An Invitation to Scandal (3 page)

Desperate times called for desperate measures.

He pushed his mind away from Miss Caldwell. An easy accomplishment. He rarely gave her much thought when they were apart.

“Would you have preferred I left Miss Laytham and Lady Caelie to their own devices?”

“No, of course not,” his mother said, jumping to his defense. An action sure to stoke his father’s ire even further. “You did the right thing. You can hardly be blamed for the circumstances.”

Rebecca cleared her throat. Her gaze darted between him and the earl. “Perhaps what Father is trying to say is that you have made such wonderful progress. It would be such a shame to lose it all now.” His sweet sister. Always the diplomat. He wondered if she ever wearied of the role.

“Stop being so selfish and think of your family. We have worn the taint of your past behavior long enough. It ends now before it affects your sister’s prospects,” Blackbourne said. A faint smile played about his thin lips when he glanced down at his daughter, the only member of his family he considered deserving of his love.

“Father, please.” Rebecca shot Nicholas an apologetic look. The dove gray of her gown brought out the silvery hue of her eyes, the only hint they had at least some of the same blood running through their veins. Beyond that, she resembled their mother while he…

Well, he did not exactly resemble anyone, did he?

“The thought of you returning to your old ways disgusts me,” Blackbourne said. He delivered his harsh words to the window, rather than address Nicholas directly. An intended slight. A reminder he was beneath the earl’s contempt.

“I have no intentions of returning to my old ways.”

“Good.” Rebecca issued the word with a relieved sigh. “See, Father, there is nothing to be concerned about.”

Nicholas remembered a time when his little sister had worshipped the ground he walked on. How she had tagged along behind him like a shadow he could not shake. Now she was a woman in her own right, and the brother she’d once adored had become less of a hero and more of a hindrance as she developed aspirations of her own. Aspirations that included snagging Lord Selward as a husband.

What she saw in that fop he would never understand, but she had her heart and mind set on him and only now that Nicholas had begun to turn his life around had Lord Selward bothered to look in his sister’s direction.

Not a point in the man’s favor.

His mother reached out and placed a hand over his. “I would hate to see you lose your chance at happiness.”

Happiness. Nicholas twisted his mouth to one side. At one time, he thought he’d had it within his grasp, but it had been taken away. Now, the concept was completely foreign to him. He had not turned his life around to find happiness.

He did not deserve it.

It was redemption he sought, though even that seemed far beyond his reach at the moment.

“I will be on my best behavior.” He displayed a confidence he did not feel. He had suppressed his natural desires for eight very long months. Surely he could do it a while longer until he married the very proper Miss Caldwell. Though seeing Miss Laytham with her dress plastered to her body, revealing a surprising amount of curves for one so slight, had stoked a fire inside of him Miss Caldwell’s cool perfection never could. How tenuous his hold on his desires truly was. “Please do not trouble yourself.”

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and forced thoughts of Miss Laytham out of his mind. Perhaps it would be best if he spent the night at his parents’ house rather than returning to his own lodgings, with its clear view of Miss Laytham’s bedroom window.

Chapter Two

Abigail leafed through the letters on the silver salver in the main hall. Her arm felt much improved today, though her pride still stung over having allowed Lord Roxton to convey her and Caelie home like errant children.

The conversation during the carriage ride had been stilted and awkward, a situation she did nothing to alleviate. She did not care if the always virtuous Miss Caldwell suggested to others her behavior was rude and peevish. What did it matter? Society had already made up their minds about her family and seemed disinclined to change them.

She picked up a letter addressed to her, recognizing Lord Tarrington’s shaky penmanship.

Lovely. Yet another lengthy missive describing the progress of his gardens, no doubt. Heavens how she dreaded a life with this man. The age gap between them was so staggering, they shared no common ground. He rambled on about botany while she responded with descriptions of her latest watercolors. A bold-faced lie if she’d ever told one. Her watercolors were abysmal and in truth she had given up the pursuit years ago. But she had to write something, and she doubted the true thoughts and feelings of a young woman just one and twenty would be of any interest to a man well into his sixtieth year.

Besides, they both knew he did not want her for conversation. He needed an heir, and as his last two wives had failed in that respect, he hoped a third would prove the charm.

A shudder coursed through her at the mere thought of what that entailed. Papery thin hands touching her bare skin; his aging body covering hers, pushing his withered manhood into her.

Bile roiled in her stomach and threatened to rage upward.

She was not a prude. She knew what went on between a man and woman. She and Caelie had spent enough time eavesdropping on the maids to have a proper idea of the mechanics involved. Unfortunately, Abigail did not share the maids’ exuberance over the act when she thought of her betrothed.

If only things could be different. Just once she wanted to experience that kind of giddy enthusiasm before she must play the part of the dutiful wife, her independence stripped away and along with it any hope for love. Was there a more tragic circumstance than to live out one’s life never experiencing true love or passion? She could not think of one.

She’d had the chance once, or so she thought. But Lord Roxton’s interest had cooled, and he’d dropped his suit. Abigail had fretted for months. Had she done something to turn him away? Yes, he’d always been a bit of a rake, but no more than most young men his age and she’d been certain he was worth reforming, that he
wanted
to be reformed. What a fool she’d been! Without warning, he had turned his attentions away from her and toward Uncle Henry’s mistress. She had watched helplessly as he went from a rake to a reprobate. He had changed from the man she knew. Or at least from the man she’d thought she knew. His sudden rejection still stung, but better she had learned of his true nature earlier, rather than later.

Perhaps the sting would have faded away in time, if Lord Roxton hadn’t re-entered their lives, but he had. And thanks to his callous actions and the scandal that ensued, her choices in the marriage mart had disappeared like a wisp of smoke caught on the wind. Now, instead of entering a marriage based on affection, she must make the best match she could to keep her family afloat.

Heaviness settled upon her shoulders. Abigail placed Lord Tarrington’s letter back on the plate and rummaged through the others. Was there not even one measly invitation? In the last week only Lord and Lady Doddington had dared to issue an invite to their masquerade one week hence, though it was clear in the note sent to Mother that they did so only due to their familial connection with Aunt Edythe. When one read between the lines, it became evident they expected their invite to be declined. The insinuation had been enough to anger Mother, who had quickly sent back their acceptance instead.

The impending masquerade notwithstanding, it would have been nice to receive a genuine invitation where the people issuing it actually wanted you to attend. Abigail let out a short breath. How long must they put up with this shunning?

Her fingers bumped against something cool and hard. Feeling around for the object buried beneath the letters, she pulled out a shiny skeleton key with an ornately designed head. Attached to the head was a length of red velvet ribbon, and at the end of that, a vellum tag.

Abigail’s hand shook as she turned the tag over. On it, written in a clear script, was an address, date and time. Nothing else.

But she didn’t need anything else. She recognized the key immediately. She had seen it once before. It had come for Uncle Henry, though at the time, she did not understand what it represented. She could no longer make such a claim.

The key was an invitation. But not just any invitation. This one provided entry to one of the most scandalous parties of the demimonde, hosted by none other than Opal St. Augustine, her uncle’s former mistress.

She shook her head. She had loved Uncle Henry dearly. He had been warm and affectionate and filled with life—the exact opposite of his cold and shrewish wife. Could she really blame him for seeking affection elsewhere? She did not condone his behavior, but a part of her understood it.

But why was the key here, now? She turned the tag over. Her heart lurched in her chest. The delivery address had the correct street name, but the wrong number. It read eighty-seven. Their house number was seventy-eight. Number Eighty-Seven sat across the street and two houses down.

And belonged to Lord Roxton.

Footsteps echoed down the marble hallway. Abigail hurriedly pocketed the key, then took a deep breath to quell the pounding of her heart.

“Good morning, sister.” Benedict strode into the room and stopped at her shoulder, reaching around her for the remaining letters.

“Good morning, Ben.” She offered him a warm smile, which he half-heartedly returned.

Once, he had been so quick to smile, now it appeared he had forgotten how. Since inheriting the title of Earl of Glenmor upon her uncle’s death, only tension pulled at the corners of his mouth. Between Ben and Caelie, she would be hard pressed to say who had changed more. A depressing pall had claimed them both. Ben due to the responsibility of taking on an earldom on the brink of ruin, and Caelie due to heartbreak. Abigail tried to cheer them up, but to no avail.

Her heart twisted. They had all had such bright futures before Lord Roxton and Opal St. Augustine crossed their paths. One could not expect more from the Queen of the Demimonde, but from a gentleman? As a gentleman, Lord Roxton, future Earl of Blackbourne, should have shown more compassion for her uncle’s plight. Even if his interest in her had waned, she would have thought some small bit of goodwill remained.

It hadn’t. Had it, Lord Roxton would surely have accepted responsibility for his actions and deflected the worst of the scandal away from her family and put it where it belonged—at his doorstep. Instead, he walked away from the scandal as quickly as he had walked away from her, and her family was left to wear the stain of his wrongdoings.

Well she wouldn’t stand for it. She had failed to save her family once before, but she would not fail again. She would do whatever she must to ensure Lord Roxton accepted his role in her family’s downfall, and that he did so with the full ear of their peers. Only then would her family be able to regain their rightful place in society. Ben could stop worrying. Caelie could return to her once vivacious self and find happiness again.

Benedict handed her the letter she’d ignored earlier. “Another letter from Lord Tarrington, I take it?”

“Yes.” She took the vellum envelope and held it to her forehead like a mesmerist. “I sense it is filled in great detail about how his crocuses are very much in bloom and that he has high hopes for his rose bushes this summer.”

Benedict sighed and the tightness around his mouth intensified. “You know if there was any other way—”

She placed a hand upon his arm, stopping him. “I know. I do this of my own free will. You have never asked anything of me and you do not now. This is my choice.”

“Abby—”

She forced a bright smile, hoping the lie did not show in her eyes. She loved her family. She would not see them suffer when she possessed the ability to prevent it. Nodding at the letters in his hand, she asked, “Who do you hear from today? Anyone of interest?”

He allowed her to redirect the conversation but guilt tainted his eyes. He glanced down at the letters in his hand and grimaced.

“Creditors. The wolves are howling at the gates.”

It was a familiar refrain. If they didn’t act fast, they would lose everything but the title, and a fat lot of good that would do them when they faced an empty table.

But now…

She squeezed the key inside her pocket. Cool metal indented her palm. Providence had given her the opportunity to confront Lord Roxton privately and convince him to publicly acknowledge what he did. She could regain her family’s honor. She could save them.

All she required was the courage to see the opportunity through.

* * *

“Is it…?” Caelie rose from the writing table in her bedchamber and turned the key over in her hand, letting her words fall away.

“It is an invitation,” Abigail supplied, though she didn’t really need to. They both knew what it was. “To one of Madame St. Augustine’s parties to be exact.”

The key dropped from Caelie’s fingers as if it bore the taint of the courtesan’s reputation. Her cousin paled considerably. Guilt pinched Abigail’s conscience. Perhaps she should not have dredged up the bad memories, but she could find no other way around it. If she planned on pursuing this, and she had every intention of doing just that, she would require Caelie’s assistance. Caelie rarely did anything without thinking it through thoroughly beforehand, whereas Abigail tended to barrel into things with no thought at all. She liked to think of it as spontaneity, though Ben insisted the correct term was foolhardiness.

Either way, her plan required a careful approach. She would have one opportunity to confront Lord Roxton. She could not squander it with brash action.

“What is it doing here?” Caelie whispered, motioning toward the offending item. “Madame St. Augustine knows all too well Father is dead. Even she couldn’t be so cruel as to mock us by sending it.” Fire flashed in her green eyes and for a brief moment, Abigail saw the spirit she missed so much. Perhaps her cousin wasn’t beyond reach after all.