To Make a Match (A Scandal in London Novel) Read online

  Carriages lined the drive, footmen streamed in and out of the house bearing luggage, and maids hurried to and fro, settling their masters and mistresses into chambers. Tonight’s dinner would be an intimate affair with their overnight guests. There were twenty-nine in all, including Julius and Withington. Everyone else would arrive tomorrow afternoon for the ball.

  Not one invitation had been turned down. Everyone had wanted to be part of what was being called “the event of the Season”—the first in over a decade to be hosted by the Duke of Richmond.

  Not since she was a little girl had she seen such a spectacle in her home. In those days, Mama had enjoyed playing hostess. Now, twelve years later, her sister was taking on that role.

  She looked at Amelia with mixed feelings. She still didn’t understand why her sister had arranged this hunt, but she was grateful for the apparent cease-fire between them. She didn’t trust it entirely, but it felt a lot better than their previous open warfare.

  Hoping to maintain the truce, Victoria had dressed specifically to please her.

  Amelia’s eyes had glowed with approval when their maid Hannah had taken out the peridot-gold brocade gown—a relic of fashion—to let the wrinkles out. Victoria knew it was far less flattering to her figure than more recent additions to her wardrobe, but it wouldn’t matter after tonight.

  She’d also purposely instructed Hannah to find a fichu to help conceal the décolletage. After tomorrow, she’d never wear another fichu again for as long as she lived.

  To complete the ensemble, she selected a long, braided necklace of seed pearls. Papa had presented her with them on her birthday last year. He always gave her pearls for her birthday. He’d done so every year since Mama had died.

  After tomorrow, she’d never wear another pearl, either.

  A servant informed them that Lords Withington and Cavendish had arrived and were being settled into their chambers.

  “I shall go and oversee the final preparations for dinner,” said Amelia. “I expect there may be a few unanticipated additions tonight before all is said and done, and I wish there to be no embarrassments on either side.”

  She paused before closing the door. “Victoria, everything we do over the next two days will be analyzed to within an inch of its life and discussed at length for months. Every word, every expression, every tiny detail will be picked apart. Do not be tempted to foolishness. We must not embarrass Papa, who has planned this grand affair for our benefit. We must both act in such a manner as to make him proud.”

  Nodding meekly, Victoria bit her tongue, pushing her guilt into the darkest, dustiest corner of her mind.

  Her excitement grew as the clock struck the dinner hour and guests began filtering into the room. Silks rustled and jewels glittered as everyone found their places. Papa opened the meal with an elegant toast to the king, and everyone gave a rousing “Hurrah!”

  Dinner commenced.

  Despite her sister’s obvious distrust, Victoria behaved with perfect propriety throughout the repast.

  The meal passed without mishap, and Amelia announced that the library was open to the gentlemen for their pleasure, and that anyone interested was invited to join her in the music room.

  As expected, Julius and Withington followed their hostesses rather than joining the male exodus. Pipes and political debate took a rear seat to courtship, naturally.

  Amelia opened the evening’s entertainment by accompanying herself on the pianoforte.

  “Wonderfully talented, don’t you think?” Victoria whispered to Withington as they watched. So rapt was his attention that he failed to answer her. She smiled at his vacant stare. It was becoming quite clear that his interest in her sister was more than a passing one.

  Amelia finished her piece to polite applause and turned the floor over to their guests. When she joined their party, Victoria marked that she chose a seat on the other side of Withington rather than beside Julius.

  “Isn’t Lady Thornhill a marvel?” asked Amelia as the woman plucked the strings of the harp.

  “Oh, yes, of course,” answered Withington, though he was still staring at her. “Truly gifted. A tremendous voice.”

  “She isn’t singing,” Victoria hissed softly, elbowing him.

  “What?” He looked to Lady Thornhill, and his ears pinked. “Oh. Yes. Well. The harp sounds so heavenly that perhaps I mistook it for singing.”

  Amelia’s cheeks grew suspiciously rosy.

  The pair sat through the rest of the exhibition in silence until Lady Thornhill was finished. Immediately after applauding the performance, Withington stood and begged leave to fetch refreshment. As soon as he was safely away and her sister distracted by her duties as hostess, Victoria followed him.

  “Methinks someone is becoming quite smitten,” she sang softly from behind him.

  He nearly dropped the sherry he was holding. “Yes, well. Listen, Victoria, I need to talk to you about—”

  Amelia suddenly appeared at her side. “You don’t think it’ll be too cold for the hunt tomorrow morning, do you, my lord?”

  “What? Oh, y—I mean, no! No, of course not,” he stammered.

  “Oh, good! I should so hate to disappoint our guests.”

  Looking at her, Victoria could see that her cheery smile was forced. Her sister was jealous! And not just a little jealous, but truly, wholeheartedly jealous.

  Withington downed his sherry in a single draft, apparently forgetting that one did not typically do such a thing in the presence of ladies.

  Amelia’s eyes narrowed in disapproval, and he quailed.

  Victoria sighed with disappointment. “Shall we return to hear Lady Portland’s recitation?”

  “Ah, yes,” replied Withington. “In just a moment, my lady. I needs must speak with someone first. If you will both please excuse me.”

  Amelia stared after him as he fled. “I wonder if he’ll be able to walk a straight line by the end of the evening, at this rate,” she said in a sour voice.

  “You do him a discredit,” Victoria snapped. She softened her voice, hoping to convince her sister to soften as well. “He really is a very sweet man. If you would only stop looking for the bad in everyone, you would see it.”

  It was the wrong thing to say.

  “So speaks a besotted child with no better sense than a chicken in the rain,” said Amelia, her eyes growing cold and hard. “You’ll drown in your own foolish sentimentality before you learn your lesson.”

  So much for the truce. “There is no winning you over, is there? You’re so blinded by suspicion that you refuse to see the good in anyone. You’ll drown in your own loneliness before you learn your lesson.” She left her sister and returned to the entertainment.

  Low laughter rumbled from behind her as she sat.

  “I fail to see the humor,” she grumbled at Julius, vexed in spite of the tingles elicited by the sound of his voice.

  “Then you should look through my eyes,” he said quietly. “Shakespeare at his finest could not have concocted a more tragically humorous situation than the one in which we now find ourselves.”

  Turning around, she glared at him. “And in order to disentangle it, we shall be forced to humiliate my family!”

  “We could always elope,” he whispered.

  “An even worse scandal.”

  “But shorter lived.”

  “Perhaps publicly,” she admitted. “But my family would never forgive or forget such an act of blatant disrespect.”

  “They would, given time.”

  “You don’t know my father. He might even disown me.”

  “It would not matter, as you’d be my wife.”

  “It would matter to me.”

  He paused. “I thought you didn’t much care for propriety?”

  “I don’t,” she said. “But I do care for my family’s good name, regardless of how frustrated I am with them. Papa may be stubborn and old-fashioned, but I respect him. More than that, I love him. I have no wish to break his heart. A sma
ll scandal might be tolerated, but running to Scotland…”

  He nodded. His father would not approve of such an act, either. But if it came down to it…it was a plan to be held in reserve as a last resort.

  “She’s looking this way,” she said, turning around to face forward.

  Amelia managed to prevent her and Withington from speaking privately for the rest of the event. At long last, she bid their guests good night.

  Victoria was taken by surprise as her sister linked arms with her, chattering merrily as if they were the very best of friends while they walked upstairs. She had no choice but to allow herself to be escorted to her room.

  “Good night, Amelia.”

  “Pleasant dreams, Victoria.”

  She closed the door and waited. As soon as she heard the door across the hall shut, she quietly opened her own—only to see Amelia’s flinty eyes staring right back at her.

  “I was just going to pop down to the kitchens for a cup of tea,” Victoria said lamely. “The servants have been so busy with the guests, I thought not to trouble them at this late hour.”

  Amelia’s smile was beatific. “Our servants have enjoyed a life of ease these past ten years, earning generous wages with very little effort. A cup of tea should be no imposition.” She barged past, taking the opportunity to have a good look about the room. “Come, I shall ring for you.”

  “Thank you, but that really isn’t necessary,” Victoria said hastily, running ahead of her and blocking the way. “I’ve changed my mind. I think I shall just go to bed.”

  “Nonsense, a cup of tea will help settle you and you’ll sleep better undisturbed.” Amelia reached around her and grabbed the bell. Moments later, their maid, Hannah, appeared. “Chamomile tea for my sister, please. To help her rest.”

  “Yes, m’lady.”

  After the girl departed, Amelia turned to her sibling, all pretense vanished. “If you think for one moment that I shall sleep a single instant while that man is in this house, you may think again. Papa may have made the mistake of trusting him to sleep under our roof, but I certainly shan’t. A mouse won’t be able to move in this hallway tonight without my knowing it!”

  Victoria’s face grew hot. How dare she! “Withy has done nothing to deserve your animosity! He is a good man, and you blacken his character without justification!”

  Amelia snorted indelicately. “His character is already black enough without my adding any color to it.”

  “And there is nothing I or anyone else can say to convince you otherwise,” Victoria muttered darkly. “Time will have to prove to you the truth of the matter, I suppose.”

  “You’re right,” agreed Amelia. “And time will end before I trust that man.”

  “You’re impossible!”

  “And you are a reckless fool,” said Amelia, turning just as the door opened to admit Hannah.

  Victoria bit her tongue, frustrated at having been thwarted.

  “Sleep well,” sang Amelia softly as she left the room.

  Victoria fumed. She had to speak with Julius! She could send one of the servants with a note—but no, it was too risky. Maybe Charlie…if she went to the stables early, she could send him with a message and have Julius meet her somewhere to solidify tomorrow’s plans.

  That was it, then. She would sneak out just before dawn. By then her sister would surely have fallen asleep.

  She wasn’t sure how she would manage the climb in her riding costume, though. Maybe she should wear her breeches to climb down, carrying her skirt in a pillow sleeve. She could change once she reached the stable. Better yet, why not simply wear it over the breeches? The extra layer beneath would certainly make tomorrow’s ride a lot more comfortable, too.

  Going to her window, she quietly opened it, careful not to let the hinges creak. The scent of the brisk, cold air calmed her. Yes. It would work.

  Just as she was about to turn away, a soft curse rose from the shadows at the base of the tree. A crackling of twigs was followed by the sound of desperate scrabbling and another muffled curse, this one closer.

  Someone was climbing her tree. Someone obviously unskilled and unaware of the handholds she’d cut into its trunk. Her heart skipped a beat. Surely Julius would never attempt such a foolhardy thing!

  Even as Victoria watched, a pair of hands and then a head popped up over the branch by her window—it was Withington. The poor fellow was hanging on for dear life, his long legs swinging out wildly, his booted feet questing for purchase.

  She leaned as far out of the casement as was safe. “What are you doing?” she whispered hoarsely. “Are you completely insane?”

  “Just trying—umph!—to get a moment’s privacy in which to—umph!—speak with you!”

  Victoria stifled a giggle as he managed to finally lever one leg up over the branch. The sight of him clinging to the limb upside down was priceless. He shot her a sour look and pushed up to straddle the branch.

  “Be careful, for heaven’s sake!” she whispered urgently as he scooted closer. “And take hold of the eave before you attempt to cross!”

  He raised a knowing brow. “I take it you’ve done this a few times.”

  She grinned. “If you’d asked me, I could have told you about the handholds in the trunk.”

  Cursing, Withy inched out a bit farther and did as she instructed, at last bridging the gap in safety.

  “Thank heaven you ordered tea,” he puffed. “I overheard a servant girl speaking to another about ‘Lady Victoria needing something to help her rest, poor soul,’” he warbled in a comic falsetto. “When she came back from the kitchens, I simply followed her and counted the doors. When I realized yours was the chamber with the tree outside, I blessed my good fortune.”

  “It was a damned foolish thing to do,” Victoria hissed. “You could have broken your neck—and heaven only knows what Amelia will do if she finds you in here. She’ll kill me.”

  “I’m touched by your concern,” he replied drily.

  “What was so urgent that it couldn’t wait until tomorrow?”

  “I need your advice,” he told her, his cheeks reddening. “I’ve no idea how to go about winning your sister’s heart. After tonight, I think she’d just as soon see me hang as anything. She positively loathes me, and you cannot tell me differently.”

  “Yes, well, I’m not exactly in her good graces, either,” Victoria grumbled. “She believes I attempted to sneak out and meet with you tonight. According to her, you’ve corrupted me and overthrown my morals.”

  His face grew even more dejected.

  “We’ll find a way,” she said, patting his arm awkwardly. “In any case, she’ll learn the truth of the matter once Julius and I are wed. I’ll tell her everything, and she’ll see how awfully you’ve been used by us both. I shall paint you a shining hero, I promise.”

  “I doubt anything would make me shine in her eyes at this point,” he said gloomily.

  “Come,” she commanded, leading him away from the window. “There is enough tea for two. I shall be glad to tell you anything you want regarding my harridan of a sister.”

  HEARING A SCRABBLING noise above him, Julius paused in his evening walk, suddenly alert. Thieves often targeted high-society parties like this, where the temptation of so many ladies’ jewels under one roof was an irresistible lure.

  He looked up just in time to see the silhouette of a man entering a second-floor room from among the branches of the large tree beneath it. He smiled wistfully as the woman inside helped her clumsy lover over the sill. At least someone was finding a way to be with their light o’ love tonight.

  The woman came back to the window a few seconds later. As she drew the shutters closed, the light inside momentarily lit her face.

  Hurt and rage flooded through him. He now remembered seeing Victoria climb out of this very tree the day he’d followed her to the downs. At the time, he’d not thought anything of it—it might have been any random window from which she’d escaped—but now he knew it must be her b
edchamber, for he could not imagine her being anywhere else at this hour. And there was no doubt regarding the identity of her clandestine caller.

  Withy was a dead man.

  Grim determination filled him as he reentered the house and climbed the stairs. He would run Withy—no, Withington—through at the first light of dawn. Or better yet, wring the life from his body with his bare hands.

  My best friend! And as for Victoria, she was no better than the light skirts he’d tupped in Paris. He’d thought she was different. He’d thought himself in love with her. Fool!

  He padded stealthily down the hall until he stood at Victoria’s door. Taking a deep breath in anticipation of the worst, he turned the knob slowly and pressed against the door to test the strength of the latch. To his surprise, however, it was not locked. Careless, considering that her lover was inside with her.

  He eased it open and peeked inside. The bed was empty, the coverlet still crisply turned down awaiting its occupant.

  Hearing Victoria’s soft voice, he ventured farther and turned.

  There before the fire, fully clothed, drinking tea and chatting softly—about Amelia, he noted—she and Withington sat opposite one another.

  His heart slowed. Quietly closing the door behind him, he gently cleared his throat.

  Withington leaped to his feet, his teacup falling to the floor. “N—now, Julius,” he stammered, backing slowly away. “It isn’t what you think, I swear!”

  Julius advanced, keeping his face expressionless.

  “I’ve no romantic interest in Victoria whatsoever—she’s like a sister to me,” Withy said desperately. “She’s as safe with me as my own mother!” He eyed the window as though wondering whether he could manage the leap without killing himself.

  Victoria stepped between them. “He’s telling the truth, Julius. He came to discuss tomorrow and to learn more about Amelia. That is all.”

  “I saw him enter your window like a thief in the night,” Julius told her. “And you helped him in.”

  “Well, I couldn’t very well come knocking on her door in the middle of the night, now could I?” interjected Withy, looking wounded. “I’m watched like a damned criminal in this place, in spite of having committed no crime. Amelia thinks I’m the devil incarnate! And now you think I’m, I’m—”