Tarnished Amongst the Ton Read online

  She made it to the sanctuary of the chaise before either could say a word. Anna called to the postilions to make a start and they rattled out of the yard and turned towards London and disgrace.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Ashe found his father and Edwards, his secretary, in the study dealing with a pile of correspondence.

  ‘You have made good time.’ The marquess’s smile faded as he took in Ashe’s expression.

  ‘Sir. Excuse the intrusion, but I need Mr Edwards’s advice. What are the laws concerning marriage in England?’

  His father went very still, then set down the pen he was holding. The secretary pushed his spectacles firmly on to his nose and cleared his throat, his face entirely blank of expression. ‘Banns of marriage must be called in the parishes of both bride and groom over three weeks. This may be avoided, and often is by the Quality, by the provision of a common licence from a bishop. For marriages at very short notice a special licence from the archbishop is required, which in London will involve a personal visit to Doctors’ Commons and a not inconsiderable fee.’ He glanced at the clock. ‘If one is needed, I fear it must now wait until the morrow.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Edwards, that is very clear. I was not contemplating matrimony within the week.’ Ashe moved to the empty fireplace and rested one foot on the fender. ‘Would you excuse us for a moment?’

  When they were alone he said, without preamble, ‘I have compromised Miss Hurst and therefore I regret that I must marry her.’

  ‘Regret?’ His father’s brows rose.

  ‘She is not an eligible bride. She is illegitimate, she is not received at court or accepted at Almack’s and therefore she cannot assist my mother or Sara.’ Ashe made himself continue dispassionately down the list. He was not going to fudge what a disaster this was. ‘Her brother has no political influence, his lands are a significant distance from ours and will bring no benefit to you or to the estate. She has no dowry. She owns a shop and buys and sells for it herself—in other words, she is a trader and if word of that ever gets out it will mean she is received in even fewer places.’

  ‘Your mother is illegitimate and her father was a trader,’ his father said in the quiet tone that Ashe knew disguised tightly reined emotion.

  ‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘But she is the daughter of a princess, he was a nabob. You are a marquess. The case is very different in the eyes of society.’

  ‘How is she compromised? Is she with child?’

  ‘No!’ Ashe caught up the unravelling ends of his temper. Guilty conscience, he told himself. ‘No, it was all very innocent and damnably unfortunate. She was taken ill as we returned and fainted in the inn. I was loosening her stays in a bedchamber when Lady Castlebridge, who appears to be a voracious scandalmonger, walked in on us.’

  The marquess gave a bark of laughter that sounded as though it was wrenched unwillingly from his throat.

  ‘It is not funny,’ Ashe said mildly. He was inclined to kick something. Someone. Probably himself.

  ‘It has all the elements of a farce,’ his father countered. ‘But there is nothing to be done about it. You are quite right, you must marry the girl and we’ll make the best of it.’ He narrowed his eyes at Ashe. ‘Do you like her?’

  ‘Yes.’ Ashe shrugged. ‘As far as that goes it would be no hardship to be married to her.’

  And making love to Phyllida would be a perfect pleasure.

  ‘A special licence would appear to be the best method under the circumstances.’

  ‘No. I have been thinking about this.’ All the way back from Hertfordshire. ‘I believe less damage will be done if I very publically court Miss Hurst and marry her after a couple of months. There will be no question of her being with child then, which should confound the gossip and retrieve her name somewhat.’

  ‘There is a question of pregnancy?’

  ‘She was casting up her accounts after eating bad fish. The innkeeper’s wife assumed she was increasing and said so loudly for all to hear.’

  The marquess sat back in his chair and ran both hands through his hair. ‘God! And to think I had assumed we could descend on England and sink quietly into society with hardly a ripple.’ He gave a huff of laughter that sounded more like genuine amusement. ‘We had better go and tell your mother that she is about to acquire a new daughter.’

  His father was taking this well. Ashe suspected that his mother, always unconventional, would forgive him, too, and Sara, the romantic chit, would think him in love and happily ignore any snubs that came her way as a result. He would rather they all abused him roundly for allowing this to happen.

  And he would be rewarded for not closing a door and impetuously not waiting for a maid by having to marry the woman he desired as his mistress. No, his inconvenient conscience reminded him. If you had not been as intimate with Phyllida as you were, then it would never have occurred to you to stay in the room, let alone loosen her gown and remove her stays, and you know it.

  He had always assumed duty and honour went hand in hand. It seemed that in this case his honour demanded that he default on his duty. You reap what you sow, he thought bitterly as he went to find his mother. He would do the honourable thing by Phyllida Hurst—now he had to find a way to do his duty by his family.

  As for Miss Hurst, she would be delighted at a marriage beyond her wildest dreams and it should not be too much trouble to put an end to all those hidden elements of her life that proved such a risk. The shop must go, the stock be sold—she could have no objection.

  ‘Gregory! Oh, you are home, thank goodness!’

  He appeared in the doorway of the back parlour in his shirtsleeves, a pen in his hand, his hair on end as though he had been raking his fingers through it. ‘Welcome home, Phyll. I have good news for you.’ She stepped into the light from the open drawing-room door and he saw her face clearly. ‘You are ill! Anna, what is wrong with Miss Phyllida?’ He strode forwards, dropped the pen and took her arm.

  ‘Anna, please go and ask for tea to be sent up. It is just bad fish, Gregory. I have been sick in the stomach, that is all. Come into the drawing room, we must talk.’

  She let him guide her in, seat her on the chaise with her feet up, wrap a shawl over her legs. ‘Give me that bonnet. Can you manage the pelisse? You should be in bed.’

  Don’t fuss, she wanted to shout. Don’t make me feel any worse than I already do. ‘Thank you. Gregory, what is your good news?’

  ‘Harriet has accepted me!’ Despite everything she felt a glow of pleasure at the genuine warmth and happiness on his face. He did care for Harriet.

  ‘Thank goodness! How wonderful, Gregory.’

  ‘And Millington has been all that is generous and welcoming. Very straightforward about settlements and what he expects and none of it unreasonable. I was just working through the papers when you got home. He wants certain guarantees for Harriet’s future and trusts for the children and so forth.’

  ‘He sees your true character, Gregory,’ Phyllida said warmly, feeling the guilt like a knife in the stomach. ‘But I am sorry, I have done something so imprudent that I fear Mr Millington may withdraw his consent to the match.’

  ‘What?’ He stared at her. ‘What on earth could you have done? Is it Clere? I knew I should never have allowed you to go off with him!’

  ‘Gregory, sit down, please. It was the most awful combination of circumstances and not Lord Clere’s fault at all.’ She explained what had happened at the inn while he paced up and down the room, swearing under his breath. ‘I must go and speak to Mr and Mrs Millington before they hear of this in any other way.’

  ‘Lord, yes.’ Her brother sank into a chair and rubbed his hands over his face. ‘I’ll come with you, of course, they must see I support you completely. But where is Clere? He should be here with a special licence in his hand, telling me how he intends to safeguard your honour.’

  ‘I have no idea where Lord Clere might be.’ Phyllida closed her eyes, overcome with weariness. ‘I escaped from the inn befo
re we could speak of it. I do not wish to marry him.’

  But she did need his help to calm the scandal and safeguard Gregory’s betrothal. She had expected him to overtake them, stop the chaise, demand that they discuss it there and then. Now she wondered with a shiver whether Ashe simply intended to ignore the whole thing and brazen it out. She was on the knife-edge of respectability as it was, a completely unsuitable wife for him, but surely there was something he could do to help?

  ‘Be damned to that!’ her brother exploded. ‘You must marry him. I am going round there right now and if he is not prepared to do the right thing he can name his seconds.’

  ‘Gregory—’ The knock on the door cut her short. Ashe.

  ‘A letter for you, Miss Phyllida.’ Jane had remembered to put it on the silver slaver and presented it with a flourish, all crisp expensive paper and heavy red seal.

  Phyllida knew that seal. She broke it, spread open the single sheet with hands that shook and read out loud,

  ‘Miss Hurst,

  I trust you will have recovered sufficiently from your indisposition to attend Mrs Lawrence’s party this evening. I am reliably informed that Lady Castlebridge will attend, as will the Millington family. I intend to silence the lady and reassure those whom you hope will be your future in-laws in a manner that I trust will meet with your approval.

  I remain your obedient servant,

  Clere.’

  ‘He is going to propose and announce it there and then,’ Gregory said, mopping his brow with his handkerchief. ‘Thank heavens for that.’

  ‘I do not wish to marry him and there is absolutely no reason why I should,’ Phyllida protested. ‘If I just explain to the Millingtons, and then carry on as though nothing has happened, it will quickly become apparent that the cause of my sickness is exactly what I say.’

  ‘You cannot refuse an offer of marriage to the heir to a marquisate,’ Gregory protested. ‘Besides, the mud will stick.’

  ‘I most certainly can refuse him. It would seem as though I had schemed to entrap him! My only concern is your marriage to Harriet and if we can convince the Millingtons that there is no truth in this, then all should be well.’

  Gregory looked ready to argue the matter all day and night if necessary. ‘I am going to rest until this evening,’ she said wearily and cast the shawl aside. ‘I cannot talk about this any more now.’

  ‘Miss Hurst, I am very pleased to see you again.’ Mrs Millington shook hands with a beaming smile. The gossip had not reached her yet then. ‘Lord Fransham will have told you the happy news, I have no doubt,’ she added in lowered tones as Phyllida joined her and her husband in a quiet corner of the reception.

  ‘Indeed, yes. I understand there is to be no announcement until Miss Millington’s twentieth birthday next month, but I am very happy for both of them. She will make Gregory a wonderful wife and I know him to be deeply attached to her.’ She plied her fan and tried to see if there was any sign of either Lady Castlebridge or Ashe in the chattering crowd that filled Mrs Lawrence’s large salon.

  ‘Are you quite well, Miss Hurst?’

  She snatched the opportunity. ‘To be frank, Mrs Millington, I am feeling somewhat fragile. An internal upset caused by bad fish,’ she added in a whisper. ‘Do you mind if we sit down?’

  ‘Of course not. Mr Millington, do find a waiter with a glass of wine for Miss Hurst, she is not feeling quite the thing.’

  She waited until he came back with a glass and when he would have moved out of earshot put one hand on his arm to detain him. ‘Please stay, sir. I must confess I had a most unpleasant encounter this morning and it has quite shaken me. I was taken ill at an inn where we had stopped to change horses. I fainted and was observed by Lady Castlebridge being assisted by Lord Clere, who also happened to be there.’ She did not have to act to produce the quaver in her voice. ‘She leapt to the most appalling conclusions when she found him supporting me in a bedchamber and I fear so much that any scandal will reflect most unfairly upon my brother.’

  ‘That woman,’ Mrs Millington uttered in tones of loathing. ‘She lives for gossip and has the most unpleasant, snubbing manner. Why, I would not believe a word she says, my dear Miss Hurst, if she swore the sky was blue.’

  Her husband, Phyllida saw, was less certain. ‘There is bound to be talk.’

  Mrs Millington frowned, the import of the story obviously beginning to sink in. ‘That is true. There was nothing more that might have made things worse, I trust?’

  Phyllida could feel the blush mounting in her cheeks. ‘Lord Clere was loosening my clothing and the landlady assumed I was enceinte.’

  ‘What? Oh my heavens, the scandal! What is Clere doing about it?’

  ‘I have no idea,’ Phyllida said. ‘He is an acquaintance of Gregory’s, but—’

  ‘Here he comes,’ Mrs Millington said, sounding not a little flustered. ‘And there is Lady Castlebridge.’

  As a lady should, Phyllida showed no sign of having seen the approaching viscount, but continued to exchange meaningless pleasantries with the Millingtons. To her relief, they were continuing to talk to her. So far.

  ‘Miss Hurst.’ Did she remember his voice as being as deep, as carrying? Heads turned. The little group around Lady Castlebridge watched, agog. ‘I am so relieved to see you here. Are you quite well now, ma’am?’

  ‘Well?’ What was he doing? Why on earth was he speaking in such carrying tones? The entire reception would hear.

  ‘After your collapse this morning at the inn.’ An expression of dismay that she knew perfectly well was feigned crossed his face. ‘My apologies, ma’am, I should have realised that no lady would wish it bruited abroad that she had been taken ill.’ His voice was hardly any less carrying. ‘But it appears you were correct and the effects of the bad fish have worn off.’

  ‘Lord Clere.’

  He turned to Mrs Millington and bowed. Phyllida introduced them hastily.

  ‘Ma’am?’

  ‘You were able to assist Miss Hurst this morning?’

  ‘Ineptly,’ he said with a laugh. Phyllida realised that all eyes were on them and that Lady Castlebridge was frowning in apparent confusion. ‘I should have done better to have laid Miss Hurst down on a settle until her maid came back from the apothecary. But what must I do, but catch her up in my arms—a fine sight for Lady Castlebridge to come across, indeed.’

  So that was how he was going to try to play this! All she could do was to join him in brazening it out. ‘Mrs Millington, I cannot tell you how embarrassing it was,’ Phyllida said brightly. ‘There was the landlady, giving her opinion as to why I was ill, for anyone to hear, the gallant Lord Clere with an armful of fainting lady en déshabillé and dear Lady Castlebridge not knowing what to do for the best.’

  She turned and appealed, smiling, to the bridling countess, ‘Confess, ma’am—was it not the most complete farce? If I had not been in the middle of it all and feeling so unwell, I would have been in ripples of laughter.’

  ‘It had all the appearance of a most irregular situation,’ her ladyship snapped. All around people were joining in with Phyllida’s laughter and her lovely scandal was turning on its head.

  ‘Exactly.’ Phyllida forced a chuckle. ‘Oh dear, I should not laugh, I know, for there is poor Lord Clere, who has hardly set foot in London, suspected of elopement or worse.’

  ‘Miss Hurst,’ Ashe said with considerable warmth. ‘Any gentleman of sense would surely wish to carry you off.’

  Phyllida found herself in the midst of a crowd. Ladies enquired sympathetically about her health, shooting dagger-glances at Lady Castlebridge who, it seemed, had made one bitchy remark too many to win friends. The men slapped Ashe on the back and told him what a slow-top he was not to have carried off Miss Hurst while he had the chance.

  ‘That,’ Mrs Millington remarked close to Phyllida’s ear, ‘was a masterly piece of strategy on Lord Clere’s part. I can only hope it was enough.’

  ‘Indeed,’ her husband muttered. ‘
If this does not die down, I must reconsider Harriet’s position.’

  ‘Of course,’ Phyllida whispered back, her stomach cramping with nerves. ‘I do understand, but I am certain… If you will excuse me,’ she added, more loudly, ‘I think I should sit down. Perhaps I was a little ambitious in coming out this evening after all.’

  ‘I hope I may take you driving in Hyde Park tomorrow,’ Ashe said. Several young ladies pouted in chagrin at not being asked. ‘Eleven o’clock?’

  ‘Thank you, the fresh air would be delightful.’ He bowed and strolled off, leaving Phyllida to wave her fan to and fro and try to congratulate herself on a lucky escape. Because, of course, she could not marry Ashe Herriard, she did not want to marry him and to feel at all disappointed that she was not now compelled to was positively perverse.

  She cast a glance up at Mr Millington’s stony countenance and tried to convince herself this was going to be all right. It must be, for Gregory’s sake.

  Chapter Fourteen

  ‘I should wait and have a word with Clere.’

  Phyllida adjusted her bonnet before the drawing-room mirror and wondered if her brother had reformed rather too far. ‘There is absolutely no need. We discussed it last night and you heard yourself how cleverly he turned the gossip on Lady Castlebridge.’ Gregory was still hovering. ‘Go and take Harriet out for a walk as you promised. It is a lovely day.’

  ‘Clere should marry you,’ he said stubbornly. ‘For your sake and…’

  ‘Why? You making a good marriage is one thing, but it simply isn’t an option for me. And I do not need to—the Millingtons are being understanding, are they not?’

  Gregory shifted uncomfortably and then unfolded the letter he was holding in his hand. ‘This came from Harriet first thing. She says her father was difficult at breakfast time. Apparently he mentioned our own parents’ scandal and then made some remark about Clere’s family, the fact that his mother was not born in wedlock and is half-Indian. He seems to think that makes Clere likely to be a bit lax about propriety.’