To Make a Match (A Scandal in London Novel) Page 16

  “Yes, well,” he grunted, smoothing down his stained shirt. “As I said, I’ve survived worse.” His brow furrowed. “You’re bleeding!”

  “It’s only a small cut.” She reached down and wadded her skirts about her hand. “No point in trying to save it,” she said in response to his wince. She nodded at his front. “You look only slightly better, yourself.”

  He looked down. “I can’t possibly allow Amelia to see me like this. I must go and change. I’ll be back.”

  But he did not return.

  Amelia was not to be found, either. An inquiry of the staff at last produced information that her sister had departed on horseback shortly after Withington had arrived, but no one knew where she’d gone.

  Victoria’s stomach tightened. Don’t be ridiculous, she told herself. There was no reason on earth why she should be worried. But she was. And the later it got, the more concerned she became.

  At dinner, Papa looked askance at Amelia’s empty seat.

  Victoria squirmed. Just as she was about to tell her father about her sibling’s disappearance, a commotion in the hall sent them both to their feet.

  “Where have you been?” both father and daughter asked at the same time as Amelia swept into the room.

  She did not answer.

  “I asked you a question,” growled Papa. “I expect an answer. Now.”

  Amelia stared at him, her expression queer as she pulled off her gloves one finger at a time. “I paid a visit to friend, that is all.” Her red-rimmed gaze fell briefly upon Victoria as she addressed their father.

  Victoria caught her breath. Never had she seen such a hateful look on her sister’s face.

  “What friend?” asked their father.

  “I needed advice, you see,” continued Amelia, her tone nonchalant. “I had been considering accepting Lord Withington’s proposal. I wanted another opinion. That is when I learned that he has betrayed me. I have it on the very highest authority that he was with another woman this very day. Thus, I shall not be marrying Marquess Withington. Ever.”

  “What!” her father gasped. “I’ll have his head for this!”

  “But you can’t mean it!” Victoria exclaimed, aghast. “He’s madly in love with you, Amelia—why would he do such a thing?”

  Amelia stared at her, ice in her eyes as she repeated the words in a cool, clipped tone. “As I said, I have it on the very highest authority.” She turned to her father. “I shall not take the evening meal tonight. I’m afraid I am not feeling at all well.”

  He closed his mouth, which had been hanging open. “I shall let the servants know not to disturb…” But she’d swept out of the dining room before he could finish.

  Victoria stared after her for a moment, and then ran, ignoring her father’s shouts to stop. Pounding up the stairs, she rounded the corner just as Amelia’s door slammed shut. The bolt slid home with a solid thwack.

  “Amelia? Amelia, please! What happened? I don’t understand! I spoke with him only this afternoon, and everything was perfectly fine. He could talk of nothing but you! Please, please open the door! Amelia?”

  But her only answer was silence.

  Later that same evening, a messenger arrived bearing a missive for her from Julius. She tore it open. A moment later, the parchment slipped from her numb fingers to the floor.

  “What now, girl?” demanded her father, already on the alert for further trouble.

  “Lord Cavendish has just broken off our engagement,” came her wooden reply. “He gives no explanation, other than that he feels we are simply not suited.”

  “What! Not suit—” thundered her father, rising. “But, you’ve been compromised—he, he can’t refuse to marry you!”

  She turned to him with brimming eyes, her voice small and forlorn. “What will I do, Papa? I love him!”

  “Love? Love’s got nothing to do with it, girl! You’re ruined! Everyone knows you were caught together in this house!”

  Her cheeks paled another shade. “Something horrible must have happened. First Amelia, and now me. Something…”

  With a roar of frustration, Papa threw down his newspaper. “I shall speak with His Grace about this immediately! How dare his son renege after, after—I shan’t stand for it, I tell you! The pair of them are devils, both of them, and I shan’t stand for it!” He strode out of the room, bellowing for his secretary.

  Victoria stood there, shaking. Alone. What in heaven’s name had happened?

  SOCIETY HAD A field day over the news. All parties involved were frustratingly unforthcoming regarding the details, but the servants’ gossip more than made up for their silence.

  The result was absolute uproar.

  Victoria remained cloistered at Richmond Manor. Nothing short of the end of the world could persuade her to emerge from her chambers. She barely opened her door except to receive food and drink, which were sent back largely untouched. In the darkest hours of the night, just before dawn, she thought she might die of the pain in her heart.

  Amelia went on as if unaffected by it all, just as cool and untouched by emotion as ever.

  Victoria began to hate her. She knew Amelia was tied to this somehow but couldn’t for the life of her figure out how. Night after night, she wracked her brain, ending in heartbroken tears until exhaustion took her at last, giving her a few hours’ peace until the joyless dawn awakened her.

  Finally, at Papa’s imperative, after two weeks she emerged from her chambers. She waited quietly for him to acknowledge her presence. When he finally looked up from his papers, she spoke. “Papa, I have a request to make of you.”

  “I’ve spoken with the duke,” he said over her. “I have attempted to salvage this to the best of my ability, but he refuses to force his son to marry you on the grounds that you broke troth.”

  She looked at him, confused. “What?”

  “His son told him he had evidence that you and that Withington fellow had maintained what he termed an ‘inappropriate association’ and that he could not marry a woman of questionable virtue.”

  Victoria stared at him, her entire body suddenly numb. But she’d given her virtue to—

  “I shall never live down this disgrace,” her father barked. “If your poor mother—God rest her soul—were still alive, she’d die of humiliation.”

  Anger flooded through her, hot and revitalizing. “He’s wrong, Papa! And so are you for believing it! I never had any interest in Withington. He was only—”

  “Have some dignity, girl, and don’t shame yourself further,” he cut in angrily. “You’ve been caught and have lost the game. Accept it. There’s nothing more to be said on the matter. You’ve ruined yourself. In the worst possible way.” He drew himself up. “Let us hope that your sister manages to somehow escape your taint. As it stands, I seriously doubt we can hope for an offer this Season. Perhaps next year…”

  His words faded in her ears. He truly thought she’d been with Withington. Her stomach clenched and nausea threatened, but she held her spine straight as she addressed her father once more. “I am innocent of this accusation,” she interrupted with as much dignity as possible.

  “Even if I believed you, there’s nothing can be done about it, now. You compromised yourself with Cavendish under this very roof. Now neither your intended nor your lover will have you,” he said, shooting her a disgusted look.

  “He is not my lover!”

  “Had he still wanted you, the devil would have come forward by now,” he went on, ignoring her. “But he hasn’t. And he won’t. You’re soiled goods, and if I were to force the issue with Withington’s father, everyone would guess at the truth and your sister would suffer for it. That I cannot do. She has suffered enough already. As long as Cavendish does not disclose his reason for reneging, I shall count us fortunate.”

  So. It had come down to it, at last. Everyone thought her a whore. Even her own father. She stood, head bowed, tears dripping onto the thick Anbusson carpet below. “I should still like to make my request.�
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  “Make it,” he snapped. “But don’t expect to have it granted.”

  “I wish to leave London,” she all but whispered, forcing the words from between her lips. She gathered her courage and forged ahead. “My cousins in France have often asked me to visit. My being absent will ease the situation, if only a little. You won’t have me round your neck and in the way of your ambitions for Amelia.”

  “You think to simply run away from your shame?”

  She looked at him squarely. “I see no reason to remain here and be punished for a crime I did not commit, regardless of whether or not you believe me,” she insisted through clenched teeth. She swallowed her bile. “I’d like to leave as soon as possible. Within the week, if I may. You can send me with a letter. They won’t refuse me.”

  “Perhaps it would be best for you to take a sabbatical,” he agreed.

  “No sabbatical,” she said, shaking her head. “Once there, I shall build a new life for myself. I am well educated and I speak the language. I can make my own way. And you can restore your dignity by telling everyone that you sent me away, that you’ve disowned me. You can pretend that I never existed. I care not. All I require is enough money for the journey to France.”

  He stared at her in silence for a long moment, and she wondered if he felt anything for her other than shame. “If you wish to go, I’ll allow it,” he finally said. “I’ll write the necessary letters and make the arrangements. But let us not say it is permanent,” he added. “If this is all the result of some horrible mistake, then the truth will eventually come to light.”

  Her lips tried to form a wry smile. They merely trembled, not having the strength. It seemed even the memory of how to smile had left her. “These things have a way of sticking to one’s reputation, even after the truth is discovered. People will still remember the scandal, and it will be all they think of when they see me. I shouldn’t have any chance, here. At least in France, I might one day marry and find happiness.”

  She’d said it, but she didn’t believe it. She would survive, but happiness was a chimera that she would never again capture. Julius…Her heart broke all over again.

  “I want to believe that you speak the truth, Victoria, but the evidence is against you…” He held up his hands.

  “What evidence?” she exclaimed. His brows drew together again, and she lowered her voice. “It’s my word against that of everyone else,” she said, resigned. “There is no proving my case before a jury that has already hanged me. It is done.” She turned. “I shall pack my things. Thank you for your generosity.”

  She trudged up the stairs to her rooms, unseeing, uncaring. She was leaving the only home she’d ever known, and not as Julius’s wife. If she fell and broke her neck this minute, it would be just as well. A blessing, probably.

  Halfway up the stairs, she looked up to see Amelia watching her from the top with cold eyes. No doubt she was thinking the same thing. “I shall be leaving within the week,” she told her dully. “Father is sending me to France to live with our cousins. At least until I can make my own way.” She moved onward to pass, but then paused. “I want you to know that I did not do what I have been accused of, Amelia. I would never do such a thing. And I love—loved—Julius with all my heart and soul. If you ever should chance to see him again, I beg you to tell him I am not the whore he thinks me, and that I shall love him always.”

  She began walking, but Amelia caught her arm and spun her around.

  “How dare you!” hissed her sister. Her face was red, and she trembled from head to toe. “How dare you play the martyr to me? I saw it with my own eyes, Victoria! I saw you, heard you!”

  “What are you talking about?” she said, perplexed. “Saw what, exactly?” She watched, bewildered, as Amelia raised her hand and slapped her so hard that she rocked back and had to brace herself against the banister to avoid falling down the stairs. She reeled from the shock of the blow. Her sister hadn’t struck her since they were children!

  “I saw you!” cried Amelia, tears streaming down her face. “Heaven help me, I saw you kneeling before him and I heard his gasps of pleasure, his disgusting grunts! And then I ran because I could take no more.”

  Victoria slumped against the banister, all the strength draining from her in light of this stunning revelation. She’d wondered who had told Amelia the vicious lie. Now she knew. No one had done it. She’d made that part of the story up to cover herself.

  “Never in my darkest nightmares would I have thought you capable of such a betrayal!” railed Amelia. “My own sister, my own blood! But there you were, whoring away on your knees like a cheap harlot!”

  “You really think that of me,” Victoria whispered, staring at her sibling as if she were a stranger. She was. “Amelia, I swear to you that whatever you think you saw was not so.”

  “Then you tell me what it is you think I saw!” spat her sister.

  Standing, Victoria answered as steadily as she could. “What you saw was the aftermath of my accidentally dumping half a pot of scalding hot tea on your suitor.”

  A scornful bark of laughter followed her quiet statement. “You were on your knees in front of him, sister. You can’t lie your way out of this. I know what I saw.”

  “I was on my knees because I was picking up the pieces of the bloody teapot!” Victoria snapped back, anger flooding her.

  “He had his hand on your head,” countered her sister.

  “I’d knocked him off balance! He was only steadying himself. I cut my hand on the damned teapot because of it!” she yelled, holding out her hand so Amelia could see the scar across her palm.

  Amelia’s eyes dropped, following the thin pink line. “I don’t believe you.”

  Victoria pinned her with a gimlet stare and advanced until she was directly in front of her face. “If you don’t believe me then why don’t you ask the servants? They came in to clean the room while we were still there. They’ll tell you all about it.” Her voice rose in volume. “And why don’t you ask Hannah about the blood all over my dress, while you’re at it? Or ask François if there was a large tea stain down Withington’s front when he showed him out!”

  Every word she shouted caused her sister to flinch back and blink.

  “At least I now know the origin of the lie that has forever ruined my happiness,” Victoria continued relentlessly, too angry for tears. Rage was the only emotion she could feel. “Congratulations are in order, I suppose,” she said, dripping sarcasm. “You’ve finally succeeded in ridding yourself of me. Thanks to Papa’s generosity toward his undeserving whore of a disowned daughter, you may now rule from your ivory tower unchallenged. I hope you enjoy your solitude.”

  Shoving past, Victoria ran to her room and slammed the door with all her might, throwing the bolt.

  For a week, Julius had behaved as if he’d never met her. He’d ignored the frowns and stares of the mamas as they’d steered their daughters away. He knew what they thought, and he didn’t care. He would be leaving soon for Holker Hall. It was far removed from London, far enough to live there alone, happily continuing in his research as a bachelor until he bloody well rotted.

  Amelia had come to him, sobbing like someone had died and claiming to have caught Victoria in the act with Withington. He had tried to reason it out with her, to suggest that she’d seen something other than what she thought she’d witnessed. Anything but what she had told him.

  But in the end he’d accepted her story.

  He’d taken the time to get to know Amelia, and he knew without a doubt that she was incapable of such a violent emotional display without genuine cause. She’d clearly seen something graphic between them. Still, he’d taken the precaution of corroborating her story—and to his disappointment had learned that Withington was indeed visiting Victoria that afternoon and that he had indeed departed shortly thereafter in hurried disarray.

  It was like Martha all over again.

  He now suspected that Victoria had met Withington long before meeting him. A
s quickly as the pair of them had become friends, it only made sense that they’d already known each other. He thought back to the ball. The labyrinth. The rose. All the whispering and giggling between them. All the time they’d spent alone…

  My sister is capable of making a man fall in love with her almost the instant he meets her. She is a born seductress, Amelia had told him.

  How well he knew the power Victoria could have over a man. He’d come to the conclusion that Withington been in her thrall the whole time. Well, if the bastard wanted her enough to trade a lifetime of friendship for a heartless little succubus, he could bloody well have her.

  In spite of his anger, his heart ached as he thought back to that day in the little cottage on the wold. Could she have really faked that? He’d felt it when she’d given her maidenhead. Or at least, he thought he had. Women had been known to falsify evidence of chastity before.

  She’d played him for a fool. And she’d gotten what she deserved.

  He watched the dreary city sliding past his window. It was raining again. He longed for the sun. Perhaps he ought to forget England and return to his travels. At one time, the idea would have sent a thrill of excitement through him. Now, it only filled him with gloom.

  Later that afternoon, he was coming downstairs just as a member of his staff answered the door. He heard a woman’s voice.

  “Who is it?” he called out.

  “Lady Amelia Lennox, my lord.”

  Bloody hell, what now? He took one look at her ravaged face and quickly ushered her in.

  “What is it? What’s happened?”

  “I’ve made a mess of everything,” she said, her face crumpling.

  SILENCE. THE THUMPING had finally stopped. Victoria unplugged her ears and breathed a sigh of relief. She was surprised her sister hadn’t broken down the door.

  That’s probably next. She’d certainly made enough noise.

  The thought galvanized her resolve. She’d be damned if she would sit and listen to their pathetic apologies. They hadn’t believed her when she’d told them the truth. They’d done nothing but condemn her for a whore.