“I have a cousin like that. Just once I would like to change him into a servant so he can understand that they are also human and deserve a little respect.”
“I wish you did not have to claim kinship with Mr. Braxton,” added Louisa. “He does not like you one bit.”
“He never has, but there is nothing I can do about it. Would that one could choose one’s relatives!”
They discussed family black sheep briefly, then she and Louisa took leave of Lady Bristol and returned home.
* * * *
Lady Hermione drifted down the stairs into Lady Stokeley’s ballroom, making sure her movements were as seductive as possible. She hated routs, for few of the interesting gentlemen attended. But now that she was at the ball, the attentions of her court would soon heal her bruised spirits. She was the Season’s Incomparable, the subject of more poetry and the recipient of more flowers than anyone else.
But only Mr. Meldon awaited her at the bottom. She suppressed a shudder, but could not refuse him a set.
Half an hour later she was near tears. Her court had deserted her. Millhouse had accosted her at that awful rout. She had danced only the one set – and Meldon hardly counted, for he was nought but a younger son with no prospects. But when Mrs. Bassington sniffed before deliberately turning away, Hermione’s irritation turned to fury. Stalking across the room, she sought out the one gossip who might help her.
Lady Debenham’s eyes were cold when Hermione confronted her, but the girl was not cowed. “You must help me, my lady,” she begged. “I am being unjustly punished for the crimes of others.”
“Explain!”
“I did nothing to Lord Devlin beyond accepting his proposal of marriage,” she lied. “Yet people are adding injury to the insult he paid by jilting me. You’ve no idea what I’ve been made to suffer. Lady Devlin openly gloats over stealing him away – and I harbor no illusions how she did it. Mr. Braxton, her own cousin, confirmed at Lady Bristol’s rout this evening that Lady Devlin had conducted a lengthy affair with one of their tenants, a Joshua Barton. Is there any doubt that I am her innocent victim?”
“None.” Lady Debenham’s eyes gleamed.
* * * *
Damon pocketed his winnings and rose from the faro table, offering his seat to one of the onlookers.
“One can hardly blame him for shpending his evenings at White’s,” slurred a young gentleman considerably the worse for wine. “I would do the same if I had been trapped into wedding a chit who was no better than she should be.” He stared at Damon, making it clear to whom he referred.
“Don’t exaggerate, Meldon,” suggested his friend.
“I don’t. She’s been carrying on with one of her tenants – a Joshua somebody – and has been bragging about how she trapped a lord into marriage so she could account for an interesting condition.” He inhaled a pinch of snuff and violently sneezed, staggering into a chair.
Damon started forward, but Colonel Caldwell grabbed his arm. “Laugh!” ordered Jack. Damon complied, though the sound seemed false to his ears.
“Drink can befuddle even the keenest mind,” observed the colonel after his own peal of mirth. “Though I would like to know who is embroidering tales so maliciously, Mr. Meldon. I have never in my life heard such fustian as the drivel you are spouting. The tenant to whom Lady Devlin devoted her time was an eight-year-old boy with a broken leg, as you would know if you had actually attended Lady Bristol’s rout. Perhaps you should apologize before the lady’s husband challenges you.”
Meldon blanched. “Beg pardon, my lord,” he mumbled. “Must have heard wrong.”
Damon nodded curtly and turned away. “Go home,” advised Jack softly. “I was at the rout until half an hour ago and know his claims for lies, but it will be easier to discover who started such stories with you absent.”
“You don’t believe them, then?”
“Of course not. I’ve too much experience with malice not to recognize it. This has all the hallmarks of deliberate calumny.” He stared unblinkingly, making Damon feel a worm, for the insinuation did not fit Catherine’s character. But he had not seen her in years.
Damon paused just outside the gaming room, on the verge of returning, but a new burst of speculation changed his mind.
“It cannot be wholly false. She fled the rout as soon as the tale emerged.”
“True, and though the details may be exaggerated, the basis is probably not. Where there is smoke, one usually finds fire.”
“No wonder her family kept her away from London all these years. She sounds little better than a light-skirt.”
“Too true. I got it from one in a position to know,” injected a third voice. “The woman has no shame!”
Damon turned on his heel and strode away.
* * * *
Catherine was nearly ready for bed when Damon slammed into her room. At his sharp gesture, Brigit left.
“Well, Cat, it seems you have been making a spectacle of yourself,” he charged.
“What are you talking about?”
“The story is all over town that you have been playing fast and loose with one of your tenants and bragging about trapping a wealthy lord.”
She glared at him. “And you prefer to believe baseless lies instead of asking for facts. How you have changed!”
“I heard plenty of facts,” he retorted, repeating the tale Meldon had told and the other comments he had overheard.
“What can I say? ’Tis obvious you have already judged me guilty.” A single tear escaped and she turned sharply away.
Damon froze, the tear shattering his anger. “What happened?” he asked gently.
“How should I know? I was talking to Lady Ingleside about the school she started for her tenants some years ago when Sidney appeared and asked if you knew how much time I had spent with Joshua Barton. I shrugged him off. You must know that Sidney disdains even talking to tenants, let alone helping them.”
“Is Joshua Robert’s son?” asked Damon.
“Yes. He broke his leg in January.”
“That was all?”
“Of course. You must have expected the rest of the charges. Everyone is convinced I must have compromised you. I have said nothing beyond confirming that we have known each other since birth. What else can I say? That you married me to foil some unscrupulous plot by my uncle?”
“I am sorry you were subjected to such unpleasantness,” he said wearily. “I wish I
had
anticipated it, but I am not that conversant with London society. I expect it will blow over.”
“Not until I fail to produce the suspected child.”
“What?”
“How else am I supposed to have trapped you? It would help if you actually escorted me,” she suggested, weariness making her voice sharper than she had intended. “That would at least deflect the charges that you were unwilling.”
“All right. It might also deflect your cousin. I turned down his demand for a loan today, which probably explains his spite. You realize that he worded his comment to foster the notion that you were dallying with Joshua.”
“My God! It never occurred to me. But why would it do so to anyone else? Lady Ingleside and I discussed both Josh’s age and his leg immediately after Sidney left.”
“Then why would this tale spread – unless Sidney did it.”
“I suppose so. He has always hated me, and he has never been that enamored of you, either, as you must recall. But there is little we can do about that.”
“But if he is piqued, he may try again. You must be alert so you can prevent further trouble.”
She agreed, though he was being naïve if he believed Sidney would confine his comments to personal confrontations. Sneaky innuendo to third parties had always been his way. And the gossip would not die any time soon.
She should have asked about Hermione, but she was too tired. Why had Damon married her if he was betrothed to another? Why had he pursued Hermione if he had wanted to marry Catherine?
Despite her weariness, sleep did not come quickly.
Chapter Ten
“That gown is very becoming, my dear,” trilled Louisa as she entered the drawing room.
“Thank you.” Not that it made much difference. Society’s views would be shaped by other factors – like Sidney’s spiteful tongue. She was already feeling its effects. The servants were clearly hostile this morning.
“Now you must be careful today,” warned Louisa as they climbed into her carriage. “Lady Beatrice takes great pleasure in pillorying anyone who does not follow the rules.”
“Can we not visit someone else?” begged Catherine. The last thing she needed was to face a disapproving dowager who would have heard every word of Sidney’s lies.
“Of course not. This is her at-home day. If I do not produce you, she will conclude that you are afraid to face her. That would be worse than anything else you could do. We must prove that these tales are false.”
Lady Beatrice pounced on Catherine the moment she walked through the door. “So you actually dare show your face in public,” she declared with a snort.
“I have done nothing of which I need be ashamed,” Catherine countered steadily, though her knees were knocking and black spots whirled before her eyes. “It is unfortunate that I am related to Sidney Braxton, but that is hardly my fault.”
“You deny affairs with your tenants then? At last count your list of liaisons had reached two-and-twenty.”
Catherine forced herself to laugh, fully aware that fourteen listeners hung on every word. “My, how a tale can grow when watered by malice. I wonder how many people are aware that my uncle’s estate includes only eight tenant farms. But that is irrelevant. Even Sidney did not accuse me of such impropriety. He merely implied such by mentioning that I had recently spent considerable time with Joshua Barton.”
“So you admit it.” The malicious eyes gleamed.
“Absolutely – four hours a day for nearly two weeks.” Gasps filled her pause, and one lady moved to stand between her daughter and Catherine. “Poor Josh broke his leg just after Christmas. He had just celebrated his eighth year and does not take confinement well. Mr. Barton had been laid up much of the fall with injuries, so his wife had to accept a job as the baker’s assistant in order to make their rent. I helped care for Joshua until her sister arrived. My cousin considered my assistance deplorable, of course. He would sooner die than speak to such lowly creatures, despite deriving much of his income from their labor.”
Faces slipped into shock, laughter, and other emotions for several seconds before their owners regained control.
“Poor boy,” murmured one lady.
“Did he recover?” asked another.
“Certainly. So small a thing as a broken leg would not keep Josh down for long. He is back to climbing trees and getting into mischief. Last month he tried to ride a neighbor’s cow and was pitched into the stream, breaking his collarbone.”
“Why would your cousin imply a different relationship?” asked Lady Beatrice bluntly, her ancient eyes boring into Catherine’s as though she would drag her soul out for examination.
“I dislike speaking ill of others, but he has treated me as a lower form of servant ever since my parents died. For some reason, my marriage has caused him distress.” She shrugged.
Lady Beatrice frowned. “Why would he care?” Her voice had sunk to a conspiratorial whisper.
“His mother hoped to catch Lord Devlin for one of his sisters,” she murmured back. “Perhaps he shared that delusion.”
“Idiot!”’ She turned her attention to another guest.
Catherine sipped tea as gossip swirled around her. The ordeal could have been worse. London’s chief gossip seemed to believe her, though one could never know what really went on inside that lady’s head. She hoped her impressions were correct. Though Lady Beatrice was a formidable foe, she could make an equally formidable ally.
“Lady Debenham,” announced the butler.
“My dears, did you hear?” Lady Debenham asked even before she received a cup from her hostess.
“I suppose you finally got wind of the Higby affair,” scoffed Lady Beatrice.
“That is unworthy of anyone’s notice,” snapped Lady Debenham in return. “Lord Seaton was caught
en flagrante
in Lady Oakridge’s bed last night – by her husband. A duel is unavoidable, for she has not yet produced the requisite heir.”
Her voice was drowned out by the sudden buzz of conversation, though no one missed the flash of fury that crossed Lady Beatrice’s face.
“The tale must be exaggerated,” the gossip scoffed.
“Hardly.” Lady Debenham’s eyes were triumphant. “I got it from my maid, whose brother is the head footman at Oakridge House. His lordship’s threats carried to the servants’ quarters. I am
amazed
that you did not know of it.”
Catherine could swear that Lady Beatrice gnashed her teeth.
“You would think that Lord Seaton had more sense than to conduct an affair with so recently wed a lady,” observed Lady Cunningham, shaking her head over the gentleman’s rashness.
“It does not say much for the lady that she would endanger Oakridge’s line, even if he is so long in the tooth that she can hardly find him appealing,” denounced Mrs. Bassington.
“Girls have no sense of honor these days,” declared an elderly dowager. “In
my
day—”
“How were they so careless as to be caught?” asked Lady Cunningham, overriding the reminiscence that continued in the background.
“They haven’t half a brain between them,” declared Lady Debenham. “How else can one explain conducting the affair in Oakridge’s own house.”
“Scandalous indeed!”
“Perhaps they wanted to be caught,” suggested Lady Beatrice. “If they are that lacking in wit, they may think that killing Oakridge in a duel will be acceptable. But Seaton would have to flee the country.”
“And it would hardly improve their situation,” Mrs. Bassington reminded everyone. “He is still married, even though his wife has avoided town for three years.”
“I heard she prefers the country.”
“Isn’t it interesting that her neighbor Sir Rudolph has likewise eschewed London?” The insinuation in Lady Beatrice’s voice sent shivers down Catherine’s spine.
“Surely you are not suggesting that Seaton wishes to wed Lady Oakridge!” snapped Lady Cunningham once the last young innocent took leave of Lady Beatrice and departed. “That man cares for nought but himself and has no intention of confining himself to one lady.”