Scandal Wears Satin (The Dressmakers 2)

“That presents no problem to you,” Clara said.

“No, indeed,” Adderley said. “Always was your forte, language. That and the punishing uppercut.” He smiled ruefully, and stroked his jaw. The bruise was still visible. “Served me right, too,” he said in a low voice.

It was exactly what a man ought to say if he wanted to make peace with his in-laws-to-be. He did it so well that a less cynical man than Longmore might have believed it.

“You were there a good while,” Clara said.

“She’s pretty, and she mangles English in a most charming manner,” he said.

“Clearly, she’s charming,” Lady Bartham said. “She seems to have enthralled all the gentlemen.”

“Frenchwomen so often do,” Lady Warford said darkly.

“I thought the duke would be obliged to summon the attendants to control the crowd,” Clara said.

“She’s undoubtedly caused a commotion,” said Lady Bartham. She turned her sharp hazel gaze upon Longmore. “But who is she?”

Exclusive to Foxe’s Morning Spectacle

Thursday 11 June 1835

Who is she? That is the question on everyone’s lips since last night, when the Mysterious Stranger made her appearance at the Queen’s Theatre, wearing a black satin dress, the corsage à la Sevigné, ornamented with a row of black bows. The sleeves, which were topped with nœuds de page, were very full, with double sabots of white satin. What appeared at first to be a robe was in fact an artful illusion created by a front panel of gold brocaded satin.

Your correspondent has it on the very best authority that Madame de V_____ is the descendant of a French count whose family was long associated with the court of the House of Bourbon, and who perished, tragically, as did so many members of the ancien regime, under the guillotine blade. Given the present unrest in Paris, we cannot be surprised that the lady, bereft in this last year of the protection of a devoted husband and acting no doubt on the sage advice of her counselors, has determined to place herself and her considerable fortune (rivaling, we are told, that of the Duke of C_____) in the peaceful realms of His British Majesty. We are told that the lady has determined to seek a permanent residence in London. In the meantime, she has taken a suite of rooms at one of those hotels described in Cruchley’s Picture of London as having “sheltered the incognito of foreign grandees and potentates.” We are reliably informed that the lady was one of the Duchess of C_____’s premier patrons during Her Grace’s long sojourn in Paris, and that both Madame and the late Monsieur de V_____ were among His Grace’s numerous acquaintance during his time there.

Following the usual court news, general gossip, commentary on the Sheridan-Grant elopement, and amusing anecdotes, there appeared at the end of the last column preceding the page of advertisements, this note:

We observed last night a certain lord in the company of the lady he is to wed in a fortnight. We are pleased to report that the lady appears fully recovered from her recent alarming illness. We cannot claim to be pleased to inform our readers that later in the same evening—or it would be more accurate to say, in the early hours of the following morning—his lordship was observed to enter a gaming establishment of dubious reputation, from which he did not emerge until some hours after dawn. For all of those—and we count ourselves among them—who have wished her ladyship, in spite of the distressing circumstances that precipitated her engagement, a happy future, this is a most disheartening turn of events. We had hoped that, having obtained the hand of this beautiful lady, his lordship would show his gratitude by resolving to go and sin no more. We had hoped that, having left his errors behind him, he would reflect upon the errors of his forbears, and resolve—for the lady’s sake if not his own honor—to restore dignity to the family name. As our readers are no doubt aware, his lordship’s father was awarded a barony for services rendered to a royal personage. These included considerable loans, one of which was the loan of his beautiful wife for an indeterminate time. The fortune having long since been dissipated at the gaming tables, we must wonder at the motives and mendacity of any person who encourages his lordship to further folly by extending him credit for such a purpose.

Drawing room, Warford House

Thursday afternoon

Like most of the ton, Lord Adderley had read the Spectacle with his morning coffee. He swore a great deal, and abused his valet and every other servant who had the misfortune to cross his path this day. Having put his household into a state of seething resentment, he’d hastened across town to present himself to his intended. There he proceeded to lie through his teeth—that was to say, issue a suitably indignant denial.

He’d taken the offending document with him. After being shown into the drawing room, where his bride-to-be awaited him, he’d flung it down on a table with a fine show of righteous outrage.

“I don’t know how those curs of the Spectacle get away with printing these filthy falsehoods,” he said. “They need to be taught a lesson. It’s long past time they were prosecuted for these slurs. If Tom Foxe were a gentleman, I’d call him out. Since he isn’t, I’ll insist he be arrested.”

Lady Clara drew in a deep breath, let it out, and said, “People can be so unkind. They will take the most innocuous circumstance, and twist it into something shameful. They exaggerate everything they hear and see. But the Spectacle never name names, do they? In any case, surely anybody who reads that won’t believe it refers to you.”

“They won’t?” He frowned at the paper. Though he’d never thought Lady Clara Fairfax particularly clever, he’d supposed she could put two and two together.

“Certainly not,” she said. “Harry said that even a man of the meanest intelligence would know better than to game there. The place is as crooked as Putney Bridge, he said.”

His face heated. “Longmore was here—about this?” He nodded in the direction of the scandal sheet.

“Oh, he often collects a copy of the Spectacle on his way home from wherever he goes after the theater or a party,” she said. “He came by a little while ago. He was on his way to call on Madame de Veirrion. He was going to try to persuade her to drive out with him. Is she respectable, do you think?”

Not if she’s driving out with your brother, he thought.

He said, “I’ve heard nothing to the contrary.”

“I think she must be,” Lady Clara said. “She’s a friend of the Duchess of Clevedon, and the duke apparently made her acquaintance as well, when he was in Paris. I can’t imagine their taking her to the theater if she wasn’t.”

“Clevedon seems to care nothing about what others think of him,” he said.

He didn’t say, and she was too tactful to point out that, with an annual income numbering in the hundreds of thousands, the Duke of Clevedon could afford not to care.

“He cares what’s said of his duchess and her daughter,” Lady Clara said. “The King and Queen have accepted her. I don’t think she’d wish to jeopardize her position by associating with improper persons.”

“It would be foolish, I agree.”

“If she is respectable, Mama will be in alt,” Lady Clara said. “Madame’s husband left her everything. Mama won’t mind her being a widow. She’s always been terrified that Harry would end up marrying a ballet dancer or a barmaid.”

Adderley’s face burned. His mother was a sore spot. Still, she hadn’t been a barmaid but an innkeeper’s daughter. She’d been a royal mistress, as had scores of “respectable” women. Unfortunately, she’d become one after he was born. No one cared if one was a bastard, if one was a royal bastard. It’s no small thing to be descended from kings. He, alas, was descended from an innkeeper and obscure country gentlemen. Not a drop of royal blood trickled through his veins.

“Marry?” he said, bewildered. “Longmore?”

That was inconceivable. “Has it gone so far as that already?”

Clara shrugged. “Who can say? But he seemed quite taken with her. And you know Harry, always plunging headlong into—” She broke off, coughing. She put her hand to her forehead.

It was a small, involuntary gesture, but it was enough to remind him that she’d recently been ill—ill enough for the house to be closed to all but a very few visitors, for three days. He hurried to her, and knelt by her chair. “My dear, are you unwell?”

She let her hand fall. “No, a little . . . oh, it’s nothing, only I’ve been indoors forever, it seems. What I need is a dose of fresh air. I think I’ll order the cabriolet, and take a turn about the park.”

“Nonsense,” he said. “If you wish to take the air, I’m happy to drive you. You’ve only to send a maid for your bonnet and shawl.”

The fashionable hour of promenade hadn’t yet arrived when Lord Longmore turned his curricle into Hyde Park’s Cumberland Gate. He was listening to his fair companion. She was prattling in a fractured English so ridiculous that he couldn’t help but smile, though he wasn’t in the most cheerful frame of mind.

“You have too much in your head,” said Madame. “One part of milord attends me. The other part of him rests in another place. I am compelled to demand to myself, Do I cause to him the ennui?”

“I begin to wish, oddly enough, that you were some degrees more boring,” he said. “It’s almost more excitement than I can bear. Last night . . .” He shook his head.

“But how calm you seemed! Not in the least fearful.”

He looked at her. “You’ve deceived the ton with breathtaking ease. I vow, women who must have looked straight into your face countless times while you adjusted their bows and such ought to have recognized you, even from across the theater. Several men who came into the box last night were at White’s on the day you stood in the rain on St. James’s Street, generously offering them a view of your petticoats and ankles.”