When Scandal Came to Town (Scandalous Sons 3)
“Hopefully, Lord Murray is too polite to refuse. It would suit our purpose if Miss Pendleton began to doubt his intentions.” Scarlett closed the door and scanned the room. “The furnishings are a little more lavish than those in Lord Craven’s powder room, but we should try to piece together what you remember of that night.”
“Lord Tregarth has exquisite taste,” Cassandra agreed, surveying the sumptuous red velvet chaise and the exquisite gilt mirrors. Four dressing screens painted with vivid woodland scenes, nymphs and cherubs, created separate spaces for those ladies who preferred to be discreet. “And his staff clearly have an awareness of the privacy required when a lady attends to her needs.”
“Lord Craven is a lech.” Scarlett picked up a padded chair from the far side of the room and headed back towards the door. “No doubt he gets a thrill from imagining a group of ladies all lifting their skirts together while using the bourdaloues.”
“What are you doing with that chair?” Verity asked.
“I shall bar the door to stop people entering.” Scarlett nodded towards the concealed cupboard next to the screens. “Perhaps there’s something wrong with the pulley. The maid in attendance must have gone down to the servants’ quarters to see why they’re not sending up clean chamber pots.”
The lack of clean porcelain supported Scarlett’s theory.
Verity gave a curious frown. “The mention of the maid raises an important question, does it not?” She turned to Cassandra. “There must have been a servant in attendance that night. Do you remember seeing a member of staff in Lord Craven’s retiring room?”
Before Cassandra could answer, and before Scarlett had wedged the chair’s crest rail underneath the handle, the door opened and three ladies burst into the room, laughing about something they had witnessed in the corridor.
Rosamund, her aunt Miss Felicia Fox and Mrs Partridge all came crashing to a halt. As quick as a wink, the smiles slipped from their faces. Rosamund’s cheeks flamed berry-red, and she gulped as she struggled to meet Cassandra’s gaze.
“Rosamund. How lovely to see you.” Cassandra might have rushed forward and hugged her friend had the lady not worn such a tortured expression.
“Cassandra.” The strained word left Rosamund’s lips before her aunt gave her a hard nudge.
The elder Miss Fox—a spinster of middling years—grabbed Rosamund by the elbow. “We should return to the ballroom. We shall visit the retiring room when it’s a little less crowded.”
Without uttering another word, without a backward glance or a mouthed apology from Rosamund, the ladies scurried out into the corridor.
Cassandra stared at the door as she struggled with the sudden onset of tears. She understood the reason for her friend’s reticence. An unmarried lady could not be seen conversing with one found practically naked in Hyde Park. Losing her reputation was something Cassandra had come to accept. Losing her friend hurt more than she could possibly explain.
Scarlett slammed the door shut and muttered an unladylike obscenity. Then she used the chair to prevent anyone else turning the handle. “What a better world it would be if everyone learnt to show a little kindness and compassion.”
Cassandra drew comfort from Scarlett’s wisdom. “I have been in Rosamund’s position. I know what it’s like to be manipulated by those who profess to know better.”
“As do I,” Verity added. “I was only allowed to speak to those my mother deemed fit.”
Cassandra was the daughter of an equally overbearing parent. “How can I blame Rosamund when it’s obvious she’s frightened?”
“One could see the warring emotions in her eyes,” Verity agreed. “But you must put it from your mind. It was easy for me. No one knew me here in town, and I married Lawrence before there was even a hint of a scandal.”
“And I already had a scandalous reputation when I married Damian,” Scarlett added. “You have suffered despicably, and we will help you in your fight for justice.”
Their kind words roused a weak smile. “You might find it hard to believe after the terrible things I’ve said, but I care deeply for Benedict.”
Scarlett grinned. “You’re in love with him. I saw it on your wedding day, and I saw it when you parted just now in the ballroom.”
Was it so glaringly obvious?
Indeed, she was so in love with Benedict Cavanagh it hurt.
“I have always loved him,” she admitted. “Which is why I must clear his name. I must prove it wasn’t Benedict who orchestrated my ruination.”
Scarlett clapped her hands. “Then let us get on with the task. Sit down.” Scarlett led her to the chaise and Cassandra dropped into the seat. “Close your eyes. I want you to imagine you’re at Lord Craven’s ball. Do you remember feeling dizzy?”
“Yes.” It took a moment to form a mental picture, but she remembered the confounding noise, the heat, the nausea.
“Do you recall walking along the corridor to the retiring room? There is a landscape painting of a field littered with haystacks to the left of the door. To the right is a marble bust of Emperor Commodus.”
A vision of her grabbing the bust as it wobbled on the plinth flashed into her mind. “I think I stumbled in the doorway.”
“And did someone come to your aid?”