A Most Scandalous Proposal (7 page)

B
ENEDICT HADN’T
come to Town to become entangled in the doings of the
ton
. He most certainly hadn’t expected to embroil himself with Julia’s doings. Damn Ludlowe and his wagering.

With Hyde Park awash in the fashionable out to see and be seen, it was a blessing to escape the crowded paths to the point where Curzon Street faded into Boulton Row. Only a stone’s throw from Berkeley Square, the St. Claires’ rented town house strained toward the rarified air of more exclusive addresses.

Benedict patted Arthur’s glossy chestnut neck and slowed the beast to a walk, though his true destination lay several streets beyond. Beneath his thighs, the horse’s powerful muscles strained with the desire to gallop. The sound of iron-shod hooves clopping against the cobblestones echoed through the narrow lane. Arthur tossed his head, sending tendrils of his mane flying.

“Easy, boy. I know you’re eager to have your head, but that’ll have to wait until we find a place with more room to run.”

They would not find it in London. Once he’d taken care of his business, he could retreat to his estate in Kent where Arthur might gallop for miles before they encountered another soul. In the meantime, they were stuck in Town. It was almost enough to make Benedict
wish he hadn’t sold his commission several months after Waterloo.

At the sight of the carriage standing in front of the St. Claires’ address, he tightened his hands on the reins. He could guess easily enough to whom the conveyance belonged.

“Ludlowe.”

Like the devil himself appearing at the sound of his name, Ludlowe emerged from the town house. Benedict reined Arthur to a halt. Something about the future Earl of Clivesden’s gait told Benedict all he needed to know. The man walked with the stiff-legged stride of someone who had been refused.

And Ludlowe was not used to refusals. Most especially from a lady.

If Benedict had known with any assurance that Julia could see him, he’d have tipped his hat to her. With a grim smile, he wheeled his mount about, urging him into a sprightly trot. Thank God, last night’s warning had been sufficient. As things stood, he was late for an interview with a potential replacement for his delinquent estate manager. No time now for social calls.

The rumble of heavy wheels to his rear caused him to spur Arthur to one side. Four blood bays, perfectly matched down to the socks on their off hind legs and the stars on their faces, clattered past, their coats glossy in the watery sunlight. Apparently, Ludlowe had an eye for flashy horseflesh.

Benedict pressed his lips together. He didn’t want a reason to admire someone who had so arrogantly wagered on Julia and put her reputation at stake. Not when Benedict had experienced at Eton the sort of man Ludlowe really was.

He chirruped to Arthur and set off down the row, his mount’s hooves clacking in sharp rhythm against the cobblestones, as if he could outrun the memories of his
first year at school. Thank God for an older brother who had shielded him from the worst. To either side, houses pressed in, all but obliterating the sky and blocking any hint of a breeze, until the air in Town became stifling.

For the hundredth time, he questioned the wisdom of selling his commission. The war with Boney might be over, but the cavalry offered other opportunities to a young officer. Those opportunities would have taken him far from London, but they would also remove him from the wild pasturelands of the Kentish countryside.

On his return to Kent, he’d discovered his estate manager gone and the property nearly derelict. After seeing to the most pressing repairs, he’d put the stables in order and acquired a stud. Only a stud needed broodmares, and the best place to acquire good bloodstock was Tattersall’s. He could have bought locally, but if he hadn’t come back to Town, he might never have learned of Ludlowe’s intentions in time to warn Julia.

He tightened his thighs on Arthur’s flanks at the thought. The horse darted forward, into the wider thoroughfares of Mayfair, dodging carriages and passersby. A shout or two trailed after him, but he ignored the outraged protests.

This city was too crowded by half, but he might have to delay his departure to the estate his mother had bequeathed him, all because of Julia. Months ago, he’d returned from Belgium fully expecting to learn of her marriage or at the very least her betrothal. Yet at her age, she was still not only eligible but, according to gossip, firmly resisting any offers. After all these seasons. And why should he experience satisfaction at the notion?

He shook himself and spurred Arthur toward St. James Street. Her marital status was none of his affair. As long as she did not accept Ludlowe’s suit. He’d only reacted out of protectiveness and a long-standing friendship.

And yet, when they waltzed last night, she moved with him so perfectly. His palms still warmed at the memory of touching her, even through the barrier of gloves and gown. He’d touched her before, of course. They’d run wild through the woods together as children, handing each other across streams, boosting each other up trees. He’d helped her regain her footing often enough when she tripped over her skirts trying to keep up with him.

But a waltz was different; a waltz was the next thing to an embrace. Good God, the dance had driven him to flirt with her. With Julia. And that, perhaps, was even a greater shock than returning from the war to find her unwed.

“W
HAT
do you think of that parasol?” Julia pointed out a creation of peach silk, hand-painted with depictions of parrots and edged in peacock feathers. It dangled from the hand of a giggling young miss a few yards to the left.

Sophia barely glanced at it. “Lovely. Why don’t you see if you can find one like it in the shops?”

“Because it’s perfectly ghastly.”

Besides, neither of them could afford any sort of new accessories. If only she’d seen her way clear to accepting Lord Brocklehurst’s suit. She might have saved her family the expense of two years’ worth of unwanted ball gowns. As with her other suitors, he’d been too attached for her comfort, too enthusiastic in his courtship. No man would pursue a young lady of no fortune and little enough connections unless he experienced true sentiment. And the depth of ardor in Brocklehurst’s eyes had struck a fundamental fear within.

Sophia blinked. “Oh. I suppose it is.”

With a sigh, Julia took her sister’s arm. “We may as well go home.”

A stroll through Hyde Park had done nothing to improve Sophia’s spirits. She went through the motions of greeting the fashionable crowd, all the while drifting slowly from the main paths until she and Julia stood on a forsaken patch of grass.

She paled. “Must we?”

Julia leaned close. “I thought a constitutional might serve as a distraction, but it’s obviously doing no good.”

“Why, Julia? Why won’t Ludlowe see me?”

A quick glance revealed several schoolgirls tossing bits of bread to the ducks along the banks of the Serpentine. A few young ladies strolled the paths, showing off the latest style of walking dress, while gentlemen on horseback attempted to steal their attention. None of them, however, were close enough to overhear anything Julia and Sophia might be discussing.

Julia looked hard at her sister. “If I might speak plainly, I cannot help but wonder why, after all these years, you still want him to.”

Sophia’s lower lip trembled. “Don’t you think if I could stop feeling this way, I would?”

Julia tightened her fingers about her sister’s arm. “Let’s go home.”

“No, not home.”

She shook her head. “Whyever not?”

“I don’t want—” Sophia’s blue eyes focused on an object past Julia’s shoulder. “Oh no!”

Turning her head, she followed the direction of her sister’s gaze until Lady Wexford’s frowning face came into view beyond the rim of her poke bonnet.

Sophia tensed further. “Drat, she’s spotted us.”

Julia swung her head back to her sister. “Why should it matter?”

“You have some nerve showing your face in public after last night.” Lady Wexford’s hiss of disapproval crashed over them both.

Firming her chin, Julia swiveled to meet the threat head-on. “What is the meaning of this?”

Lady Wexford surveyed Julia from head to toe and then nodded, a single jerk of her head. “It’s no surprise she hasn’t told you. Hardly a cause for pride, what she did last night. There are ways of capturing the attention of one’s betters that do not result in one’s social ruin.”

The feathers on her bonnet rippled in righteous indignation as she stepped closer. “If you had any sense, young lady, you’d stay out of society until the matter is settled. Why your mother hasn’t kept a tighter rein on either of you, I’ll never know. She ought to have learned her proper place and taught it to you, as well.”

Julia drew in a breath to respond, but Sophia’s elbow in her ribs quite deflated the effort. “Please do not involve yourself,” she muttered.

“What was that all about?” Julia asked, once Lady Wexford had taken herself off down the path.

“Not here.” Sophia cast a worried glance about her. “Mama squawked so loudly there was never a hope of keeping things quiet. Suffice it to say Lady Wexford’s connected with the reason Mama believes I’m compromised.”

Together they pushed their way toward the perimeter of the park and the road home. Several smartly dressed ladies turned their heads in their wake. “Oh, and now they’re looking,” Sophia whispered. “They’ve heard, I know they have.”

“Sophia, what connection does Lady Wexford have to the incident at the Posselthwaite ball?”

“She’s his sister.”

Julia halted in the middle of the path, causing the tide of the fashionable to break and flow around them. “Sister? The Earl of
Highgate
compromised you? Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

Despite his sister’s acquaintance with her mother, she
knew only of Highgate’s reputation, a reputation that painted him a recluse, rather than a rake.

“Hush,” Sophia hissed, but her cheeks burned red. “Do you want them to gossip even more?”

“You know they’re going to gossip, no matter what.” Julia took her sister’s arm and stepped toward the exit. “Lady Wexford certainly didn’t help you out just now.”

“It’s silly. Nothing untoward went on, and it all might have blown over if Mama hadn’t made such a fuss.” Sophia twisted her hands in her skirts. “And in front of William, too.” Ah, and perhaps therein lay Sophia’s reticence to recount the story.

“Yes, it is ridiculous,” Julia agreed. Her sister’s affections for Ludlowe topped even the absurdity of the so-called scandal, but Julia wasn’t about to point that out. She’d suggested the walk to take Sophia’s mind off Ludlowe’s behavior. “I’d go so far as to wager Mama put on a spectacle to manipulate the situation.”

Sophia cast her a dark look. “She might have kept quiet. I do not understand her. All she cares for is one’s influence on society. She thinks nothing of love, and yet she should remember from her own past. She had to give that up.”

“She was jilted. Her earl could hardly have returned her sentiments if he threw her over.” Besides, Julia wasn’t completely convinced Mama didn’t love her earl for his title over all else, but she knew that bringing up the subject would lead to a fruitless argument. Sophia held fast to her assurance that their mother had suffered from the same sort of unrequited
tendre
as she held for Ludlowe.

“Why can these things not work out?” Sophia’s voice wobbled. Whatever beneficial effects their walk might have had on her outlook, they were about to be undone.

“I believe they can,” Julia affirmed in hopes of staving off another upset.

“You do?”

“I do. Leave matters of the heart aside, and choose your husband from those you admire and respect.”

Beneath the overhang of her bonnet, Sophia cast her eyes skyward. “The next thing you’ll tell me is I ought to seek a civilized and sensible match.”

“Just so.”

“And do you truly believe such an arrangement will make you happy?”

Sophia had a point. Such an arrangement hadn’t made Mama happy, but then neither had Sophia’s infatuation with Ludlowe made
her
happy. Somewhere, amid all this turmoil of feelings and sentiment, there had to lie a middle ground. Julia suspected she’d discover it—in the corner of the ballroom with the other spinsters.

W
ATERY SUNLIGHT
pierced the haze but contributed no warmth. Sophia pulled her pelisse tight against a raw wind that belonged to February rather than April. Its searching fingers penetrated even the town house’s tiny garden.

Although spring seemed a distant promise, Sophia crouched to pluck away the previous year’s growth. It was time to prepare for the coming summer. In any case, shivering among the rosebushes was preferable to waiting indoors, dreading Highgate’s visit.

By rights, he should have paid his call yesterday instead of William. If she stayed out here long enough, patiently clipping dead branches and clearing off dried leaves, she might bring herself to believe Highgate would never come. And if he never turned up, perhaps the entire situation would conveniently disappear.