A Summer Scandal (Seasons of Romance Book 3) Page 3

  Edmund had inherited his steely determination from his mother, along with his father’s enviable good nature. But even the most even of temperaments could not bear such provocation forever.

  “Oh, indeed! You would have me travel all this way unaccompanied, to wither here alone.”

  “Alone?” Edmund fingered his brow, pressing back against a headache that had been gradually encroaching al morning. Ordinarily, it might have been solved with a walk around one of London’s many parks, or a trip to his club, wherein conversation with long-forgotten friends might offer some distraction. Leaving the house now, though, would mean leaving his mother and in her current mood that would be a further excuse to her to harden her grudge against him. Edmund screwed his eyes closed for one brief moment of oblivion before snapping his head up and meeting her gaze with a smile.

  “You are not alone now, Mama, and I dare say you are right. We have neglected this house and our neighbours. What would you like to do first, now that we are here?” He swallowed. “I am entirely at my ease today, so please, do let us attend to whatever tasks and errands you wish to undertake.” His smile grew stretched almost to the point of pain. “I am at your service.”

  “Indeed.” Mrs Gale’s thin eyebrows arched, her tone icy. Edmund was poised to despair of ever winning over his Mama, of ever smoothing things between them, when she softened and retraced her steps, reaching up to smooth out the lines on his forehead with an almost affectionate touch.

  “You oughtn’t to frown, so. It ages you, and whilst some men become lines, you are not one of them.” She dropped her hand to her side, smoothing some imagined dust from her skirts. “I suppose we might at least take a turn of the close. It is so long since I was last here that I scarcely recall our neighbours, and dare say they do not know me.”

  “Mama -” Edmund was poised to contradict her, to remind her that their neighbours were people very much like them, and whose townhouses were occupied in much the same manner. That was rarely, out of season. Still, this was the first hint Mrs Gale had shown that she might at least consider forgiving her son the capital sin of following his heart. He would not squander that. He dropped into a theatrical bow, unconsciously mimicking Nash as he straightened and beamed at her.

  “I trust you will allow me to escort you, Mama. I should like to reacquaint myself with the close, too, for as you rightly assert it is quite some time since either of us were last here.”

  Mrs Gale harrumphed but said nothing, which minor point Edmund considered a victory.

  The weather was not warm, despite the season, but it was at least dry. Their last week in the countryside had been punctuated by a run of rainy days, and Edmund could not deny that the presence of sunshine helped to lift his spirits. Even the chill of the breeze served to blow away the cobwebs of travel, and the last vestiges of his headache, so that both he and his mother were soon in better spirits than they had been for what felt like an age.

  “I ought to call on Colonel and Mrs Brierley, I suppose,” Edmund remarked aloud, as they reached a cross-roads and debated turning back towards home.

  “Oh?” Mrs Gale’s interest was piqued. Here was a name she did not recognise, and the fact that their home was the first beyond his own that Edmund should make mention of was a point of curiosity. Edmund almost smiled to think how quickly her interest would vanish when she learned of their true identity. A mischievous idea occurred to him, and he decided to delay true enlightenment, instead urging her to walk with him a little further along the bright, straight road, in a direction he had learned only one day previously, after a cursory examination of a map had brought to mind an address he had never yet had cause to visit.

  “You shall like them, Mama. Good people. He was in the regiment -” Here, Mrs Gale’s expression fell and Edmund sought to remind her of words she herself had uttered in favour of the military when in hearing of other ears than her son’s. “I know how greatly you admire the regiment, Mama, and Colonel Brierley is as fine and upstanding a gentleman as ever I have known. Retired now, of course, but he is so amiable and engaging a fellow that he and his wife are quite the social pin on which a great portion of London society turns. You shall like them immensely.”

  “Brierley, you say?” Mrs Gale queried, frowning as if turning the name over in her mind. “Do you know, Edmund, I think I do recall some mention of them, now. Are they, perhaps, acquainted with Lady Dalrymple?” Her voice dropped to a near whisper. “The Prince Regent?”

  Edward’s eyebrows lifted and he nodded, unable to speak a word for fear that he would laugh and so betray himself. He did not doubt Juliet’s aunt and uncle were quite as respectable a pair as any he might name in London, but he did not suppose they were any closer to the circles the Prince Regent moved in than he was - a fact that meant little enough to him.

  “They live humbly, of course,” Edmund ventured at last, as the street they walked along grew a little winding, a little shabbier, with the houses cramped a little closer together. He forestalled his mother’s query, dropping his voice to denote a confidence. “In London, in any case. Of course, they are far more often found in Bath, for you know London can get so crowded these days.”

  Mrs Gale nodded as if this were a complaint she was fond of making, when, in truth, the crowds of London were what she most often craved on the long, empty evenings at Northridge.

  “Here we are!” Edmund brightened as he beheld the house, thinking he would have recognised it anywhere from Juliet’s colourful, amusing descriptions of the happy times she had spent here. He had wanted to claim her extravagant aunt and longsuffering uncle for his own the very first time he had heard her speak of them, and now, he realised with a grin, they would be. He stood a little taller as he approached the door, knocking sharply and waiting to be admitted to the parlour. Mrs Gale hesitated a step on the threshold, shooting a glance at her son as if she was not quite sure she trusted him or believed the words he had fed her on their winding walk here. But here, she was and it was too late to turn back.

  They were shown into a parlour that was not small but made to feel it by an abundance of furniture, with paintings hanging on every available wall. Edward’s eyes widened, and he smiled, turning to greet the owners of the house with all politeness before his gaze rested on his true reason for calling at the house that afternoon.

  “Good afternoon, Juliet! I see you are all well settled, then? Mama, allow me to introduce you to Juliet’s aunt and uncle. And of course, you recall these neighbours rather well. I assure you, they are only too familiar with you!”

  Chapter Four

  Their first day in London had been declared a success, even though they had spent the whole day at home. Edmund’s visit had been a high point, and Juliet hoped he knew how pleased she was to see him and how well-received he had been in the home of her aunt and uncle.

  His mother had been welcomed just as warmly but had certainly failed to make anything close to the good impression he had made.

  “Now, Juliet!” Mrs Brierley remarked, bustling closer to her. “It is just us girls together, you may speak quite freely. Your Edmund’s mother...!” She raised her thin eyebrows skywards and shuddered. “Is she always so...”

  “Quiet?” Juliet grasped for a word she could use that would not be considered rude. Amongst friends, or with Edmund, even, she might have been a little freer in her choice, but Juliet knew her aunt well enough to know that she was liable to repeat anything she heard from her niece, neither caring nor noticing who might overhear her.

  “Quiet is the very least that she was!” Mrs Brierley retorted, shaking her head with a disappointed sigh. “Dear me, Juliet, you shall have your work cut out with her for a mother-in-law.”

  Juliet’s smile grew brittle. This, she did not need reminding of. As much as she looked forward to beginning her new life with Edmund - and she did, she reminded herself, as a bubble of excitement fizzed in her chest - the one obstacle in the way of her fully embracing the happy future that lay before her w
as Mrs Gale.

  Juliet had entertained a fleeting hope that here, in London, things might be different between them. Edmund’s mother might be able to see past the grudge she nursed against Juliet for having the audacity to win her son’s heart and build some sort of understanding between them. She did not go so far as to ever think they might be friends, but if she could at least get past the wall of ice Mrs Gale had thrown up between them, she would count that a success.

  “Still, I suppose we cannot help our mothers.” Mrs Brierley sniffed, before dissolving into a smile that rendered her two decades younger. “Your Edmund is quite agreeable. And so clever! I had begun to abandon all hope of a gentleman managing to be both clever and handsome, and also good-humoured, and Mr Gale manages to be all three. I certainly approve of your choice, dear, and give you my leave to marry him.”

  This was enough to chase away any last vestiges of melancholy Juliet might still feel about the frosty reception she had received from Edmund’s mother. Tucking her arm through her aunt’s, she laughed, and the two ladies continued on their walk, pausing before various windows to examine the shopkeepers’ wares and discuss the purchases that were ostensibly Juliet’s reason for being in London.

  “What a shame your Mama could not accompany us. And Louisa!” Mrs Brierley tutted. “I am surprised at Louisa. She is an artist. We would do well with her sense of taste and style.”

  Juliet frowned before realising that her aunt had not meant to snub her, and in any case, it was true: she was no great arbiter of style. If she wished to look the part of Mr Edmund Gale’s wife, she could certainly do worse than take the advice of her stylish younger sister.

  “Mama often suffers from headaches, especially after a day of travel and upheaval,” she said, smiling in sympathy as she recalled the croaked excuse her mother had offered that morning, crying off the day shopping and bidding Juliet go on without her, and come home with her head filled with ideas that they might discuss together over tea.

  That Louisa should refuse the opportunity of a shopping excursion was a mystery indeed, but she had claimed, rather haughtily, that she wished to remain at home. Juliet had no humour to tease the truth from her sister and decided that Louisa might keep her secrets, grateful for the chance of a morning with her aunt, who was always a great source of fun and adventure.

  “Well, I shan’t mind it,” Mrs Brierley said, nestling her substantial frame a little closer to her slim niece. “I wished to speak with you alone, anyway.”

  Juliet felt herself colour, fearing for yet another pointed observation of either Edmund or his Mama. To her surprise, Mrs Brierley fixed her sharp eyes on her and smiled.

  “I wish to know the status of your literary debut. Do not tell me that you have abandoned it, for if marriage forces you to forego your dream of authorship I shall march right over to Mr Gale’s townhouse and inform my soon-to-be nephew-in-law that he must cease and desist, immediately, and allow my genius niece all leave to continue.”

  This little speech was so surprising and so fervent in its utterance, that Juliet laughed again, pleased and proud to have such an ardent supporter.

  “I am no further along the road to publication,” she confided. “But I am still writing.”

  She patted her reticule, which always housed a scrap of paper and writing implements, in case inspiration should strike when she was not at home.

  “Good!” Mrs Brierley said, with a determined nod. “I do not like the thought of young ladies abandoning their own talents and enjoyments simply because they have had the fortune - good or bad - to marry. You must tell Bess as much, too. I care little that she is marrying a famed concert pianist if she abandons her path to becoming one in her own right.”

  “Aunt, you know Bes would never -” Juliet paused mid-thought, thinking that, before meeting Mr Cluett, she would not have thought it possible for Bess to form an attachment with any gentleman, let alone one whose name was known in the most elevated of circles. Perhaps Bess could become a famed musician, and Juliet did not doubt, with Mr Cluett by her side, that she might achieve it if she truly wished to. She sighed, fearing that her dreams remained just as far from her as they ever had been. Edmund might have promised never to keep her from writing, but that did not mean he would be able to help her pursue it.

  “Now, look at this!” Mrs Brierley declared, tugging Juliet to a stop before a tall, elegant-looking building. She squinted at an announcement papered on one wall. “What providence! A lecture an authoress! Mrs Sinclair. And look, we have an hour to spare before it begins. Let us take tea and then return. Shopping can wait, don’t you agree?”

  Her eyes sparkled as she fixed them on her niece and Juliet was left certain that this had been her plan all along. Shopping might have been the excuse offered at home, but Juliet knew her aunt well enough to know that it was no accident that they should have found themselves faced with the announcement of a lecture by someone Juliet so longed to emulate. She opened her mouth to say so, but Mrs Brierley had already hurried off in the direction of the tearoom, leaving Juliet with little alternative than to hurry after her, smiling at the delightful turn their afternoon had taken.

  NASH FUMBLED WITH HIS cuff, ensuring his aunt and cousin were comfortably seated before selecting his own chair beside his aunt. He glanced wearily towards the door, wishing he could escape through it, but there was no chance of his leaving, as a wall of guests arrived in pairs and small groups, and, in any case, his aunt had begun speaking again.

  “...I do not approve of ladies writing per se,” Mrs Reed continued, returning to the topic of the complaint that had been uppermost in her mind and most often on her lips that morning. “It is hardly a respectable accomplishment...”

  She exchanged a knowing glance with Nash’s cousin, who nodded, and waited for Nash to chime in with his approval. He made a sound that might have been an agreement, and Aunt Reed continued.

  “And, of course, I much prefer to read things that are improving to one’s mind and character. But they are very popular, these novels, and I had it on authority that a great number of people would be in attendance this afternoon - oh, Lady Bartlett! Good afternoon! Yes, do come and sit with us. Do you know Miss Abigail Carter? And this is my nephew, Mr Weston...”

  Nash glanced up, his attention pulled once more to the endless round of introductions that seemed to follow him wherever he chanced to be with his aunt.

  He had seen none of his friends since his return to London, more by his chance than by his choosing. He did not think even Aunt Reed was controlling enough to begrudge him an hour or two at the club, provided he caused no scandal. He smiled, drily, thinking that there was very little in his circle that she would not brand scandal, but he was determined to placate her and earn himself another few months’ freedom at the end of this visit, so he went above and beyond mere obedience. He was her bondservant for the duration of his time in London, offering nought but agreeable conversation and a great many smiles and compliments, both to her and to his cousin.

  He sighed, his gaze reaching across the bulk of his aunt to the slight, elbowy figure of Miss Abigail Carter. They scarcely knew one another, for all that they were related. Cousin denoted a closeness that was not there, for there were several removals in between, yet Aunt Reed had decided that theirs would be a perfect union, and he was running out of reasons to delay.

  Would it be so dreadful? he asked himself, returning to the question that had kept him awake late into the night. Not every gentleman had the privilege of marrying for love, and he did not suppose Abigail would make him a terrible wife. She was not disagreeable nor ugly. She was not very much of anything, and therein lay the difficulty. Nash Weston was clever. He was fond of beauty and elegance and charm, eager for adventure and amusement. Could he endure a lifetime of...nothingness, merely to please his aunt?

  And what is my alternative? He scowled, hurrying to smooth out the expression before it could be noticed, and lifting his gaze to his aunt and her companion. Both la
dies were deep in a whispered discussion, their eyes darting across the room to their victim, an over-dressed woman who spoke loudly and theatrically to her own younger companion. Nash froze, recognising the young lady in an instance and stiffening, glancing around to see if he could spy her sister. But, no. Juliet Turner was there alone. Small mercies. Nash sank in his seat, hopeful that he could avoid being noticed.

  The similarity of their positions at that moment was not lost on him, and he could not resist sneaking one last glimpse. Juliet’s aunt, for that was who the lady must be, might have caught the attention and derision of his relative and her companions, but Nash could not help but be intrigued by her. She spoke eloquently and enthusiastically, winning several smiles from Juliet. He knew enough of Edmund’s bride-to-be to know that to win her admiration was no mean feat, and he felt a fleeting wish that he might be playing escort to that pair of ladies instead of his own.

  “...Mr Weston?”

  He blanched, realising too late that he had allowed his attention to wander and had doubtless been noticed. He smiled, deploying all the charm his handsome features allowed and was pleased to see his interrogator colour and soften towards him immediately.

  “Lady Bartlett.” He kept his smile in place, knowing enough of psychology to gamble that in so doing he would encourage her to repeat her question without his ever having to admit he had not heard it.

  “Yes, well, I merely wondered how you are enjoying London. It is some months since you were last here, I believe...”

  “I was staying with a friend of mine in the country,” Nash said, his smile slipping a little on the word friend. It was what Gale was, and he oughtn’t to allow jealousy to undermine that. The fellow could hardly help it if fortune smiled on him. And has been doing so since the day of his fortuitous birth! Nash thought, bitterly.