A Summer Scandal (Seasons of Romance Book 3) Read online

  “Mr Edmund Gale,” Aunt Reed offered, evidently eager enough to trade on the association with one of London’s eligible, wealthy bachelors.

  “He is to be married, I believe!” Lady Bartlett declared, darting a glance almost unconsciously towards Nash.

  “I am quite sure all young gentlemen are eager to be married after they have had their fill of freedom,” Aunt Reed remarked, clearing her throat.

  “Indeed!” Lady Bartlett beamed. “You shall have your own happy news to share before long, I don’t doubt.”

  Aunt Reed smiled significantly but said nothing, settling into her chair and allowing her friend to do the same. Nash sighed. It would only be a matter of hours before news of his engagement was circulated amongst his aunt’s set, and he had not even been permitted the opportunity to propose!

  I wonder, he thought glumly. If I may simply stand still and allow the whole of the wedding to happen around me...

  One knee jogged a little as he sat, a physical sign of his inward disquiet. He did not settle, despite the placid expression that remained pinned in place on his handsome features, and scarcely heard a word uttered by the famed novelist who came to address the crowd. His thoughts were elsewhere, stretching uselessly on to a future filled with comfort and wealth, an elegant home and the inheritance his aunt perpetually dangled over his head safely his to spend as he wished...

  Marrying as his aunt chose was a small enough sacrifice to obtain all this, wasn’t it? Why, then, did his eyes stray once more to the corner of the room dominated by Juliet Turner and her aunt? Why did his thoughts tease him with memories of the laughing, boisterous Turner parlour, of the sisters crowding around him, of one sister in particular, whose golden curls perpetually shone in the sunlight, bouncing as she spoke and laughed and danced...?

  Chapter Five

  Louisa had argued against joining Juliet and her aunt on their afternoon shopping expedition. It was not because she disliked shopping - quite the opposite! But she had woken in ill-humour and was tired of talk of weddings even before the family had finished their breakfast, so when the question was posed as to whether she would care to join their bridal reconnaissance, she had declined, claiming a preference to stay at home and rest.

  Mama’s excuse of a headache had been genuine, and Louisa had hovered outside her room for a quarter-hour to see whether she might be of some assistance. Selfish, she might be, but Louisa’s compassion for her family was enough to overrule her comfort, particularly if they were unwell or otherwise unhappy. Mama was quite content to sleep, though, and bade her daughter amuse herself and enjoy the day, leaving Louisa with little in the way of entertainment. She was perusing her aunt and uncle’s small library when her father knocked and entered, clad in his outerwear and with an expectant smile upon his face.

  “My dear daughter!” he boomed. “I understand the thought of spending the afternoon shopping was considered rightly disagreeable to you...” His eyes twinkled with merriment as if he could well understand such a feeling, although he rather doubted its existence in his frivolous, spendthrift daughter. “I do hope you will not deny your old Papa the promise of your company. I wish to take a walk, and I wish that you might accompany me!” He offered her his arm in an old-fashioned show of chivalry and Louisa giggled, unable to refuse him and thinking, just then, that she actually might quite like to escape the house for an hour or so, especially if she might dictate their choice of location for walking.

  “May we go to Regents’ Park, Papa? I should like to see it in summer, when all the flowers are blooming and full of life!”

  This was only a partial untruth. She was fond of beauty in all its guises and knew by reputation the elegance of the display in all of London’s parks would far outstrip anything she might have seen at home. But Louisa’s preference for Regents’ Park had more to do with the potential for people-watching the park promised.

  “I think we can manage that,” Mr Turner said, his eyes twinkling at her as if he saw through her ruse immediately but would never say as much. He indulged each of his daughters in their own way, but it was no secret that Louisa, as the baby of the family, received the most spoiling from both of her parents.

  They followed a meandering path towards the park, pausing every so often so Mr Turner could re-orient himself with their location, or so that he could make some or other observation of the historic significance of a place. Louisa bore this with all patience, but her interest in history could not begin to rival Juliet’s, so the digressions were fleeting at best until, at last, they reached the park.

  “Well!” Mr Turner declared, as they found their pace and began to walk. “I did not expect to see so many people here! It seems half of London has had the same idea as us.”

  “Indeed!” Louisa agreed, happily allowing her eyes to roam over the crowds. She hungrily took in all the details of style and colour favoured by the ladies she passed, for it seemed to her than even the least extravagantly dressed were far more fashionable than anybody she might see at home. She reached a hand up to her hair, tugging thoughtfully on her curls as she examined an exquisite bonnet atop a cascade of dark hair and wondered if she might manage to modify the style and make it her own.

  “How strange it is to walk past all these people and not see a soul one knows!” Mr Turner remarked after he and Louisa had walked some way in silence, greeting strangers as they passed with nods and waves of acknowledgement.

  “I rather like it!” Louisa said, lifting her chin and beaming as she noticed a young gentleman so taken with her that he narrowly avoided colliding with a tree. He recovered himself and hurried on, blushing and burying his head in his hand.

  “Ah, here is one person we know!” Mr Turner’s voice boomed joyously and he lifted his hand in a wave. “And someone even you may prefer to a sea of fashionable strangers, my dear!” He lowered his voice, nudging Louisa gently with his elbow and nodding to a trio of people some way ahead of them. “Tell me, is that not our old friend Mr Weston?”

  The words were barely uttered when Louisa’s eyes fixed on the familiar figure of Edmund’s friend and it took all her powers to resist the urge to run up and greet him. But, no. She was in London now, and she must act as these fashionable strangers might. She must show Nash that she was not little Louisa, a young companion he might tease and admire by turns, but someone old enough to know her own mind, to love and be loved.

  “Well?” Mr Turner urged. “I am surprised at you, Lou. I thought you would be the first to suggest we ought to bowl up and say hello.”

  “We may greet him,” Louisa said, trialling a new, imperious tone of voice that surely distinguished her as elegant and aloof. It was certainly different, for her father frowned to hear it, and she cleared her throat and tried again, sounding a little more like her usual self. “Look, we are about to pass them. It would be rude of us not to acknowledge the acquaintance.”

  “Quite so,” Mr Turner said, his lips quirking as he looked away from his daughter to the oncoming trio. He dipped his head, touching his hat in a show of recognition. “Good day, Mr Weston!”

  Louisa had dropped her head, peering up at Nash through her eyelashes in the most beguiling way she could manufacture, so she could not be sure at first what his response was. He said nothing, though, and as she lifted her head, she saw his gaze sweep over them, with nought but the very vaguest of smiles. There was the slightest wave, a tiny nod of the head, and then he was gone, ushering his two companions - one older lady and one young, Louisa noticed, with a lurch - further along the path.

  Mr Turner said nothing, and when Louisa looked at him, his expression was one of disappointment. He recovered himself almost immediately with a smile and patted Louisa’s hand in silent encouragement.

  “I dare say he did not see us, my dear. Or perhaps he was running late for a pressing engagement. No matter. I have no doubt our paths will cross again in time.”

  “WHO WAS THAT?”

  The question had come from Abigail’s thin lip
s, her voice as pale and thin as its owner, and Nash was so unused to hearing her speak at all that he almost missed it this time, and did not respond until his aunt, with rather less subtlety of manner, repeated the question.

  “Yes, Nash, who were those people?”

  Nash resisted the urge to look back, to walk back and greet his friends properly. For they were his friends. Louisa was...Louisa. Yet how could he say that to his aunt, to Abigail?

  “Friends...” he mumbled, then, realising he had spoken aloud, he clarified. “Friends of Edmund’s. You recall, Aunt, Edmund Gale, who I visited this past Spring.”

  “Ah, yes.” His aunt’s eyes narrowed. “They certainly seemed to remember you.”

  “I am rather memorable,” Nash said, with a sly grin that ordinarily won his aunt over to his side. It was just as successful this time, for she held his gaze for half a moment before dissolving in giggles.

  “Yes, my dear nephew, indeed you are! Now, would you escort me over to that bench, I am a little weary of walking and wish to rest a moment. Abigail, dear, you are surely in need of some rest, too.”

  Abigail dear looked momentarily mutinous, but her neutral expression was in place before Nash could be sure it had ever slipped. A pity, he thought, as his aunt leaned rather heavily on his arm and he steered her towards a seat. I might have been a little intrigued by an Abigail with the ability to think for herself!

  His womenfolk comfortably situated, Nash straightened, standing by to receive his next orders and certain they would be given before long. His aunt was content at that moment to merely sit, though, and to reflect on their afternoon’s entertainment.

  “She was amusing enough, I suppose...” Mrs Reed spoke of the authoress whose talk had been engaging enough that even Nash had found his attention captivated. “And quite pretty! I was surprised. But not married.” There was such dismissal in his aunt’s tone that Nash felt his own lips curve upwards in a smile. As if marriage was a woman’s only goal and purpose.

  “She did not seem to mind it, though,” Abigail ventured.

  Nash was surprised to hear this, and glanced at his cousin, fancying he saw a glimmer of rebellion in her watery blue eyes. “Perhaps her books gave her the fulfilment she needed.”

  “Yes, and the income.” His aunt harrumphed. “She was only able to pursue publishing on account of her wealthy brother. Without him to bankroll her silly little stories, I do not suppose she would have such vaunted success or such enthusiasm for the task.”

  “I have read one or two of her books,” Abigail continued, and Nash did his best to disguise his surprise, particularly at his cousin’s last words. “I rather enjoyed them.”

  “Enjoyed -? Ah, well, you are young.” Mrs Reed reached out and patted her hand, stiffly. “I shall not begrudge you a little entertainment, and we do all have our foibles. Take Mr Weston, here, standing so nobly to attention and with all care towards our wellbeing. He wasted far too many hours in his youth running about London with his gadabout friends, misbehaving.” Her eyes sparkled to suggest she was teasing him, but there was a hardness in his voice that did not entirely lend itself to humour. “Many a time was I asked to bail him out of one scrape or another.” Mrs Reed laughed a loud, barking laugh, shaking her head to dismiss the observation. “We must indulge you youngsters in your youthful indiscretions.” She sighed. “Of course, none of them did you too great a harm, and now see what a charming pair you make!”

  Nash glanced at Abigail, then, surprised to see a flicker of dislike in the features she turned towards him. Again, the expression was gone almost before he could remark upon it, a serene sort-of smile in its place.

  His aunt cleared her throat, as if urging him to follow her comments with a word or two of his own, and he struggled to summon anything, at first. He turned towards the horizon again, his eyes tracing back along the path which had lately taken them past Mr Turner and Louisa, and regretting he was not a braver person. He ought to have acknowledged them at least, if not stopped to share a word or two. He might have introduced them to his aunt and his cousin...but, no. That was foolishness. If he could pretend to himself to care nothing for Louisa’s pretty smiles and easy temperament, his aunt would see through the charade in an instant. She would compare the way he acted around Louisa to the way he acted around his cousin and recognise the truth, and all would be lost.

  “I am grateful you bear with me as graciously as you do, aunt,” he said, woodenly, knowing that this was not quite the compliment his aunt was fishing for, but also certain that it would placate her.

  “Gratitude?” Mrs Reed giggled, but the sound grated on Nash’s nerves all the worse for his knowledge that it was faked. “I do not need your gratitude, Nash. You are my nephew. I want only what is best for you. Come, dear. Are you rested? Let us walk on a little further before returning home. It always serves one well to see and be seen in Regents’ Park. One never knows quite whose path one might cross...!”

  Without being asked, Nash bent and helped first his aunt and then his cousin to their feet. He was a little slow in releasing his grip on Abigail and found that she did not immediately move away from him, but seemed scarcely to notice he was there at all.

  “Nash!” Mrs Reed barked, reaching out for him, and he forsook Abigail for his aunt with an apologetic smile that barely seemed to register with her. His aunt’s grip was tighter, her hold on him heavier, so that there was no chance at all of his escaping. How much her hold on his life felt like that at present! He might have wished to greet Louisa Turner as the friend she had been to him in, he might wish she could be a friend to him again now, or more, even! But there was no hope for it, not while his aunt so firmly directed his steps.

  If only I had a fortune of my own! he thought, his eyes fixed on the ground before him. If only I might not need her - I might live just as I chose, and I should not choose this. He allowed his thoughts to stray, easily and happily to another whose arm might rest gently in his, whose steps would match his, pace for pace, and whose biting observations would amuse, rather than irritate him. How different his life might be, if only...!

  Chapter Six

  Edmund and Mrs Gale smiled and bade their hosts farewell, before embarking on the short walk to the next house they would be calling at.

  “I trust you will not object to our staying longer than the specified quarter-hour at this house?”

  Mrs Gale’s voice was polite, but Edmund knew her well enough not to miss the thinly-veiled criticism she levied at him. Ordinarily, he might fight back, but this time he merely bowed his head and smiled.

  “We may stay just as long as you wish to, Mama. Assuming, of course, that our hosts are content to have us.”

  Mrs Gale scowled at him, before hurrying to settle her features into her usual sanguine smile. Edmund was not sure if she was annoyed with him for suggesting their hosts might not care to keep them all afternoon, or because he refused to let her bait him. Either way, he straightened, offering her his arm with all the politeness he could muster.

  “I am grateful you allow me to occupy your time so completely today, Edmund,” she declared, offering him an imperious little head-tilt. “I thought for certain that you would prefer to spend all day with your fiancée.”

  “Juliet is busy this afternoon, Mama. She is spending some time with her family. Besides...” He slowed, as they drew within sight of the Grenvilles’ house. “I could hardly leave you to make your calls unaccompanied, could I?” He knocked smartly on the door, turning his attention to the servant who ushered them in, and ignoring his mother’s evident annoyance with him. She would tire of her games sooner or later, he supposed, and at least if she was directing her anger, however stiffly, towards him, then Juliet was spared the brunt of it.

  “Mrs Gale! Edmund! Good afternoon!”

  He brightened at the warmth of the reception he received, recalling that he had always found the Grenvilles the most interesting of Mama’s London friends.

  “I hear there are wedding b
ells in your future, Edmund!” Mrs Grenville sparkled, looking easily a decade younger than her years. “Come, sit by me and tell me all about it.”

  “You might have brought the young lady with you, Edmund! You should know we would be happy to meet her.”

  Mr Grenville ushered Mrs Gale to a chair, but his attention remained on Edmund, much to Mrs Gale’s evident annoyance.

  “You will meet Juliet in time,” Edward promised his hosts. “She is in London, so perhaps we might even contrive a meeting before we return to home.”

  “Wonderful!” Mr Grenville turned to Mrs Gale. “And you must be pleased to see your son so happily matched, Mrs Gale.” He waggled his eyebrows at her. “It is all we parents can hope for, is not it?”

  Mrs Gale sniffed but did not contradict him, and when her eyes met Edmund’s there was some shadow there he had not noticed before. Before he could puzzle it out, though, Mrs Grenville had laid a light hand on his arm, drawing his attention back to her.

  “She has sisters, I believe?”

  “Three of them.” Edmund smiled. “One has joined the family in London, where they stay with an aunt and uncle...Colonel and Mrs Brierley.”

  This was uttered despite his Mama choosing that precise moment to clear her throat, and Edmund was forced to conclude this was not coincidental but an attempt, by Mrs Gale, to avoid disclosing what close connections they now had with residents on the edge of Cheapside.

  “I do not think I know the name,” Mrs Grenville said, oblivious to the look that was exchanged between mother and son. She beamed at Edmund. “Perhaps you would be kind enough to introduce us, during your time in London.”

  “You shall attend Thursday’s assembly, of course.” This was a statement of fact, although Mr Grenville did at least look to Mrs Gale for confirmation. “A visit to London is not complete without at least one assembly, or so my wife assures me.”