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

  She looked at the clothes, then at him, not moving. “What does it matter? The damage is done, is it not? Why rush back now?”

  “I’d rather not have search parties sent out looking for us. A few hours is enough to accomplish our goal, but if we are gone the night, there’ll be hell to pay with your father.”

  Soft laughter issued from her bent head. “What makes you think he’ll be any less upset if we return now than if we do so in the morning?”

  He faced her. “Trust me, Victoria. Being gone a few hours means something could’ve happened. Plausible deniability allows people the luxury of speculation and preserves your honor. Being gone all night means something most assuredly did happen.”

  “Why should I care?” she answered with a shrug. “We’ll be wed either way.”

  “Your father will care, Victoria. It isn’t just your honor at stake, but his, and your family’s.”

  Nodding solemnly, she began to dress.

  He didn’t tell her that if winter decided to rear its ugly head with one last snowstorm, they might be trapped for days with next to no provisions and a very limited supply of firewood. As such, he took several of the woolen blankets and set them to the side. “Just in case,” he told her.

  Dressing quickly, he went to check on the horses—and cursed as he opened the door. His instincts had been correct; the clouds he’d seen this morning had carried through on their threat of snow. Every surface wore a thin, glittering blanket of white. And though it seemed the storm had momentarily let up, more snow was now beginning to sift down from above.

  The flakes were tiny, a sure indication that it would continue through the night.

  When he returned to fetch her, Victoria paused in the doorway with a soft smile. He did, as well, imprinting their cozy little haven on the canvas of his memory. It would likely be the last time either of them saw the place.

  The dying rays of a pale sunset peeked from beneath the lowering clouds, giving only scant light as they rode. It would not last much longer. Julius cast Victoria a worried glance. “Do you think we can make it back?”

  “Primero knows the way,” she assured him, pulling a blanket over her head like a shawl and pinning it with her broach.

  “It’s not too deep,” she said as they cleared the lip of the little dell. “They can still run, and once we reach the wood we’ll have the trees to shield us from any fresh fall.” She leaned forward and pressed her knees.

  Primero sprang away, leaving him no choice but to follow.

  The lazily drifting flakes brushed against their faces as they galloped swiftly across the hilltops, picking through the shallow valleys and leaping the low stone walls that riddled the wold.

  The snow began falling in earnest just as the dark line of the wood appeared in the deepening dusk.

  The fugitive lovers rode straight into the stables unhindered, encountering only Charlie, who gave them a saucy grin.

  “Has no one inquired regarding our whereabouts?” Victoria asked him, looking at all the horses still in their stalls.

  Julius understood her confusion. These stables should have been empty. Search parties should have been sent out hours ago to scour the countryside for them.

  “No, m’lady,” answered the boy. “Been a right commotion up at the ’ouse, though. I ’eared yor sister’s gone an’ taken ill.”

  Without a word, Victoria took off running.

  Julius followed behind her.

  The first maid they encountered knew nothing. Victoria ran to her sister’s room, only to find it unoccupied.

  “Where do you suppose she is?” he asked her, keeping his voice low.

  “I’ve no idea, unless she’s in one of the downstairs rooms,” she answered, a panicked look in her eyes. “What in heaven’s name could have happened? Where is she?”

  Closing the door, they went back out into the hall just as another maid was leaving one of the guest rooms.

  “Where is my sister?” Victoria demanded.

  The startled girl nearly dropped her bundle of washing. “She’s—she’s downstairs, my lady,” she replied weakly.

  “Can you tell me what happened?”

  “I—I don’t wish to say, my lady,” the servant said, looking down.

  “You’ll say or you’ll be dismissed without wages or references.”

  The girl blanched. “Her ladyship was brought in from the gardens this afternoon by Lord”—her gaze flicked over to Julius—“Withington, my lady. He said she had taken a fall, but…”

  Victoria’s cheeks drained of color. “But? Speak!”

  Cringing, the girl did as ordered. “When Lord Withington brought her back, the footman who helped them in said that her ladyship was laughing and that she smelled of liquor.” Her forehead wrinkled with upset. “Oh, my lady—I’m so sorry! ’Tis said she’s ruined!”

  “You may continue with your work,” Victoria said absently. “And speak of this to no one,” she added sharply as the miserable girl turned away.

  Together, she and Julius made their way downstairs.

  “This is my fault,” she said woodenly. “I have to find Papa at once, figure out what happened, and explain myself.”

  “It is as much my fault,” he replied. “We will both speak with him.”

  Hurrying to her father’s office, they arrived just as the door was closing. She made to push it open, but Julius heard voices inside and stopped her.

  Signaling for silence, he pressed his ear to the wood and heard Lord Richmond’s voice. After a moment’s hesitation, Victoria followed suit.

  “I hope you’ve a decent explanation for what you were doing with my eldest daughter in your arms when you are practically engaged to Victoria—and don’t think I bought your story about her suddenly taking ill, either! I smelled the brandy when I went in to see her,” Richmond rumbled, displeasure evident in his clipped words and dark tone. “I want answers, and I want them now!”

  “I swear to you, Your Grace, I had no idea she would react so to only a few sips from my flask. Evidently, her delicate constitution simply isn’t able to handle spirits.”

  Victoria’s mouth hung open as she turned to Julius. “What has he done to Amelia?” she whispered.

  He held up a finger and urged her back to the door. He felt like a child, eavesdropping like this, but they needed to know what was going on.

  “Amelia has the constitution of a bloody horse,” snapped Richmond. “She’s far less delicate than most people might think—including me, and I ought to know! But answer me this: why would you even offer her spirits?”

  “It was bitter cold, Your Grace, and she had come out with no cloak. I just thought that—”

  A bitter laugh erupted from Richmond. “Well, that explains why she was wearing your jacket, at least. But what it doesn’t explain is why she was out in the gardens with you in the first place.”

  There was a long pause, and then came Withington’s halting response: “I’m afraid we’d had a bit of a disagreement earlier this afternoon, Your Grace. We parted after some rather unfriendly words. I went to the garden seeking her out to try and make amends.”

  “A disagreement about what, may I ask?”

  “She objects to my marrying Lady Victoria.”

  Soft, derisive laughter. “She is not the only one, young man. I do not think you well suited for each other, myself, but she does. And I know Victoria. If I forbid the match, she’ll only find a way to get what she wants by some other, far more foolish means. She is stubborn to a fault, and I cannot afford any embarrassments.”

  Silence.

  “I mean no offense toward you, you understand,” Richmond went on, sounding rather awkward. “You seem to get on with each other well enough, but my instincts tell me something isn’t right. Mine are simply the objections of a father wanting what is best for his child.”

  “Completely understandable, Your Grace.”

  “Understandable? Ha! Young man, when you’ve a daughter of your own and are looki
ng at potential matches for her, then you can tell me it’s understandable! Until that day arrives, I advise you to keep your tongue behind your teeth.”

  “Yes, Your Grace. Forgive my presumption. I only want what’s best for her, as well.”

  “If that were true, you’d leave off and let her find someone more suitable. But I can see that isn’t going to happen. But know this: if you make Victoria unhappy, I’ll see that you are also quite unhappy as well. Exceedingly miserable, in fact.”

  “Your Grace, allow me to assure you that your daughter’s happiness is at the forefront of my concerns.”

  “Good,” said Richmond. “Now, as for Amelia, she has every right to be concerned for her sister. I can only assume that her unusual behavior this afternoon is a result of stress. Still, she ought to have known better than to consume spirits offered by a man,” he grumbled. “I shall speak with her regarding her lack of good judgment at the first possible opportunity. I trust that you, however, will speak to no one regarding this incident.”

  “Not a word, Your Grace. On my honor.”

  “Honor? Humph! We shall soon see whether or not you’ve any honor. Now get out.”

  “Yes, Your Grace. And, thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me, just make her happy—and don’t cross me. Now, out.”

  At the sound of a chair scraping back, the eavesdropping pair dashed for the stairs, rounding the corner just in time.

  PEEKING OUT, VICTORIA watched as Withington closed the doors quietly behind him. She waited until he set foot on the bottom step before coming out of hiding.

  “Good God, woman! You scared me half to death,” he gasped as she popped out from the shadows. Then he spied Julius as he stepped out from behind her. “What the devil took you two so bloody long?” he whispered hoarsely.

  “There was a snowstorm, in case you hadn’t noticed,” muttered Julius before Victoria could answer.

  She shoved past him to stand before Withington. “Though I suppose you were too busy getting my sister drunk to notice it!”

  “At least allow me to explain myself before you start flinging accusations at my head,” replied Withington.

  Before she could respond, Julius stepped in. “Of course, but not here.”

  She didn’t really give a tinker’s dam who heard her, but when Julius laid a gentle hand on her arm, she nodded agreement. He was right. Things were bad enough already without adding anything else into the pot. She guided them to an unused parlor. As soon as the door closed, she rounded on Withington. “Now you will tell me exactly what happened.”

  He squared his shoulders and faced her soberly. “After my little ‘fall,’ she put me on her horse and brought me back to the house. She said that she truly regretted her past ill treatment of me and then insisted on tending me herself. She was so kind and gentle”—he sat and put his head in his hands, letting out a long, defeated sigh—“I just couldn’t bear to tell her the truth. Not yet. I delayed doing so until the last possible moment, and I’m afraid she did not take it well at all.”

  Pity filled her. He looked absolutely miserable. Still…“That does not explain how she became inebriated.”

  “I had nothing to do with that, my lady,” he said, his eyes flashing. “After I told her about you and Julius, she naturally was quite wroth. She fled before I could fully explain my part in the deception, why I’d done it and…” He sank into silence.

  “And?” she prompted.

  “I went out into the gardens to walk and think about how next I should proceed. I still had not told her how I felt about her, you see—she hadn’t given me a chance. I stayed outside for the better part of the afternoon, unable to decide whether I should try to find her or speak with your father, tell him the truth and ask for her hand. I had just decided on the latter course and was heading back when I encountered Amelia in the statuary. She had come looking for me.”

  Her pulse hammered in her head. “What did she say?”

  “Most of it does not bear repeating in polite company, my lady,” he said, looking uncomfortable.

  She snorted. “You think I have not heard my sister swear before? And since when am I polite company?”

  “Even so, I shall not repeat it, if only for the sake of time, for it is short. Suffice it to say that she was still quite angry with me. And also, I fear, quite tipsy.”

  “She had been drinking when you found her?” she asked, finding it hard to believe. Amelia never touched anything stronger than watered wine. “But I overheard you say that you’d given her—”

  “I told your father that because I did not wish her to endure any further humiliation. God knows she’ll suffer enough as it is when word of your having changed allegiances gets about.”

  He was right. How she’d come to be in such a condition wasn’t important at the moment. “Despite that, did you manage to resolve your differences?”

  “She wasn’t in a very reasonable or rational mood, I’m afraid,” he said evasively.

  “Amelia has never been reasonable or rational. I wouldn’t expect her to be any more so for having nipped from Papa’s brandy bottle. So things still stand at a stalemate, I take it?”

  “Yes.”

  For all that it was a one-word answer, that single utterance conveyed a world of unhappiness. She looked at him, marking with suspicion the beet-colored flush spreading across his skin. “Something happened between you, didn’t it?”

  “Nothing of any consequence,” he muttered. “Certainly nothing that can be considered positive in terms of mitigating our collective ruination.”

  “Tell me anyway.”

  “I told her how I felt about her,” he finally admitted. “The truth.”

  “And?”

  He shrugged. “She rejected me. Most definitively,” he added with a rueful smile. “And then she fainted. I could not rouse her and had no choice but to carry her back to the house. I could not get back through the gate on my own with her and had to call for help. A gardener came and let us in, and then he fetched a footman. I took her to a room downstairs rather than her chamber, as I did not wish to alert the entire house to the situation. After we got her settled, I sent the footman to notify your father and fetch her maid to tend her. I made all involved swear to tell no one.”

  Again she snorted. “Yes, well, one of the maids just told me that my sister has been ruined by you. The entire household staff knows by now, and I won’t be surprised if it appears in tomorrow’s papers.”

  His face fell even further. “My lady, I wish things had happened differently.”

  “So do I. Where is she now?”

  “I left her in the care of her maid just down the hall.”

  Leaving the men behind, she went down to the salon. Opening the door, she saw her sister stretched out on one of the couches. The fire in the hearth had been stoked to a warming blaze, and blankets had been tucked about her all the way up to her neck. She crept closer and saw that her sister’s eyes were open.

  “Well, look who it is,” said Amelia. “You may go, Hannah,” she said, dismissing their maid. When the girl had gone, Amelia again spoke. “If you’ve come to apologize, don’t bother.”

  “I didn’t,” Victoria answered softly. “You and I both know that I wouldn’t have had to resort to subterfuge had you been less bent on keeping me beneath your thumb.”

  “So you came to gloat?”

  “I came because I am concerned for you.”

  “Ha!” Amelia wriggled and sat up. “If you were so concerned, you would never have disgraced yourself and our entire family with your recklessness!”

  “There is a way to salvage—”

  “Salvage? There is no salvaging anything. Your reputation is in shreds, as is mine. Nothing can be done.”

  “It can,” Victoria insisted. “I shall take the blame for everything and say that I threw Withington over for Julius. We shall say that I left Withington a note, and that upon hearing the news from him, you became ill and fainted. He has already a
greed. It can work, if you will help us.”

  Amelia’s laugh was bitter. “It is far too late for that, I’m afraid. Half the house knows I was drunk when he brought me in.”

  “A nip from Papa’s bottle to fortify you after learning of our defection?” Victoria said with a dismissive wave. “Who could blame you?”

  “So, Lord Withington has decided to deny his part in your little deception,” said Amelia. “How very noble and courageous of him.”

  “No. It isn’t like that,” Victoria said, surprised to see the glitter of tears in her sister’s eyes. “He cares for you and is trying to protect you.”

  “He is an opportunistic bastard!” Amelia’s voice shook. “I was a fool to seek him out. I don’t even know why I did it. The point is that I was vulnerable, and he took advantage.”

  Victoria held her tongue, not daring to say a word.

  “He claimed to love me, you know,” said Amelia, her voice hollow.

  “Yes. I know. He told us you rejected him.”

  “What else was I to do? Am I to accept a man who would deceive me?” her sister scoffed. “You would have me marry a practiced liar and expect me to be grateful for it. Do you really hate me so much?”

  The hurt in her sister’s eyes broke Victoria’s heart. “No, Amelia. I do not hate you. And I did not do this to hurt you. I only knew that there was no other way to keep you from ruining my chances with Julius. I hate that I had to mislead you in order to have the man I—”

  “Love?” her sister spat. “I wonder if any of you three liars know what the word even means.”

  “Hold me in contempt if you like, but Withing—”

  “I shall blame whomever I please,” hissed Amelia. “As the one played false, I have that right.”

  Victoria’s temper boiled. “Now you listen to me, Amelia! When Withy agreed to help us, he knew nothing of you other than what I had told him and what he himself observed at the ball, which”—she raised her voice, drowning out her sister’s protest—“which, unfortunately, did nothing to discredit my description of you. When Julius asked for his help as well, he agreed for the sake of his friend’s happiness.”