies, most of who looked like wrinkled trolls. Not someone so obviously wealthy and attractive.

“I’m sure you are full of questions, Miss Dunforth, as well I would be if our situations were reversed. I would like to answer them.” He turned to her uncle. “Lord Burke, if you don’t mind, I would like to take Miss Dunforth for a turn about the terrace. I’m sure she could do with a respite.”

Her uncle looked as if he might object. His eye twitched again.

“Of course, I-”

“Will wait for Miss Dunforth in your carriage. You should escort her home, as it is quite late.” Mr. Runyon’s pale blue eyes bored into her uncle.

Odious Oliver nodded dumbly. He held up one pudgy finger meaning to admonish her with it, before Mr. Runyon cleared his throat.

“Good evening, Lord Burke. You may call on me tomorrow.”

Mr. Runyon turned his back on her uncle, dismissing him. “Come, Miss Dunforth. We shall take a turn around the terrace and get to know one another. I am not a monster.” His eyes twinkled at her. “I’ve no wish for you to think me one.”

Alexandra flushed, charmed by Mr. Runyon’s easy grace. Her mind raced with the possibility that perhaps he would help her.

He guided her deftly to a row of tall doors, thrown open to let in the air at the back of the ballroom. A blast of cooler air slid across her arms and she sighed in relief.

Mr. Runyon chuckled. “Dreadful in there isn’t it? Too much hot air!”

Alexandra laughed in return, delighted with his joke. “You are not fond of these events, Mr. Runyon?”

“No, I fear I am more of a homebody, thus my unmarried state.” He grinned ruefully at her. “I have spent many years living abroad and have only just returned.” He brought her over to the edge of the terrace. Alexandra could see the outlines of the garden lit dimly with colored paper lanterns. The muffled whispers of other couples hidden along the terrace reached her ears. Kisses were being stolen. She touched the side of her mouth briefly.

“I met your uncle quite by chance while playing cards with a group of friends. He mentioned during the game that he had a niece who he wished to have marry.” He gave her an apologetic look. “Lord Burke proceeded to list your long list of undesirable traits, education, love of books, how you expressed your opinions…”

“Did he?” Alexandra interjected defensively hating her uncle even more if that were possible.

Mr. Runyon squeezed her arm. “Pray do not take offense. I found all of your supposed flaws to be highly valued. At least to me.” The wind ruffled his fair hair and she caught the light masculine scent of him. She thought of Lord Cambourne and the smell of cinnamon. “I am quite shy, Miss Dunforth and not at all good at courting. Which is why I agreed to our meeting.” One slender hand reached up and stroked his beautifully tied cravat. “Your uncle wishes you to marry and I—well—I am in need of a wife. My elderly father and I are estranged. I was quite the social disaster in my youth and much too naïve. I acted foolishly and brought some shame to my father.” He held his hand up. “Nothing nefarious, I assure you. I made a cow of myself over a woman. I became quite despondent. I was the laughingstock of the ton. I’ve been loath to pursue a woman since.”

“I will not agree to marry a man I do not know,” Alexandra stated firmly.

Mr. Runyon’s nostrils flared, and a glint of anger flared in his ice-blue gaze before his face transformed into politeness. The smile he bestowed upon her radiated kindness. Alexandra thought she must have been mistaken.

“Your uncle is pressing me to sign a betrothal agreement, but I have been very clear with him that I would not force you. We should try to know one another better before making such a decision. I wish a joyful marriage, Miss Dunforth. I do not want an ill beginning.” He stroked his cravat again.

Alexandra regarded him. Mr. Runyon appeared to be nothing more than a kind, gentle man who seemed a bit shy. Having witnessed the way nearly everyone gossiped since her arrival in London she did not doubt the cruelty he’d received.

“Surely there are dozens of more appropriate women, Mr. Runyon. I have been raised far away from London and am not as sophisticated as many women. I had only one Season before returning to Hampshire. Also, I am considered to be long in the tooth and on the shelf.”

His gaze shifted from her questioning look. Shyly, he looked back at her face.

“As I stated,” he cleared his throat nervously, “because of my prior disgrace I fear that many of the ton’s families find me inadequate for their daughters. Something of a milksop. I was so young and stupid. Chasing a girl who strung me along. I am pleased that you are not familiar with my previous embarrassment.” His eyes bored into hers as he clasped her hands. “Miss Dunforth I am certain we would get on. I find you have a most pleasing disposition.”

“But my uncle-” A plan formed in her mind. One that filled her with remorse but one that could save Helmsby Abbey and those she held dear.

“Leave your uncle to me, Miss Dunforth. I will tell him we are getting to know each other better and will sign the betrothal contract when we are ready. If we are ready.” He winked at her like a conspirator. “My attentions will at least keep your uncle from casting his net, will it not?”

Mr. Runyon gave her a very firm look, his eyes full of protective furor.

As long as her uncle assumed that she and Mr. Runyon were betrothed, Odious Oliver would not attempt to find another suitor. She was certain her uncle didn’t know his control over her ended soon. If she could just use Mr. Runyon for a bit.

Mr. Runyon she was sure, would understand her need for deceit.

Alexandra gave Mr. Runyon what she hoped was a dazzling smile. “Mr. Runyon, I would be honored to accept your terms.”

“Wonderful. Simply wonderful. I feel certain we shall form a strong friendship that will grow into much more.”

Alexandra ignored the twinge of guilt at his words. She forced herself to push it aside. She would do what she must. Helmsby Abbey and those she loved must be saved.

Mr. Runyon stuck her hand into the crook of his arm. “Come, Miss Dunforth. I shall escort you to your waiting carriage. I desire to call on you later in the week, business permitting. Would that be all right?”

She nodded and smiled her assent as Mr. Runyon led her back through the ballroom to the carriage where her uncle waited.