Every Scandalous Secret (5 page)

“Sympathy, of course, perhaps even the curiosity of wondering what you find so attractive about me.”

“I’m glad you think so highly of yourself.” He chuckled. “So you have a purpose here, besides trying to escape London?”

“I always have a purpose, Mr. Wade, and this time, it is typical of my sex. I am here to meet suitable gentlemen.”

“The fact that you admit it is refreshing.”

“Why? Do you not think a woman of my age should still imagine herself marriageable? I do have compelling connections, of course, and my dowry is not insignificant. I’ve put my mind to finding companionship. Mr. Frobisher accompanied me on my walk today, and he always finds a good topic to discuss.”

“Companionship? What an interesting choice of words.” It was difficult to imagine Frobisher letting Susanna carry her side of any conversation.

“Marriage is a partnership, and two people must suit as companions, with the same interests and expectations.”

“You make marriage sound deadly dull,” he said.

“Perhaps to someone like you, who needs to be entertained every moment of the day.” Her brown eyes sparkled.

“And night,” he added, giving her his special grin. He liked that she wasn’t leery of him. “But as for
needing
to be entertained, I think you mistake me. I enjoy being entertained, and I am happy to reciprocate. I spent much of my life entertaining my family, so it’s only natural that now it’s my turn to enjoy myself.”

She looked at him too closely, as if reading something in his words. “Entertaining your family? What a peculiar way to put your childhood, Mr. Wade.”

“It’s the truth. As you know me better, you’ll see I don’t make a habit of lying. You’ll soon know me well, I promise.” He offered his arm before she could say anything more. “Shall we partake of the feast? I’ll make sure to save the choicest fish for you.”

T
he Misses Norton and Randolph monopolized Mr. Wade’s attention during the picnic luncheon, while Susanna ate contentedly of her roast-beef slices and pigeon pie, topping it off with jam puffs and iced lemonade. She idly listened to Lord Keane drone on about the future of the railways. The topic actually interested her, but he spoke with such superiority, as if with his investments, he had created the railway boom himself.

But just because he thought highly of himself, she didn’t rule him out as a possible suitor—not that she could make him take interest in her, of course. And he hadn’t truly given her a second glance, but that didn’t daunt her. Most men treated her that way. The point of this party was to show them that there was more to her than they thought.

“Lord Keane,” she called, “I understand your enthusiasm for the railways. It is obvious they will improve both industry and people’s lives.”

He turned his head and looked at her with his dark blue eyes. “Of course, Miss Leland.”

She heard the faintest patronization in his tone, but ignored it. “Yet they need to put more thought to standardizing all the tracks, so passengers forced to travel different railways don’t have to get off one train, then ride a carriage across town to the next.”

He exchanged a smile with Lord Greenwich, who regarded her fondly, as if her sweet attempt to keep up with their quick minds was endearing.

“A narrow gauge will be standardized this year,” Lord Greenwich said.

Lord Keane nodded to her. “I see you read your newspaper, Miss Leland. I don’t usually meet such ladies.”

She resisted the urge to stiffen, overcome with the feeling that he didn’t find her quest for knowledge an admirable trait. But he could be taught a different way. “As I grew up, our large family dinner table was always full of spirited conversation about the world, Lord Keane. I enjoy such discussions.”

Lords Greenwich and Keane nodded to her, and both looked behind them to something Mr. Randolph said. Susanna didn’t catch their words, but saw Mr. Wade watching her, an enigmatic smile on his face. Rather than sit there feeling equal parts annoyed at them and at herself, she saw elderly Mr. Johnson struggle to his feet.

She rose quickly. “Mr. Johnson, I find myself in need of a walk. Will you join me?”

His wrinkled face further creased with a smile. “By all means, Miss Leland. The legs stiffen when one doesn’t use them.”

Though the other men ignored her, she felt Mr. Wade’s stare as if he touched her. Constantly being under the weight of a man’s stare was a new experience for her, and it was surprisingly pleasant.

She chatted with Mr. Johnson about the fine weather, his newest bull, and the flowers his gardener had just planted. She caught a glimpse of shy Mr. Tyler through the trees, kneeling at the edge of the stream as if he were trying to get a closer look at something. But she couldn’t even work up much curiosity because she found herself wondering what Mr. Wade thought of her interest in the railways.

Or did she simply not want to be embarrassed in front of him? What a novel idea.

At last Mr. Johnson asked her to bring him a chair by the edge of the woods, so he could sit in peace—she thought he might actually want a brief nap. She returned to the picnic alone, meandering slowly, not at all as enthusiastic as she’d been that morn. Several of the young ladies were picking wildflowers, while the older ladies looked on in maternal contentment from the pavilion. She leaned against a tree, not quite ready to go back. Puffs of clouds floated above the expanse of farm fields laid out beneath her. She heard the older gentlemen discussing horse breeding, while the younger—

“—the painting at our club,” Lord Swanley said behind her.

She froze, her fingers digging into the tree at her back, afraid to move.

Which was silly. The men had no idea of her connection to the painting. They’d be embarrassed if they realized she heard their discussion. But she remained still, hoped even a breeze didn’t swirl her skirts.

“The nude painting?” Mr. Frobisher said, his voice positively gushing. “I saw it, too. Remarkable!”

“They say the model is a woman of Society.” Lord Keane sounded almost bored.

Susanna stiffened, the rough bark of the tree digging into her back.

And then she heard Mr. Wade laugh, and she closed her eyes. She hadn’t realized he was there—would he unthinkingly give away her secret?

“Perhaps you’re only amused, Wade, because you haven’t seen the portrait,” Lord Keane continued dryly.

“Oh, no, I’ve seen it.”

“Every man should,” Mr. Frobisher said with a happy sigh.

Susanna gritted her teeth, her shoulders tense with worry.

“But a lady of Society?” Mr. Wade said. “Anyone who would believe that does not understand how a club earns its money. They want you to gawk and trade inspired guesses, all while you buy their drinks. It’s surely a lie.”

She let out her breath with surprised relief. Mr. Wade had actually deflected interest, as if he were . . . defending her.

Or defending his own side in a wager, she reminded herself. But in that moment, she felt too grateful to care about his motives.

“Why must it be a lie?” Lord Swanley asked with curiosity. “Not all young ladies are saints. Some give a man far more than he’s expecting.”

They all laughed. Such men would never imagine there might be other reasons a woman might be so desperate.

“Trust me,” Mr. Wade said. “It’s only advertising, nothing more.”

Someone clapped hands, and Lady Bramfield called, “Let us walk farther. Have any of you seen our famous local ruins? A Roman temple, surely.”

Voices rose in a chorus of excited agreement, and Susanna stepped around the tree, only coming to a stop because Mr. Wade blocked her way.

He was watching her with interest, those green eyes assessing, then held out his arm. “You are not so inclined to see the remains today, Miss Leland?” he asked softly.

She straightened her shoulders and placed her hand on his forearm. “Whatever would give you that idea, Mr. Wade?”

“Perhaps you heard something distressing.”

There was no sympathy in his voice or demeanor, and she appreciated that.

“No, Mr. Wade, nothing unexpected, anyway. Men are a vulgar species.”

“We’re an entirely different species?”

“It sometimes feels that way, yes.”

“But two separate species can never mate,” he said, his face too obviously affronted. “How would we bear it?”

She willed herself not to blush, knowing that she was too old for such a reaction to the intimate topic. “So you know about classifying creatures by species?”

He blinked at her. “Classifying by species? I do not know what you mean.”

She studied him with narrowed eyes. He was behaving too innocently, and she did not know him well enough to interpret. “Species are grouped together because of certain likenesses. But I know not all of you men are alike. And certainly the male members of my family do not mind a lively intellectual conversation. There must be other men of similar bent.”

He grinned. “You are not walking with one. Have you written Keane off your list of eligible gentlemen?”

She glanced ahead, where most of the guests led. Lord Keane was escorting Lady May, and her trilling laugh probably could have been heard from the next parish.

“Not yet. Some men hide their true selves from other men.”

“But not me.”

“Why did I know you would say that?”

He laughed.

“So are you qualified to give advice on every man here?” she asked.

“I might be, but you won’t need to return the favor. I already know the type of woman I want—though I am too young to be in a hurry to marry.”

“How lucky for you. Do describe her for me.”

“She’ll be accomplished, of course, in every feminine art.”

“I’m shocked that your first word wasn’t ‘beautiful.’ ”

“I am not so shallow.”

She gave a slight cough of disbelief. “I think you simply know what to say to me.” Which led her to deduce he could read people, at least down to a certain level. While that might impress her, she shouldn’t be surprised. Anyone who could still move among Society after some of the outrages he’d committed—bringing women of the demimonde to a duke’s ball!—had to be able to tell just how far outside the boundaries he could go. “Then do explain what sort of feminine arts a man such as yourself prefers.”

“Serving tea, of course. She must have the steadiest hand.”

She bit her lip to keep from laughing at him. Mr. Wade was used to being amusing—she didn’t want to make it so easy for him. She did admit to surprise at how easily he had a response to everything she said, sometimes entertaining, sometimes intriguing. She wouldn’t have guessed it of him.

He helped her to step up and over a fallen log on the hillside, and the imprint of his hand on her arm seemed to remain far too long. Shaking her head, she returned her focus to their conversation.

Perhaps he was being honest with her. Serving tea was certainly a necessary talent in a well-bred young lady. Susanna usually spilled hers because she was always thinking about something else.

“She should have a tasteful eye for fashion and be able to shop for hours,” he continued.

“Shop for hours? Most men would shudder at such an expenditure.”

He shrugged. “I enjoy seeing a woman well adorned.”

“Another way we differ, Mr. Wade.”

He looked at her face, then his gaze slid slowly down her body. When she stumbled over a tree root, he caught her arm.

“I would not be so sure, Miss Leland. Look at how you’ve garbed yourself today.”

“You’re not serious, sir. This gown is at least three years old.”

“The horror.”

She laughed. “It is a sensible style that is simple and classic.”

“Hmm.”

“Yet you noticed it,” she said slyly, glancing sideways at him.

“How could I not? It is such an improvement.” He dropped his voice. “But perhaps I prefer you in nothing at all.”

She looked ahead again to keep herself from tripping the rest of the way down the hill. “I did say you were a vulgar species.”

“An honest one—and you yourself do not deny what you’ve done.”

“You’re taking the conversation away from our topic, Mr. Wade. How will I ever learn the skills I need to emphasize?”

“Sarcasm? It does not become you.”

“But it’s so true. I can cut out silhouettes, you know,” she whispered as if in confidence. “And I can embroider the alphabet in many different ways. I paste shells in picture frames.”

“Don’t speak too loudly. Not every woman has your artistic gifts and would be jealous.”

“But that is the sort of woman you want, isn’t it? You want her to be occupied with frivolous things.”

“Don’t forget gossip—I enjoy it immensely.”

“I believe you do if I’ve heard correctly.”

To her surprise, something flickered deep in his eyes, before he masked it.

“People are always talking about me,” he said flippantly.

“And you
like
that?” she asked in astonishment.