Saved by Scandal (23 page)

“Oh.” Exquisite was
not
a good sign.

Galen picked up a green jade horse from a comer table. He held the figurine up to the window, so the light flickered across the carved surfaces. “Florrie is as exquisite as this sculpture, and as cold and heartless. The woman has no soul, no honor, no shame. How could she possibly consider staying here, otherwise?”

He was looking so angry again that Margot hurried to take the jade horse away from him. “Did you love her?” she asked, having to know, no matter how painful the truth might be.

“Good grief, what’s that got to do with anything?” Then Galen noticed how upset Margot was, the way she was clutching the carved horse in white-knuckled hands. He took the figurine and carefully placed it back on the table, then held her hands in his. “Could it be that you are jealous, my dear? Don’t be, sweetheart, for Florrie means nothing to me, nothing but a parasite to exterminate, like Ruff’s fleas.”

“Rufus does not have fleas. Did you love her?” she repeated.

“I might have, in a casual, brotherly sort of way. I could not have loved her so deeply if I fell out of love so quickly, could I? Besides, if I loved Florrie to distraction, I couldn’t lo—That is, I couldn’t have grown so fond of you in such a short time.”

“And you are quite sure you won’t change your mind again, and fall back in love with her?”

Now she was grasping his hands as desperately as she’d held the horse, but his fingers were not carved of stone, so Galen pried them loose before her fingernails drew blood. “Silly goose, worrying over such an impossibility. Why
would I ever think of that bloodless beauty when I have you? Florrie is like a cold porcelain fashion doll, while you are a warm, loving woman.”

“Truly?”

He kissed her, raising that warmth a few degrees hotter. “Truly. Besides, a man does not easily get over such a blow to his pride. No, Florrie will be an old hag, living in Bath, I pray, long before my feelings for her soften.”

As usual when Galen kissed her, Margot’s wits went begging. All she could do was sigh in relief and contentment and pleasure at being in his arms again. The morning in his studio seemed days away. Lady Floria could be miles away.

Galen misinterpreted that sigh as one of reluctant acceptance of his attitude toward Florrie. “What can I do to convince you that it’s you I admire, your beauty that takes my breath away, your sweetness that gladdens my heart? I am delighted that I married you, sweetings, instead of an ice maiden from the
beau monde
, and you will just have to believe me.”

Of course Galen intended to prove his delight every night—and a few afternoons. If it took a year of lovemaking for Margot to stop doubting his sincerity, well, a fellow owed his wife peace of mind. Meantime, he recalled the necklace from Rundell and Bridges. “Here, I know what will persuade you.” He took the velvet box out of his pocket and put it in her hands. “I bought this for you today. Not for Florrie last month, not for some courtesan last year.”

Margot was raising the lid of the box. “But why? You have done so much for me al—Oh, how magnificent!” She lifted out the shimmering strand of perfectly matched diamonds, flowing like a crystal waterfall through her fingers.

“Why? Because I want to please you, my dear, because your happiness is my happiness.”

Luckily Clegg had provided Galen with two handkerchiefs that afternoon.

After drying her eyes, Margot fretted that she could not wear the necklace to Astley’s Amphitheater that evening. “I
cannot imagine diamonds being quite the fashion at the circus.”

“No, but they will be perfect for Vauxhall Gardens tomorrow night. There is to be a concert, dancing under the stars, and fireworks. Some of my friends and their wives invited us to share a box. Should you like to go?”

“It sounds heavenly, but what about Ansel? I hate to leave him alone.”

“Alone, with all the servants tripping over each other to cater to him, and the dog standing watch like Cerberus guarding the gates of Hades? He’ll be fine. You cannot keep the boy wrapped in cotton wool forever, you know.” And she could not keep the boy sleeping in her bed forever either! “In fact, I have been thinking that we will need to hire Ansel a tutor one of these days, to start preparing him for school if he wishes to attend. He’s so bright he can catch up to the others his age in no time, I am sure, if he isn’t already ahead of his years.”

“I don’t know that he’s had any lessons at all since I have been gone. He told me he read a great many books in Papa’s library, though, which had an eclectic collection. I have not wanted to question him too closely yet.”

“Formal schooling can wait till we get settled in the country, I suppose. Meantime, I thought to send for my old nanny. She’s been living with her brother since Harriet outgrew her, but she’s always complaining that she has no babies to cuddle, which is her way of urging me to marry. I know Ansel doesn’t need a nursemaid, but I thought you’d feel better having Nanny sleep in the nursery with him. You’ll like her, she plays the fiddle. And she will be thrilled to have you in the family.”

“You think of everything! Your nanny sounds perfect. When can she come?”

Not soon enough, for Galen’s sake.

“If I know Nanny, she will be here within the week. Between Clegg and Ella, Ansel should do fine until then. So may I tell my friends we will attend Vauxhall with them?”

“What about your sister and Lady Floria?”

“If my sister is too ill to travel to Bath, her health is certainly too precarious to jeopardize with a boat ride in the night air. As for Florrie, we’ve had enough fireworks with her. Come, let us see how the necklace looks.”

Galen leaned closer and reached behind her to fasten the clasp. Somehow his arms stayed wrapped around her, and the necklace was forgotten. Everything was forgotten for that matter, including the six months of celibacy, until the viscount’s reaching fingers encountered a thrice-folded page where he’d expected soft, warm flesh in the bodice of her gown.

Margot sat up—goodness, how had she come to be lying down, anyway?—and took the paper from him. “I forgot all about the letter from your father. Fenning was just handing it to me when we heard all the shouting, and I did not have a pocket, so I stuffed it there.”

“Whatever His Grace had to say, I am sure it can wait.” Galen was sure
he
would expire if he had to wait much longer.

Margot was already putting her finger under the seal to open the letter. “I wrote to him as soon as your sister arrived here, you know, so he would not worry.”

“He was most likely relieved that she was gone.” Galen would be.

“Gammon. His Grace is a devoted father. You’ll be just like him.”

“If I ever get the chance,” he muttered, while she read.

“Oh, dear. His
Epidendrum cochleatum
is in bud.”

“He’ll get over it, whatever that is.”

“It is a cockleshell orchid, which has never set a bud at Three Woods before.”

“Ah, then the governor should be in alt. We’ll send congratulations back with Harriet. First, though, let me admire the necklace a bit more before we have to get ready for Astley’s.” In Galen’s mind, Margot was reclining on the sofa in his studio, wearing the diamonds and nothing else. Regrettably, he would not be painting that portrait any time soon, not with Ansel wandering through his studio. Then again, if Margot was posing nude, Galen doubted he’d get much painting done.

His reverie was rudely interrupted. “You don’t understand. Because his orchid is about to flower, he cannot come to London to fetch Lady Harriet.”

“Fine, we’ll send her in the coach.”

“But he is asking us to keep her here until he arrives for our fete.”

“What? Let me see that!”

Galen snatched the paper out of her hands and started reading. “Bloody hell!”

“He does apologize for the inconvenience, with us so newly wed.”

“Inconvenience? This is a catastrophe. He says he has decided that Bath won’t do for Harry. What he means is Bath won’t survive Harry.”

“He is wise enough to realize that she won’t stay there, not after she showed up here. Your sister would depart your aunt’s house without a by-your-leave as soon as she could hire a coach.”

Galen kept reading, and kept cursing. “So His Grace has decided to take her with him on a garden tour this summer. You think he is wise? Of all the bacon-brained notions! Harriet has as much interest in flowers as she does in philosophy.”

“Yes, but she might enjoy visiting various summer houses, where the hosts might have sons or other, younger guests.”

“Yes, and their travels will give us some time alone in the country, when we get there, so I suppose that is a blessing. Oh, no, His Grace writes that the neighbors are already planning receptions in our honor. Harry won’t want to miss them, so she’ll talk my father into leaving her behind with us. Botheration.” He tossed the letter aside, in aggravation.

“We’ll face that when the time comes. But what shall we do with her now, here in London?”

“Well, you are not to fret, for one thing. Harry is not your responsibility, and I don’t mean to make her one. I was hoping you’d help with her come-out in the fall, since we’ll have to see about your presentation anyway, but I never meant for you to have charge of the brat.”

“Your sister is my sister, remember?”

“You didn’t know what you were getting when we made the bargain.”

Margot was reading the rest of the duke’s letter. “Your father says that if we don’t have dancing at the party, Harriet can attend.” She looked to Galen for his opinion.

“Just what we need, a rag-mannered schoolgirl ruining our first entertainment. Why don’t we cancel the whole thing, so His Grace does not have to leave his orchids at all, and we can send Harry home tomorrow?”

“You were the one who wanted to host a party, you know. The invitations have been printed and the food ordered and the orchestra hired. Fenning is looking forward to showing off the house again.”

“And I live to please my butler. Blast. When is the wretched event, anyway?”

“In two weeks.”

“We’ll have Harriet on our hands for another fortnight? Devil take it.”

“Worse, I suppose we’ll have Lady Floria, too.”

“Not on your life. Remember what I said about never striking a woman? I take it back. If she is here, I cannot guarantee my actions. Harriet is horror enough, but Florrie is far more than a man can bear. Besides, we won’t need her to chaperon my sister, for I intend to lock Harry in her room and throw away her shoes. And the sheets, so she cannot climb down the window. And her money, so she cannot bribe the servants, and…”

Margot returned to the unfinished letter. “Your father
thinks we should have a musical evening with a late supper, instead of a ball.”

“Good. I was not looking forward to seeing my wife in the arms of every other gentleman in London.”

“While I was afraid not enough people would come. But His Grace suggests that I should be among the professional entertainers.”

The Town beaux would all be ogling his wife, but from a distance, so Galen liked the idea better. “That would be splendid, my dear.”

Margot creased the letter. “But I thought you wanted the
ton
to forget I was on the stage, so they could pretend I am one of them.”

“You are one of them; Viscountess Woodbridge. I want them all to see you for what else you are: a marvelously talented woman. But don’t perform if you do not wish to, Margot. You can play and sing for my father this summer, so he will be content.”

“Very well, then I can tell His Grace to send my regrets to His Highness.”

“His Highness? Here, let me see that.” Galen took up the letter again, reading all the way to the end this time. “My father was not merely suggesting you sing, my dear, he was passing along Prinny’s request.”

“Yes, I read that, but I already sang for the Prince once.”

“I am sorry, pet, but I fear a royal request is as good as a command. You’ll have to sing for your supper—our supper—and pray Prinny does not invite you to Brighton for the summer.”

Margot raised her chin. “If I have to sing, then your paintings go on exhibit in the library.”

Galen dropped the letter as if it were on fire. “However did you come to that conclusion? You are a consummate professional, trained by Italian and French masters.”

“Do you expect me to believe you never studied with the finest artists you could find?”

“That’s different. I merely dabble. I’d never think of
showing my work to the
beau monde
,
where everyone is a critic, especially those in the Prince’s entourage. Brummell is a connoisseur, and Prinny fancies himself a collector.”

“Good, then we will both be anxious about trying to please them.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

Whoever said eavesdroppers never hear good of themselves would have said, “Aha!” But whoever said pretty is as pretty does would have said, “Uh-oh.”

Floria would not have been listening at the keyhole if Fenning had been on duty, but the stately, bald-patey butler was trying to refurbish his wig in time to serve a proper dinner. Mrs. Hapgood and Mrs. Shircastle were outdoing each other in offering assistance, soaps, or sustenance, as their talents directed, so the wig restoration was taking twice as long. The footman assigned to guard the parlor door had been hurriedly delegated to escort Ruff to the side yard, the ingested bonbons having a predictable effect on the animal’s innards.