Marchington Scandal (7 page)

A titter arose as the thin man bridled. “I must bow to your knowledge
there
, Tillston,” he replied. “I'm sure you know a
great
deal more of Miss Daltry than I do.” His tone was so offensive that Katharine was appalled. She had never seen this man before. Why should he embroil her in just the kind of brangling, gossip-feeding situation she hated?

A cold, masterful voice cut across Tony's indignant rejoinder. “We are all acquainted with Miss Daltry,” said Lord Stonenden, “
and
her family, which is more than one can say for the scaff and raff one is continually meeting in town these days.”

His implication was so clear, and so insulting, that several people gasped. Katharine herself, though grateful for his intervention, thought he was being excessively harsh.

“I don't see what that has to do with anything,” answered Winstead, his voice squeaking more than ever.

Lord Stonenden stepped closer to him. The contrast was marked. “Naturally you do not.”

The thin dandy quailed before him, then looked to Sir Thomas for aid. The artist, who had appeared increasingly uncomfortable during this exchange, shifted from one foot to the other and murmured, “Here, gentlemen.”

Lord Stonenden's lip curled. “You are charitable.”

Mr. Winstead, routed, turned on his heel and stalked from the room, throwing Katharine a glance filled with such venom that she shivered.

“Don't heed him,” said Stonenden, who had returned to her side. “No one else will. He is the veriest worm.”

“You were very severe with him,” replied Katharine.

“He deserved it. I can't abide toadeaters.”

She gazed at him in astonishment, and he laughed. “No, he wasn't toadeating
you
. But he does Lawrence, and he has tried his tricks with me. He is tolerated because he writes a column for one of the artistic journals, but he is a man of no birth and indifferent education. He will not annoy you again. He hasn't the courage.”

His tone was so contemptuous that Katharine could not help but feel a twinge of compassion for the wretched Winstead. The man might be exasperating, but surely no one deserved the kind of set-down Stonenden had given him. Katharine would not have spoken so harshly herself, and she was the one insulted. It was just like Stonenden, she thought, to treat him so. Perhaps it was this very attitude that made Winstead so disagreeable.

At this moment, Tony joined them. “I say, Katharine, I am sorry about that. Winstead is abominable. Are you much upset?”

“No, I am all right. But I am still angry with you, so you needn't look relieved.”

Tony grinned. “No, come. You must be pleased that Lawrence praised your paintings. And Stonenden, of course. Without me, you would never have shown your things to anyone.”

Katharine fought a smile, and lost. “Tony, you really are despicable.”

They laughed together.

Lord Stonenden cleared his throat.

Tony turned to him. “You certainly gave Winstead his own again. I felt quite sorry for him.” The other man did not look particularly gratified.

Looking away, Katharine noticed that several new arrivals were being taken to see her paintings, which now rested against the wall of the drawing room. “Tony,” she exclaimed, “we must gather up those canvases and go. I have had all the ‘praise' I can endure for one day.”

“Yes, I think we should go. Wait a moment and I'll get them.” Tony went over to fetch the canvases.

“An enterprising young man,” murmured Stonenden.

“Too enterprising,” laughed Katharine.

“Your work shows real talent.”

This remark was so abrupt that Katharine blinked. She did not know quite how to respond to a compliment from Stonenden.

“Do you think of selling anything?” he added.

“Oh, no. I paint for myself only.”

“I see. And yet, it is important to you.”

She raised her eyebrows. This conversation was taking the oddest turn. “It is.”

Tony came up with the paintings under his arm, “Ready?”

Katharine nodded and took her leave.

“If
I
can be of any help, you need only say so,” responded the other man as they walked away.

“What did he mean by that?” wondered Tony, following her down the stairs.

“I haven't the least notion.”

Stonenden, watching them go out together, might have agreed. He really had been much struck by Katharine's paintings. They were good, and he respected her talent. And seeing Katharine more or less under the protection of Tillston had given him the oddest feeling. He had had a strong urge to outdo Tony's half-joking show of her work with some truly stunning service. Yet when he had moved to rescue her from Winstead's attack, he had seen more disapproval than gratitude in her face. Stonenden knew Winstead for an unprincipled social climber, ready to go to any length to establish himself, and utterly unconcerned about who might be injured in the process. He fabricated gossip to make himself interesting, and Stonenden knew of at least one case where he had not hesitated to ruin a respectable man's reputation, quite unjustly, in this cause. Yet Katharine seemed to feel sympathy for the man.

Stonenden shrugged and turned back to the group around Lawrence. But even as he joined the conversation, the picture of Katharine's laughing rapport with Tony Tillston came back to him, and he frowned so darkly that a young woman about to address him thought better of it and backed hastily away.

Katharine and Mary were to accompany Elinor to an evening party that night, and they called for her at nine. “Tom has been out all day,” were her first words. And she settled herself across from them with such a woebegone expression that Katharine immediately felt guilty. She had not thought of Elinor's problem all day.

“Well, that may mean nothing at all,” she replied, trying to sound cheerfully reassuring. “There are a great many things to fill a gentleman's time in London. I daresay Tom went to a boxing saloon, or to Tattersall's.”

“No, he didn't,” replied the other dejectedly. “I sent one of the footmen out to search for him. He wasn't in any of those places.”

“Elinor! You can't have done anything so foolish.”

“What do you mean? Of course I did. I wanted to know where he was.”

“But to send a servant! Don't you realize that will cause talk?”

“Oh no it won't,” retorted Elinor smugly. “I particularly instructed him to keep it a secret.”

Katharine groaned. “It needed only that.
Everyone
will be gossiping about ‘the Marchington scandal' by now.”

Tears started in Elinor's eyes. “B-but I…”

“Don't cry,” continued Katharine hastily. “I didn't mean to sound harsh. I know you are very upset. But you must understand that London is not unlike a small country neighborhood, Elinor. It seems quite large and private, but the circle of society is in fact very small, and all the servants know one another and gossip together. You would not have sent one of your country servants looking for Tom, would you?”

“Oh, no. They all know Sir Lionel's people. He would hear in an instant.”

“Well, it is not very different here, though it seems so.”

“I won't do so again,” answered Elinor in a small voice.

Katharine nodded and tried to smile encouragingly, not telling her younger cousin that the damage was most likely done. Once the
ton
got a whiff of scandal, it had its own ways of finding out more.

Mary Daltry reached across and patted Elinor's hand. “There, now. Everything is going to turn out for the best. And I daresay your footman is quite trustworthy, and no one has heard a word about it.”

But when they walked into their hostess's drawing room a short time later, it was immediately clear to Katharine that Mary's forecast had been overoptimistic. The room was already crowded, and there was a noticeable rise in the conversational hum at their entrance, several guests turning to look at Elinor. The avid gleam in their eyes told Katharine the whole, and her heart sank even as her chin came proudly up. It would, she was certain, be a difficult evening. She looked around for some friend that they might safely join, but at that moment the hostess signaled the beginning of the evening's musical entertainment, urging everyone into gilt chairs, with no thought beyond settling and quieting her audience. Thus, the Daltry party found itself placed next to Lady Jersey, one of the people Katharine had most hoped to avoid.

As the others were moving into their seats, Lady Jersey leaned forward and said to Elinor, “Where is your delightful husband this evening, my dear? I was quite charmed with him when we met.”

Elinor looked stricken, and Katharine could not help wincing at her inability to disguise her feelings before this notorious gossip. “Oh, Tom won't be dragged to a musical evening,” she responded lightly. “You know how gentlemen are, Lady Jersey. They will do anything to be excused from such things.”

“Alas. But one
would
expect a newly wed gentleman to make an exception, wouldn't one?” Her tone was so sweetly mocking that Katharine had to grit her teeth to keep back an angry reply. She saw tears swimming in Elinor's eyes and clenched her fists beneath her shawl. “And I do believe you are mistaken,” continued Lady Jersey, her voice full of wicked glee. “Isn't that Mr. Marchington now? I believe we have wronged him.”

Katharine and Elinor both turned to see Tom standing in the doorway with the Countess Standen on his arm. Katharine had to restrain a groan. Lady Jersey would gloat over this perfect coincidence for weeks. She heard Elinor make a small noise and hastened to say, “Yes, indeed, you are quite right. I shall apologize to Tom for underestimating his interest in music.”

“Music?” echoed Lady Jersey. “Yes, of course.”

To Katharine's vast relief, the musicians struck up, and they were free to turn away and present the semblance, at least, of listening. Elinor radiated unhappiness, and she could not seem to keep her eyes from turning toward Tom and the countess, but they need not endure any more malicious hints and smiles from other guests.

Katharine barely heard the concert, and at the interval she was one of the first out of her seat. “I think you should take Elinor home,” she whispered to Mary, “as soon as the crowd makes it unlikely that your departure will be noticed. She cannot bear this.”

Mary nodded, her eyes full of concern. “What about you? Won't you come with us?”

“No. I shall stay and try to smooth things over. It will be impossible with Tom hanging upon the countess, of course, but I shall do what I can.”

Mary nodded sympathetically and bent to speak to Elinor. In a few moments, when the room was crowded with groups of chattering guests, they slipped quietly out. But Katharine saw Lady Jersey's sharp eyes follow them. She herself looked quickly around and made her way determinedly over to Eliza Burnham.

Lady Burnham was standing alone in a window embrasure, having just rid herself of a well-known bore, and she smiled happily at Katharine when she came up. “My dear, how splendid. We can have a cozy chat here behind this curtain. I have never properly appreciated the usefulness of drawing-room hangings.”

The girl smiled slightly. “We can't go behind it, Eliza. It would be too cramped. And besides, anyone might come up and overhear your confidences from the other side.”

Lady Burnham was much struck by this. “Very true, my dear. You are so clever.” She looked around the room. “And I particularly wish
not
to be overheard just now. I must speak to you about something, Katharine.”

“There is no need. I know about the gossip. If you can tell me what to do about it, I shall be forever grateful.”

Eliza looked over to the corner where the Countess Standen was holding court, Tom Marchington a prominent member. “Oh, if only that woman's husband hadn't broken his neck on the hunting field. He kept her much too busy to make mischief.”

“I couldn't agree more,” replied Katharine dryly. “But, Eliza, what am I to do? I tried talking to Tom, but made an awful mull of it. And the countess wouldn't listen to me either, of course.” She shrugged. “There was no reason why she should.”

“You spoke to the countess?” Lady Burnham stared.

“Through the merest accident. And it did no good.”

“You are the most extraordinary girl, Katharine!”

“Possibly. But that cuts no ice in this case. Have you no good advice for me, Eliza?”

The older woman looked at the countess again. “Well, if there is no male relative you can go to…” She trailed off.

“Evidently there is not.”

“Well, then, Katharine, I do not see what you
can
do but ask help.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, my dear, you really cannot deal with a woman like that yourself.”

“I have told you that I cannot. I admit it freely. But what sort of help do you mean?”

Eliza eyed her friend; she was fairly certain that Katharine would not like the suggestion she was about to make. “The thing is, gentlemen are more accustomed to these sorts of tangles.” Seeing Katharine frown, she rushed on. “I advise you to ask some friend to help you, a man who would know how to handle the countess. It will be awkward, I know, but—”

“Awkward! Eliza, I cannot believe you mean what you are saying. I, to approach some gentleman with this kind of request? Who, pray?”

“Well, but you are acquainted with any number of—”

“Acquainted, yes. But that hardly allows for such a service. No, it is out of the question.”

“But, Katharine—”

“No, Eliza. Thank you, but I shall have to think of some scheme myself.”

“What sort of scheme?”

“I haven't the least notion,” snapped Katharine, “yet.” She sighed.

“And now, I must go about the room and try to convince people that all is well with Elinor and the rumors the merest silliness. Do come to see me soon, won't you?” And with this, she was gone.

Eliza Burnham watched her move through the crowd, smiling brilliantly and dropping an amusing remark here, a compliment there, the very picture of a carelessly happy member of society. She would have been fooled herself, she thought, if she had not just seen the worried look in Katharine's eyes. “Poor child,” she murmured to herself, and began to scan the room carefully. Finding what she sought, she hesitated, then walked purposefully across to speak to Oliver Stonenden.

She talked with him for some minutes, at first inconsequentially and then with strengthening purpose. Katharine, seeing the two of them a little later, wondered in passing what she could be saying. She knew that angle of Eliza's head. It meant that she was throwing out hints about some quite important matter even while her constant stream of agreeable chatter continued uninterrupted.

Katharine had seen it often. But what could she be discussing with Lord Stonenden?

She dismissed the question with a shrug, but it recurred later in the evening when she encountered Stonenden himself. This gentleman, attired with his usual somber elegance, greeted her with unaccustomed cordiality. “Quite a different scene from our last meeting, Miss Daltry.”

“Indeed, yes.” Katharine felt a twinge of curiosity. “Do you go often to Sir Thomas's?”

“Tolerably often. He is an engaging companion. And just now, I am trying to convince him to accept a commission. My Uncle Charles insists that I must have a portrait done to add to the superfluity of family likenesses already in my possession. I hoped Lawrence would do it, but he is much occupied at present.”

“He is the best.”

“Unquestionably. But I get the distinct notion he prefers painting ladies.” Stonenden smiled, but Katharine did not respond. Was he mocking Sir Thomas Lawrence? Did he dare?

“What was Eliza Burnham telling you so earnestly a while ago,” she said to change the subject. “I recognized her ‘managing' look from across the room.”

“Did you?”

“Oh, yes. And I would wager that she was trying to persuade you to do something you haven't the least wish to do. Was she hinting for a contribution to her orphans? Eliza is mad on the subject of orphans. She has helped endow three foundling homes that I know of.”

“No, it wasn't orphans.” The man's dark blue eyes watched Katharine speculatively. “But you may say it was a sort of charity case.”

“I knew it!” laughed Katharine. “You did not succumb, of course.”

Stonenden surveyed her sparkling amber eyes and the charming curve of her smile. “You sound very certain of that.”

The girl stared at him. “You mean you did?”

“Is it so surprising? Perhaps it is, to you.”

Katharine quickly hid her real amazement with a renewed smile. “I warn you, Eliza will mark you down for every sad case she unearths.”

Smiling a bit wryly in return, he said, “Oh, I think not. She sees me as rather specialized, I believe.” As he spoke, a shadow passed across Katharine's face, and her smile faded. “What is it?”

“Nothing, nothing. So you are to help Eliza in one of her schemes. Famous.”

But the bantering note had gone out of her voice, and Stonenden, glancing quickly behind, saw that Tom Marchington and Elise Standen were saying farewell to their hostess. He looked down at Katharine. For a fleeting moment, the public mask had dropped from her face, and it showed a mixture of helpless frustration and anger. Against his will, Stonenden was moved. “It can be stopped,” he said involuntarily.

Katharine started. “What? Oh, yes, you were telling me about Eliza's charity case. It is admirable of you to help her. I am sure it is a very worthy cause.”

His dark blue eyes unreadable, he replied, “I think, you know, that it is.”

She nodded absently, watching Tom escort the countess out the door.

“Miss Daltry, you spoke to me about your cousin Marchington recently,” ventured her companion.

Katharine looked up at him, her face suddenly closed. “Tom? Oh, yes. Such a silly boy. He is amusing us all so with this flirtation. Elinor was in whoops only last night.” She met his eyes, as if daring him to contradict her. She had been taking this line all evening, and she believed she had had some success in quelling the gossip that had arisen, though many, like Lady Jersey, were clearly skeptical.

“Yes,” agreed Stonenden, “he is acting the fool like most young men set down for the first time in London. He will get over it.”

“Oh, of course! Why, I would hardly call it anything to ‘get over.'”

“But the process can be hastened,” he continued, ignoring her light reply. “By one who knows how.”

Katharine stared at him. He seemed a good deal more concerned with Tom than she would have expected, or than she liked. What interest could Lord Stonenden have in Tom Marchington, a raw youth from the country? None, unless as a subject for derision, she concluded. “It is not really of the least consequence,” she said airily. “Oh, there is Lady Sefton. I must speak to her. Excuse me.”

He bowed slightly, and she moved on, completing her round of the party's guests. Stonenden watched her progress for some time, his darkly handsome face intent. And when one of his friends joined him and inquired what was making him so serious, he replied, “I was thinking that a woman can show as much gallantry as any man. More, perhaps,” which surprised the other gentleman considerably.