Secrets of a Scandalous Heiress (9 page)

Ahead on the path, the others walked on. The viscount's Malacca cane waved back over his diminutive shoulder, all but hidden within the cluster of promenaders. “Good day, you lovely creature! What a pleasure it was to see you!”

Like dogs summoned by a whistle, the argumentative dandies raced after Whittingham.

And onward the unlikely assortment trundled, like a ball of bright sweets rolling uphill to the pavilion.

Their receding voices made the silence around Augusta vibrate. “Well, if that doesn't beat all. They left me.”

“Not all of them.”

She started, heels scraping in the gravel as she twisted. “Joss. I thought you left too.”

“Of course not. I'm your chaperone.” He held out a gloved hand—and her folded parasol, which she only now realized she had left behind. “Shall I really see you home, or were you merely making an excuse?”

“Both.” She clasped his hand for a moment before he drew hers into the crook of his elbow. “I confess, I am not impressed with Mrs. Flowers. She must be so careful not to say or do the wrong thing that she is hardly more than an ornament.” The dandies had found her worthy of notice because there was only one of her, and the others must not be permitted to possess her. Rather like a bespoke pocket watch or a particularly fine cockade for a hat.

“Mrs. Flowers did fine,” Joss said as they began retracing their steps in the direction of the garden's entrance. “Not as well as Miss Meredith, but well enough.”

“Miss Meredith would never have threatened to faint.”

“No, she would probably have made good on her threat of tossing men into the canal, which would end in all the fashionable men of Bath dying of a lung fever. In addition, Miss Meredith would never have laughed so much at so little, which, considering the company, is exactly what the occasion called for.”

His honesty was like a diamond, bright and cleaving. It cleared the cobwebs from her head and made the sky a little lighter. “It was effective enough in the end,” she granted. “But we only learned Whittingham cannot invest in Lord Sutcliffe's…”

“Difficulties.”

“Precisely. So there was no real benefit to the meeting at all.”

“No benefit? You are quite wrong, my dear fake widow. We have learned the location of Lord Whittingham's favored tailor in France. Surely that is worth a few hours of our mortal lives.”

“I really should have thrown you into the canal.”

He pressed a hand to his heart. “It would be my honor to take a tumble for you.”

Tumble
. Did he mean it in the bawdy sense? She was unsure, and so her cheeks—of course—flushed. “Are you sure you ought to be speaking to me in that way?” she said lightly. “I have asked you so many times.”

“I have begun to think,” he said, “that there is precious little I
ought
to say to you, and precious little that I won't.”

She liked this reply, but she did not know what sort to return. To freeze off this sally was unthinkable, but what would be the purpose of flirting back?

Or was he flirting at all? It was so difficult to tell when a man, by his own admission, would say almost anything.

As he walked at her side, legs striding long and certain, shoulders square, it was impossible not to think of a tumble. Of being stripped bare. Of…trusting.

How had those women of his past persuaded him out of his clothing? How had they won his hope? What had they offered; what had they promised?

Augusta had given him honesty, and it had not been enough. Or perhaps it was too much. It was hard to tell the difference sometimes.

A few people greeted Mrs. Flowers as they walked, and Augusta felt more and more as though she were wearing a costume. And as one at a masquerade, the compliments and praise were good only while the farce lasted. They had no reflection on her real self.

Joss accompanied her to the door of Emily's house. At the top step, he took her hands in his. Bending his head to hers, he kissed her on the forehead—a swift, warm press of lips that sent a sweet pulse of shock through her.

“Thank you for your company, Mrs. Flowers. Miss Meredith.” His eyes were shadowed and deep, his mouth a firm curve. So long had they walked in silence that she almost forgot speech was allowed. Still, she could manage none; she only nodded a farewell before stepping inside.

She caught sight of herself in the foyer glass, bonnet wind-tumbled and cheeks pink with confusion and desire; lips that had spoken foolish words, then been silent at the wrong time. What should she have said, though? What did he mean; what did he want?

Atop her shoulders, the invisible boulder threatened to roll. Her chest gave a warning hitch.

“That won't do,” she told her reflection. “You're Mrs. Flowers.” She glared until the mirror woman began to correct her expression. Feature by feature, she changed herself: closing her eyes until they agreed not to make tears; breathing slowly through her nose until it resumed working with her lungs, collecting air without that terrible heavy hitch pressing on her.

When she opened her eyes again, she managed to smile. “Emily,” she called upstairs. “How do you feel? Shall we go to an assembly tonight?”

Sometimes one was far too lonely to be left alone.

“Why,” Augusta asked with some suspicion the following day, “are there four places laid for dinner? I thought we were to dine alone before attending the theater tonight.”

From the doorway of the dining room, Emily replied, “A slight change of plans. As of a few days ago, we've a new neighbor to the west.”

“Lord Sutcliffe, you mean?”

“Yes, I have invited him to dine with us. Poor fellow, his servants have hardly unpacked, and there's no telling what his cook may be feeding him. A dinner with friends is much more pleasant than a meat pie from a public house, wouldn't you say?”

“Certainly.” Augusta regarded her clothing with some doubt. “Though I ought to change my gown.”

She had planned to don an evening frock after dinner, before she and Emily ventured out to the theater. At the moment, then, she still wore her tawny cotton day dress. Earlier today, it had traveled on a carriage ride to Claverton Downs with a man named Prewitt, and it had entertained Hiccuper—whose real name proved to be Harris—and a few friends for tea. It had clothed Mrs. Flowers for a long day of smiles and coos and pleasant chatter.

Augusta had looked forward to being Miss Meredith for a while this evening.

“You haven't time to change. They'll be here any minute, as they have only to walk from next door.” Emily shook her perfectly coiffed auburn head. She had changed for dinner, and despite her pallor, she looked elegant in buttery silk with puffed sleeves and sweeping swags of lace about the skirt.

Augusta indicated the fourth place setting. “Who will accompany Lord Sutcliffe?”

“Mr. Everett, of course.” Emily beamed at Augusta. “Do you hear the door knocker? I think they've arrived. Come, we'll meet them in the drawing room.”

Augusta's heart thumped harder than was necessary for a healthy young woman climbing a single flight of stairs. Foolish organ.

The men reached the drawing room only a minute after Emily and Augusta had settled themselves. Lord Sutcliffe entered first, thin yet resplendent in a plum-colored velvet coat, and Joss trailing behind wearing his usual black. The women greeted them warmly, Augusta trying to smooth the wrinkles from her day dress as she stood.

“Thank you for joining us,” Emily said. “I am so glad we have two such amiable neighbors next door.”

“Oh, Everett doesn't stay at my lodging.” Lord Sutcliffe carried a bottle of something spirituous, which he handed to Joss as he made his bows to the women.

Augusta tilted her head, surprised, but before she could comment, Joss replied. “Of course not. Lord Sutcliffe is a sedate married man. I cannot have him circumscribing my pleasures.”

“How wicked, Mr. Everett! You must tell us more.” Emily twinkled, and Sutcliffe beamed at her. Joss's own smile looked odd, merely an ill-fitting shape on his face. When Augusta caught his eye, he looked away, fingers gripping the bottle's neck tightly.

“Lord Sutcliffe,” Emily added, “I believe you have met my friend, Mrs.—” Emily cut herself off, eyes opening wide. Augusta's fingers went cold.
Of
course
. She had met Sutcliffe before in London. He would know her true name.
Oh, damn.

“Mrs. Flowers,” Joss spoke up from behind the baron, directing a tiny shake of his head to the women. “No, Sutcliffe, I don't think you have yet made her acquaintance.”

“Then the honor is mine.” The baron bowed over Augusta's right hand as her left still tried to bring order to her worn day dress. “Sure we haven't been introduced before, ma'am? You do look familiar. I never forget a pretty face.”

“Well, if we
had
met, I'm sure I should never forget a baron. So therefore we must not have met, my lord.” As though this made perfect sense, Augusta mustered Mrs. Flowers's smile, a simper with a dash of syrup. “I am so glad we have the chance to make one another's acquaintance. For the first time.”

“The honor is mine. And what a pleasure to dine in this lovely house!” Sutcliffe spread his arms wide. “Lovely, lovely. I ought to have you come look around mine, Lady Tallant, to lend it your magic touch. The furniture is in a sad state compared to this house. Why, some of the velvet on the drawing room settee is worn to the nap.”

“Dear me,” Emily said. “That sounds most uncomfortable. Have you taken a long lease?”

“A week at a time. But I'm here for as long as need be.” Sutcliffe winked. “There's so much in Bath I haven't seen yet. Did you know a man can hire a private bath, and no one would even know who would come and go? We could have an assembly in a bath!”

“I take a private bath daily, but I never thought of hosting an assembly in a bathhouse.” Only the slight tilt of Emily's head betrayed her bemusement.

“Lord Sutcliffe is a fount of ideas,” murmured Joss.

The blond-haired man beamed. “Truer words were never spoken, and all that. When I'm next in London, I shall see whether I can have a bath constructed for my house. In the ballroom, maybe? It would be simple to have an assembly in a bath if the bath were in a ballroom. Everett, hold tight to that bottle. I had it sent all the way from Switzerland.”

They all blinked into this whirlwind of conversation for an instant.

Augusta filled the succeeding pause. “Ah—Lady Tallant, I believe you mentioned that dinner was likely ready?”

“Indeed, yes!” Emily jumped on this excuse. “Lord Sutcliffe, please do see me down. Mr. Everett, you will accompany Mrs. Flowers?”

With more spirit than grace, Emily seized the baron's arm and dragged him from the room. As soon as they crossed the threshold, Augusta whispered, “Thank you, Joss. I had not realized in time that your cousin had met me before. I just learned the pair of you were to dine tonight, which is why I'm still wearing—” She cut herself off, fisting a wad of cotton skirts. The state of her clothing mattered far less than the state of her reputation. “Well. Thank you again for covering my uncertainty. But surely he'll remember at any time, won't he? Best that I pretend to be ill and bow out of the dinner.”

“No need, I assure you.” A pinched smile marred Joss's handsome features. “Lord Sutcliffe has a poor memory for names, and as the meal goes on, it shall only become poorer.” He brandished the tinted glass bottle, which contained a pale liquid.

He held out his other arm, and once Augusta tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow, he added, “Only act as though all is well, and all shall be well. I've known him my whole life, and I can promise you you're quite safe. Lord Sutcliffe is ready to be pleased.”

“And you?” Beneath his coat sleeve, she could feel the strong line of his forearm. “What are you ready for?”

His eyes were dark as smoke as he caught her gaze. “My dear fake widow, I am ready for whatever lies ahead.”

***

An hour later, Joss was relieved that his comforting words to Augusta had been proved accurate. Between Lady Tallant's gracious manners, Lord Sutcliffe's chatter, and Augusta's relentless smiles, there was scarcely a pause in the flow of conversation. The dining room itself was cheerful as a garden, its pale green wallpaper overgrown with vines and fat pink flowers. Silver and china beamed up from the glossy table, and an extravagant fire snapped impishly from the grate. Even the portrait over the chimneypiece, a fat old bewigged gentleman, looked pleased with itself.

Good. For now, everything was good. And where Sutcliffe was concerned,
for
now
was the only thing on which he could rely.

Joss forked up a bite of capon, savoring the tender richness of the roasted meat. Along with this delicacy, their hostess had provided puffy little Yorkshire puddings, savory from drippings. Also arrayed about the table were creamed turnips, sweetbreads, a ham, walnuts, and several sorts of boiled vegetables. And wine, of course—a deep red wine as well as a sherry.

Just a small dinner at one's home. Nothing fancy.

As usual, Sutcliffe had allowed himself to be served a full plate of food, then messed about with it so industriously that no one suspected he hardly ate a thing. His glass had been refilled several times, though, and Joss had noticed the baron's fingers wandering toward the breast pocket in which his pouch of
somalata
always waited. He had shared out the mysterious beverage from Switzerland, too.

“Absinthe,” he explained as a footman poured the pale green beverage into glasses. “It's made from wormwood and fennel. Medicinal! Some people mix it with water, but I don't believe there's any need for that bother.”

He raised his glass in a toast to his hostess and “her lovely companion,” then tossed back his drink as though it were lemonade. Joss sipped at the unfamiliar beverage slowly. It smelled of anise, and it bit sharply at the tongue and the back of his throat. One taste was enough; he set it aside in favor of wine.

Lady Tallant and Augusta seemed to have thought the same; after a dutiful sip, they too set their glasses aside.

“Thank you for allowing us to sample the absinthe,” Augusta said. As Mrs. Flowers, her voice was sweeter and higher than the usual. “I do love trying something new.”

“Here now, you're not going to finish it? It
does
have that strong flavor. Medicinal, as I said. Good for the health! But if you prefer wine, that never did anyone harm either.” Sutcliffe tilted his own empty glass, squinting at the dregs. “Pass me your glasses, dear ladies; I shall tidy up every hint of the offending liquor.”

True to his word, the second and third glasses joined the first in quick succession. “To keep my health in fine form, I do love to try remedies from around the world,” the baron confided. “It's my way of traveling, since family responsibilities keep me at home so much.”

Joss gulped his wine to help him swallow the
ha
of protest that threatened to burst forth. If by
family
responsibilities
Sutcliffe meant
overspending
the
allowance
from
my
wife
through
gambling
and
extravagance
, then indeed, family responsibilities curtailed the baron's dreams of traveling the world and imbibing absinthe in its homeland.

“I understand completely,” said Lady Tallant. In the dim light of the fire and overhead chandelier, she looked shadow-eyed, though her expression was as pleasant as ever. “One's family is ever in mind, even when far away. I miss Lord Tallant and my sons terribly, but we have been writing to one another every day.” Her smile trembled. “I hope it shall not be long before we are together again, but the physicians in Bath are remarkably cautious.”

“You do not take their advice,” Augusta chided. “The last one instructed you to have beef three times each day.” For a moment, her brows drew together and she looked like her spirited self; then, with a quick dart of her eyes in the direction of Sutcliffe, her face became a cheerful blank.

“Beef, ham, capon.” Lady Tallant shrugged. “Surely it's all the same. I find that company does me more good than resting and stuffing myself.” She leaned forward. “Lord Sutcliffe, do tell me about your family. You have two daughters, I think?”

“And a son, yes.” The baron pulled forth his pouch and sprinkled
somalata
atop his food before forking up a bite. “Medicinal,” he explained, then added, “Yes, I've three little treasures. They're very fond of magic. Have you ever seen me pull a shilling from someone's ear? They love that trick. I say, your maids would like it too. Have you any maids around?”

Joss cleared his throat.

Lady Tallant spoke again. “How old are your daughters? Are they much alike?”

Sutcliffe considered. “They do look rather alike, yes. One of them is five years old.”

Joss shut his eyes for a moment. “They are
both
five years old,” he said, “as they are twins.”

“So they are.” Sutcliffe beamed. “I ought to have said so. Never had any twins in my family before. But then I suppose they were Lady Sutcliffe's doing, weren't they? Once they were born, I wasn't sure how I'd manage, but they're pleasant little things.”

Whom
you
only
see
for
a
few
minutes
each
day
, Joss thought. But it was not his place to interject; only to butter and sweeten the conversation if Sutcliffe began pouring forth too much of his
medicinal
insight.

Besides this, Lady Tallant seemed hardly to be listening to the baron's conversational meanderings. “Do you think there is a great difference in the constitution of girls and boys? I've raised my sons largely in London, but perhaps a girl would not tolerate the city air. I—don't know.” Her laugh was an odd, shivery thing. “How could I know? I've no daughter.”

When Augusta caught her eye with a concerned expression, Joss thought he understood why Lady Tallant was so pale, and for what reason she had traveled to Bath to recover.

Despite the countess's laden table, warm house, silk gown, and attractive face, Joss pitied her. How many of her blessings would Lady Tallant give up in order to bear another child?

But the world did not permit such trades. If it did, Joss would long ago have bartered his pestilent honor for a more respectable birth or a wholly English heritage. But these things were intertwined, inextricable.

“Since I have two daughters,” Sutcliffe was saying, “that's almost as though I've an extra. I could send one to stay with you in London and you could see if she gets sick. And you could send one of your sons to the country. He could play with my son, Toddy.”

“Teddy,” Joss muttered. “A toddy is a drink.”