Authors: A Scandalous Courtship
Gail Whitiker
You were the baby left in my mother’s carriage. You were the child whose mother died.”
“No—”
“I’m so sorry, Hannah. I wish I could tell you it was all a lie—”
“But it is a lie! Mama gave birth to me. Why are you telling me these terrible lies?”
“I swear to you, I’m not lying.”
“What proof have you?”
“I have no physical proof. I only know what cousin Margaret told me.”
“Cousin Margaret? She’s making it all up!”
“I truly wish I could tell you this was a mistake—”
“It is a mistake! Mama loved me.” Hannah gazed up at him as tears filled her eyes.
As Robert carried her up to her room, he couldn’t help but think how ironic it was that the very first time he had ever put his arms around his sister was the very day he had found out she was not.
A Scandalous Courtship
Originally hailing from Pembrokeshire, England, Gail now lives on beautiful Vancouver Island on the west coast of Canada. When she isn’t indulging her love of writing, you’ll find her enjoying brisk walks along the Island’s many fine beaches, or trying to catch up on her second love, reading. She wrote her first novel when she was in her teens, and still blesses her English teacher for not telling her how bad it really was.
April, 1813, London
I
N THE
spacious confines of a room dedicated to the sport, two gentlemen took up their positions under the watchful eye of a third, a tall, silver-haired gentleman, who stood quietly to one side. Garbed in the requisite attire of the fencing school, the young men raised their foils and silently saluted their tutor. Then, following his sharply delivered command of
en garde
, they turned to face each other and assumed their positions for the assault and lesson about to begin.
The gentlemen had been friends for many years. Originally introduced as boys at boarding-school, they had gone on to complete their educations at Oxford, and then to take up their respective places in society. They were both fine-looking men who, despite the three-year difference in their ages, shared a similar outlook on life. They were both well travelled and extensively read, they both belonged to the requisite number of select gentlemen’s clubs, and they both enjoyed the privileges of life to which birth and money had entitled them.
Physically, however, the resemblances were fewer. The younger man was fair-haired and blue-eyed, with a countenance that was pleasing, but unlikely to cause a lady’s pulse to quicken in anticipation of sinful pleasures or amorous indulgences. He might be looked upon as a jovial brother; one who could be counted upon to be
amusing rather than exciting, and to accomplish things by affability rather than through authority.
By contrast, the older gentleman was neither fair nor sweet-tempered, but was possessed of such striking features as to make any lady turn to take a second look. Dark of hair and swarthy of complexion, he was everything his youthful friend was not. His features were sharp, his appearance suggesting a certain roguish elegance that most women found distinctly appealing.
The two gentlemen had studied with Monsieur Rochefort for several years, and while it was evident that their lessons had been well learned, it was equally apparent that their skills were not evenly matched. Even to the most casual of observers it was clear that the darker man had the advantage. He was more muscular in build, and lighter on his feet than his slender opponent, but it was his unquestionable finesse with the long, tapering sword that gave him the true advantage.
When he had scored his fifth hit of the match, Monsieur Rochefort held up his hand to signal a halt to the bout. ‘Lord Winthrop has scored the greatest number of hits in the time allotted, Mr Stanford. Would you care to continue the engagement?’
The younger man shook his head. ‘Not today,
monsieur
.’ He removed his mask and grinned with good-natured resignation. ‘I know when I am beaten, and there is no need to belabour my weaknesses. I know what they are and shall endeavour to improve them.’
The tutor smiled as he turned to regard the darker gentleman. ‘And you, Lord Winthrop? Are you satisfied with the day’s work?’
Robert Edward, fifth Viscount Winthrop, nodded his agreement as he let the foil drop back to his side. ‘I am,
monsieur
, thank you. But perhaps I could see you the
day after tomorrow so that we might continue work on my compound manoeuvres.’
The elderly gentleman inclined his head. ‘As you wish, my lord.’ Then with an elegant bow he left them, moving to take his place at the opposite side of the room where another pair of swordsmen awaited his expertise.
‘Dash it all, Winthrop,’ James Stanford said as he pulled off his gloves. ‘I thought I’d improved enough to give you a good match, but it’s damnably clear that you are still the superior swordsman.’
The man so addressed put down his foil and clasped his friend on the shoulder. ‘You’re too impatient, James. Timing is crucial in this sport. You must anticipate your opponent’s moves and be ready for them.
You
are too busy recovering from your last parry to think about deflecting my next one. Besides, you were trying to exorcise anger today, and that never improves the reflexes.’
Stanford sighed as he accepted a cloth from the young lad standing nearby. ‘Perhaps, but can you blame me for being angry? My life is about to go completely awry and there is nothing I can do to prevent it.’
Accustomed to his friend’s viewing of every parental intervention in his life as a catastrophe, Robert chuckled. ‘You’re exaggerating again, James. Your parents are not
ordering
you to marry Lady Constance. They are simply suggesting she is a better choice than the young lady with whom you seem to fancy yourself in love.’
‘I do not
fancy
myself in love! I
am
in love!’ Stanford cried. ‘Madly so, and with an angel whom even you were moved to call extraordinary.’
‘She is a beauty, to be sure, but without the social acceptance so critical to our world, she cannot hope to make you a worthy bride, nor you an enviable alliance,’ Robert said calmly. ‘
That
is what your parents object to,
my friend. I dare say your father would be happy enough to see you set her up as your mistress—’
‘I say, Winthrop, have a care.’
‘I have all the care I need. Miss Blazel is a charming young woman, but she is a dancer. A very lovely and talented dancer, I admit, but a dancer nonetheless, and therefore totally outside our social circle. You have no knowledge of her background or family connections, and as the next Viscount Stanford it behooves you to be mindful of such things, lest some disreputable relative suddenly turn up at your door claiming your new viscountess as his long-lost sister, or, worse, his errant wife!’
Stanford gave a snort of disbelief. ‘I assure you, Suzette has never been married. And I’m quite sure she comes from a perfectly respectable family.’
‘Ah, but you cannot say you are
absolutely
sure, can you?’ Robert countered, smiling in a way that only a few close friends were ever permitted to see. ‘And in that small measure of ignorance lies the greatest risk for disaster. No, I fear I must side with your parents on this, James. Miss Blazel is not a suitable young lady for you to gift with your coronet. Enjoy her if you will, but do the intelligent thing and choose your bride from amongst those more suitable, with backgrounds and families that are known to you. The other way only presents the potential for heartache and ruin.’
‘Huh! Easy enough for you to say,’ Stanford muttered as he shrugged on his exquisitely tailored cutaway coat. ‘Your heart isn’t being wrenched in two the way mine is. In fact, given the circumstances, I wonder I am even considering your advice this time.’
Robert frowned as they headed for the door. ‘Why would you not consider it?’
‘Because
you
are not in love. And while our situations are similar, in that we both require wives, I do not see you rushing to do the
intelligent
thing, as you would so blithely have me do.’
‘Our situations are not the same at all,’ Robert objected. ‘You like the idea of being married. I do not. And even if I did I would certainly not be hasty in my selection of a bride. I would take my time and make sure I knew the lady well before asking her to marry me. I dislike making mistakes, James, and I should hate to discover I had made a very serious one when it was too late for me to do anything about it.’
‘But you’re not likely to do that, are you?’ Stanford countered amiably. ‘Because for all your dashing good looks you’re such a calm, level-headed fellow that when you do finally choose a wife, nobody doubts that she will be anything but perfect. She will be chosen from the right circles and there will not be so much as a hint of scandal attached to her name.’
Robert slid his friend a quizzical glance. ‘Is that such a bad thing?’
‘Of course not. It’s just that…well, what I’m trying to say is…oh, hell, I’m not sure I know
what
I’m trying to say any more,’ Stanford said in frustration. ‘I just wish my parents would leave me to get on with my life, rather than attempt to wear me down with their incessant badgering. Why not just let me make my own decisions, the way your mother does you? The Viscountess doesn’t seem to care what you do or with whom you do it.’
‘That is only because I haven’t given her any cause to worry about what I do or with whom I do it,’ Robert drawled as the two stepped out of the house and into the bright afternoon sunshine. ‘I dare say that if all she heard was that I was chasing Cyprians from one end of London
to the other, she would have posted up from Sussex long before now.’
‘But that’s just it. She
wouldn’t
hear anything like that because you don’t get up to the kind of antics that would cause a mother embarrassment, or that would force her into making decisions for you under the guise of doing what was best.’
Robert sighed as he abruptly drew to a halt, compelling his friend to do the same. ‘Look, James, the only way your parents are going to start letting
you
make decisions of your own is by demonstrating your ability to make them with some degree of intelligence and common sense. All
I’m
asking you to do is think very carefully before making a choice that will most surely affect the rest of your life.’
‘But I
have
thought about it. I love Suzette, and she loves me. I cannot imagine spending the rest of my life with
anyone
but her.’
‘Isn’t that what you said about Miss Lucille Clapshaw this time last year?’
A heated blush stained the younger man’s cheeks. ‘That wasn’t the same at all! My feelings for Suzette are nothing like what I had for Lucille—’
‘Of course they are, because you’re a gullible fool when it comes to a pretty face and a sweetly turned ankle,’ Robert said in a conversational tone. ‘You fall in and out of love like a green lad fresh from the country, and I’ll wager here and now that if you were to meet a young lady who was even lovelier than Miss Blazel, and of whom your parents approved, you would forget about your dancer in the blink of an eye.’
‘Never!’
‘Are you willing to put money on it?’
Stanford stared at his friend in disbelief. ‘You’re not serious.’
‘I most certainly am.’
‘Impertinent fellow. I’ve half a mind to call you out.’
‘I wouldn’t, if I were you.’
‘No. I suppose that would be the height of stupidity,’ Stanford muttered as they walked on, ‘given that you’re as skilled with a pistol as you are with that damned blade. But even if it were possible for me to forget Suzette, where do you expect me to find this…paragon of virtue? I have attended all the salons in London and have even braved several evenings in the company of the mighty patronesses, without once having spied a society chit who takes my fancy.’ His eyes narrowed as he glanced at his friend again. ‘I say, Winthrop, what secrets are you keeping? What aren’t you telling me?’
‘Only that I am aware of certain plans which involve a delightful young lady of good family coming up from the country to spend a few months in London.’
‘Is she pretty?’ Stanford asked, intrigued in spite of himself.
‘Would I have brought it up if she were not?’
‘Well, no, but—oh, now, wait a minute. You’re not referring to your sister, are you?’
‘My sister!’ Robert’s head snapped round. ‘Why on earth would you think I was talking about her?’
‘Because she lives in the country and, from what little you’ve told me, is of an age to be married.’
‘Of an age she may be, but I would hardly put her forward as a candidate for marriage to
you
. For one thing, I barely know the girl. We’ve spent most of our lives apart, and I have no idea whether she’s a milk-and-water miss or a veritable hoyden. Although, given
Mama’s influence, I find it hard to credit she would be either,’ Robert said, more to himself than to Stanford. ‘However, I would certainly not deign to meddle in her personal affairs or try to form an attachment for her with any gentlemen of my acquaintance here.’
‘Has she ever expressed a desire to come to London?’
‘No.’
‘But surely she wishes to be married?’
Robert shrugged. ‘As much, I suppose, as any young lady. But if she is not inclined to do what is necessary, why should I? The last correspondence I received from her led me to believe that she was quite happy staying in the country. In fact, she said something about being happier tending Mama’s gardens than she was in cultivating her own.’
‘Oh, I say, that’s good.’ Stanford grinned. ‘Obviously possesses a decent sense of humour.’
‘Does she?’ Robert flicked his friend a sardonic glance. ‘Perhaps I
should
introduce the two of you, if that is your idea of wit.’
‘Steady on, Winthrop, I merely said I found the remark amusing, not that I was interested in meeting her. As I recall, you said she was somewhat ungainly the last time you saw her.’
‘Did I? Well, to be fair, she was only thirteen at the time, and what girl of thirteen is not?’
‘Suzette is sixteen and there is nothing ungainly about her,’ Stanford said in defence of his ladylove. ‘In fact, when she dances, her body moves with the most exquisite grace, and she has the loveliest long legs—’ He broke off, abruptly reminded of what his friend had accused him of only moments before, and gruffly cleared his throat. ‘Yes, well, never mind that. You were trying
to convince me of the suitability of this
other
young lady, whom I have now concluded is not your sister, and whom you honestly believe I should meet. Yes?’
‘Indeed.’
‘Very well. If you feel that strongly about it, arrange a meeting at a time and place of your choosing, and I shall be there, just to show you that I am capable of making decisions with some degree of intelligence and common sense,’ Stanford said, mimicking Robert’s words and tone of voice. ‘But do not hold it against me if I fail to find her as delightful as Miss Blazel.’
‘I shall not hold it against you, but I do believe the undertaking to be worthwhile, if only to show your parents that you are intent on heeding their advice. Hopefully, that will bring about an end to what you call their incessant badgering. Which they only do, I might add, because they are concerned about you.’