Tea and Scandal Read online

  TEA AND SCANDAL

  Joan Smith

  Chapter One

  Jane Lonsdale leaned back against the velvet squabs of a well-sprung carriage and gazed out at the passing countryside. It was an unaccustomed luxury for her to be traveling in a private carriage. On the other occasion she had visited her Aunt Fay at Wildercliffe, she had traveled on the stage. At that time, her aunt had been Lady Pargeter’s hired companion. Lady Pargeter had died since then. Fay was fortunate that Lord Pargeter had asked her to remain on as his housekeeper. As a working lady herself, Jane was intimately aware of the difficulty of finding a good position.

  It was the circumstance of Jane’s taking a position at Miss Prism’s Academy for Young Ladies at Bath that had caused that former visit. As Jane had nowhere to go for Christmas, Fay had invited her to Wildercliffe, in the Cotswold Hills, less than a day’s drive away.

  What would Aunt Fay think when she landed in with two trunks holding the sum total of her worldly possessions? Worse, what would Lord Pargeter think? He was a very toplofty gentleman. Aunt Fay’s letter could hardly have arrived more opportunely—on the very day Miss Prism turned her off. Jane’s cheeks flushed in shame to remember the dreadful moment when she had been caught in Mr. Fortini’s arms—and in a classroom, too, where a student might have come barging in at any moment.

  Mr. Fortini was a passionate Italian. He had attacked her, but try telling Miss Prism that. Fortini, the visiting music master, was nothing but a lecher. He pestered all the female teachers. But Miss Prism had a tendre for him, and so it was the innocent victim who was punished by dismissal.

  Jane glanced at her watch—4:00 P.M. She should be at Wildercliffe within the hour. She gazed out at the passing scene. Limestone cottages nestled against the hillside, as if seeking shelter from the wind. It seemed everything was built of stone here in Cotswold country. Sheep dotted the fields, their lambs frolicking amongst them in this spring season. Silver streams flowed through the meadows. The idyllic surroundings took the sharp edge from Jane’s anxiety, but a heavy burden rested on her heart. It would be extremely difficult to find another position without a character reference from Miss Prism.

  Forty-five minutes later, the carriage passed through the picturesque village of Bibury. Soon they left the main road and entered the park of Wildercliffe. This was Jane’s second visit, but she was surprised anew by the beauty and grandeur of the estate. Tantalizing glimpses of gray stone were visible through the scattered trees. Then the carriage turned the corner, and the house rose before her in all its splendor. It stood three stories high, with a row of statues along the roofline. On either end a lower wing extended, curving gracefully toward the rear. The pedimented doorway was fronted by a set of broad steps. Stone urns topped the stone banister posts.

  The groom pulled up to the front of the house and opened the carriage door.

  “I shall go around to the rear with you and enter by the kitchen,” Jane said. That high stickler Lord Pargeter would not like his housekeeper’s guest to use the main entrance.

  “Lady Pargeter particularly said I should bring you to the front door, madam,” the groom said.

  “Lady Pargeter!” It seemed his lordship had remarried. Fay had not mentioned it in her letter. He had not waited long! His first wife had only been dead eight months. The new wife sounded an extremely obliging lady, allowing her housekeeper’s guest to use the front door!

  Jane mounted the broad staircase. Before she could knock, the carved oaken door was opened by the stiff-faced butler.

  “Welcome to Wildercliffe, Miss Lonsdale,” Broome said, and ushered her in. “I shall announce you.”

  Jane said, “Oh, that is not necessary, Broome. If you will just take me to Miss Rampling’s quarters, I believe she is expecting me.” She felt uneasy in the baroque magnificence of a pink marbled floor spreading around her like a gleaming pond, and a massive chandelier hanging overhead.

  The smile that twisted Broome’s lips looked far from at home there. He bowed and walked to the wide doorway that pierced the wall on the left. It gave a glimpse of the long Blue Saloon beyond. Corners of marble fireplaces, gilt-framed pictures, and sofas were to be seen, but not Lady Pargeter.

  “Miss Lonsdale has arrived, your ladyship,” he announced.

  Jane wished she could hide behind the six-foot Chinese vase in the corner, or turn to marble like the statues in the hall. She mentally prepared her apologies. “Some misunderstanding, your ladyship—”

  “Well, show her in, Broome,” a haughty voice said. The voice sounded vaguely familiar, yet Jane knew no one who spoke with such self-consequence except Miss Prism, and certainly Miss Prism was not Lady Pargeter.

  Broome ushered Jane in. Her eyes turned to the chaise longue by the grate, where a well-padded lady of a certain age, dressed in a deep blue velvet gown with a trailing skirt, reclined at her ease. Her blond hair was arranged in a crown of curls. At her wrist, a sapphire and diamond bracelet twinkled.

  “Come and give your old auntie a kiss, Jane,” she said.

  “Aunt Fay?” Jane said, staring in bewilderment.

  “You can call me Lady Pargeter. I married him.”

  For a full thirty seconds, Jane was speechless. Fay had always been a great jokesmith, but this was going too far. Lord Pargeter might appear at any moment, and with his hot temper, he would send them both packing.

  “Come and have a seat, dear,” Fay said, sitting up and patting the chaise longue. “You look like a ghost.”

  Jane managed to make it to the chaise longue. Fay handed her a glass of wine, saying, “Drink this down. It’ll put the roses back in your cheeks. I didn’t mean to give you a turn. I should have told you. I was saving it for a surprise.”

  “But it cannot be true. Lord Pargeter married to you? He always called you Rampling in that odious way and treated you like a servant."

  "That was before Lizzie died. His grief softened him up."

  "Lady Pargeter has only been dead eight months."

  "Aye, we did rush it somewhat, but then, Pargeter was no longer young. There was some talk hi the neighborhood when I stayed on as housekeeper, you see. No reason there should have been. It was all aboveboard, but Pargeter was lonesome, and we spent a good bit of time together. Our neighbor, Lord Malton, tipped Harold the clue we were causing a scandal. Said he must either marry me or turn me off. So Harold offered, and I accepted. I'd be a fool not to, eh?"

  "Surely Lord Pargeter is too old for that sort of scandal."

  "He was seventy-two when I married him."

  "And you only forty-one! Why did you not tell me you were getting married?"

  "Being in mourning, we did it up quietly. And, my dear, to tell the truth, I was ashamed of myself, for there was a deal of talk in the neighborhood. I meant to write to you, but then Harold took ill, and I was fully occupied with that."

  "I hope he is better?"

  "Oh no, I buried him two months ago," she said blandly.

  "Oh, I am sorry," Jane said uncertainly. Her uncertainty was caused by the lack of any show of sorrow in the widow.

  Fay nodded. "It was not a love match, but I miss the old scoundrel. If I had ever dreamed I would have to face all this alone, I doubt I would have agreed to his terms."

  "What terms were those, Auntie?"

  "Fine lords and ladies always have strings attached to their contracts, including marriage. I agreed to remain in residence until—well, for a long time, so I am stuck with it. The fact is, the neighbors have sent me to Jericho. No one calls. I am alone, rattling around in this great house with only the servants to talk to. I want you to be my companion."

  "It is fate," Jane said, and rose to throw her arms around her aunt. "I have my trunks with me."

  "Excellent! B
ut what were you up to, minx, that they turned you off?"

  Jane explained the situation. "And is it really true I will never have to teach again? It's like a dream."

  "It's pleasant here, but it's not all a bed of roses."

  Jane looked around at the magnificent surroundings, at her aunt's lavish gown and jewelry, and said, "If this is not a bed of roses, I should like to know what is." With Lord Pargeter gone, there was nothing left to wish for in her new home.

  "Roses have thorns, Jane. The particular thorn that bedevils me is Lady Sykes, and what business it is of hers, I should like to know. She is only a connection of Pargeter's. He didn't even bother to notify her of our marriage, but as soon as she learned of his death, she came pelting down, expecting to inherit Wildercliffe, for it was not entailed."

  "She is some kin to the Pargeters, you say?"

  "She is nobody; her papa was a yeoman farmer. She married Pargeter's cousin, Sir James Sykes. Sir James is dead. It is her son that she hoped to see the heir. The more fool she! Pargeter loathed Nigel.”

  “Lady Sykes cannot upset the apple cart. You are genteel. I mean there was nothing irregular in the marriage, was there?”

  Lady Pargeter’s fingers plucked nervously at the velvet of her skirt. “Only the irregularity of Harold marrying his housekeeper. It is irregular, but not illegal. She hasn’t a leg to stand on, and so I told her.”

  “She will soon tire of pestering you and go away.”

  “The woman sticks like a barnacle. She is turning the neighborhood against me. She has been billeting herself on Swann for a month, and has hired a lawyer to try to frighten me into submission.”

  “Swann? Is he some kin to Pargeter as well?”

  “He was Lizzie’s cousin—Lady Pargeter, you know. She was a Swann before marriage, but she was also kin to Pargeter. You know how these noble families are. Scawen Swann gave me no trouble at all. He is an easygoing sort of fool. Anyhow, I am all alone here, and want you to stay with me until—well, for as long as it suits you. Will you do it, Jane? You are the only relative I have in the world.”

  “With pleasure, but I can’t help you with Lady Sykes. I know nothing of the law. Why do you not hire a lawyer?”

  “Not necessary. Pargeter was as clever as can stare. She’ll not break the will. I shall hire a lawyer if it comes to a court case. Thus far Lady Sykes is only threatening, and trying to work up a case against me. I would not give her the satisfaction to think I take her seriously. But enough of my troubles. Now let us discuss the happier side of my situation. I was left very well to grass, you must know.”

  “Yes,” Jane said, gazing around in stupefaction.

  “Fifty thousand, on top of the estate, and a handsome income as well from the tenant farms. All mine for life.”

  “A pity Lord Pargeter hadn’t a son to carry on his name.”

  “Yes,” Fay said, and immediately changed the subject. “Naturally I shall pay you.”

  “Miss Prism paid me fifty a year, plus room and board.”

  A merry peal of laughter rang out. “Skint! I was paid two hundred when I was Lizzie’s companion, and I didn’t have to lift a finger except to summon a servant. Fifty wouldn’t keep you in ribbons here. We shall say two hundred for starters. How is that? I shall give you your first installment this very day.”

  “It’s too much!”

  Fay smiled. “Get used to it. I don’t mean to keep myself locked away. Until my mourning is up, I cannot go flaunting myself in public, but I can entertain a few guests to dinner, and visit friends, now that I have a cohort. And you will be with me, rigged out like a fine lady. I’ll not be cowed by Lady Nose-in-the-air Sykes. Dammed if I will. There! I should not have said that. It was Pargeter who got me in the habit. Now that I have a vicar’s daughter to keep me in line, I shall soon be as nice as a nun again.”

  “A vicar’s daughter and a schoolmistress.”

  “Pargeter said we were all fools, Jane, when I talked to him about our family. A clever man like your papa ought to have gone up to London and become a politician. You would not have been left penniless when he died. And you should have got yourself into a noble house where you would meet some interesting gentlemen.”

  “A gentleman is not likely to marry a governess, Auntie.”

  “I know one who married his housekeeper, and she was not young and pretty like you—although she was not too old to catch a gentleman’s eye.” On another peal of laughter, she called Broome to show Miss Lonsdale to the Rose Guest Suite.

  “I shall let you get settled in. We dine at six. All we fine ladies dress for dinner. One never knows, Lady Sykes might set fire to the house. I would not give her the satisfaction of catching me without a string of diamonds around my neck.”

  Jane followed Broome upstairs to an elaborate suite of such splendor, she was half afraid to touch anything. It looked like a palace, after the humble room she had shared with a fellow teacher, Harriet Stowe, at Miss Prism’s Academy.

  She wandered about the bedroom and sitting room, marveling at the size and richness of the space. The sheen of rose brocade on the canopied bed and at the windows cast a glow on the carved mahogany furnishings. Her feet sank into the thick wool of an Oriental carpet. A servant had unpacked while she sat below with Fay. Her few gowns did not take up a quarter of the armoire, and her tortoiseshell comb and brush looked forlorn on the toilet table. How very different life was going to be, here at Wildercliffe.

  And how very odd that Aunt Fay was mistress of it all. Jane could understand Fay’s marrying Pargeter for security, and for all the luxury his money brought. What she could not comprehend was why Pargeter had married Fay. Why not marry a younger lady, who might give him an heir? Or at least a lady from his own class of society. And he had not only married her, he had done it within a year of his wife’s death. Of course, Pargeter was accustomed to having Fay about the place. To avoid scandal, he had married her—and within a few months Fay had ended up the inheritor of the whole fortune. Jane could easily understand that Lady Sykes was miffed. It did seem unfair.

  Chapter Two

  At Swann Hall, a very impatient Lady Sykes yanked at her shawl and scowled at her host as if it were his fault that she was so frustrated. Lady Sykes had been pretty once, but decades of greed and quarreling had left their mark on her face. Sharp lines were etched between her eyebrows and at the corners of her green eyes. Her auburn hair was streaked with silver, but it was her petulant lips, clamped in an angry, determined line, that lent her the air of a bulldog.

  “Must you slouch in that ill-bred manner, Horace?” she said sharply to her brother.

  Horace Gurney was possibly even more eager than the lady’s host to see the back of her. The malleable Scawen Swann had allowed Horace, a mere connection, to billet himself at Swann Hall for the past decade. Despite the difference in their ages, the gentlemen rubbed along smoothly. If Scawen’s wine cellar had to be restocked more often than formerly, he was too kind to say so.

  “Any word from Belton on Fay Rampling?” Horace inquired. Belton was the lawyer she had hired to check up on Lady Pargeter, in hopes of discovering some irregularity in the infamous marriage.

  Lady Sykes bridled up like an angry mare. “I have it on the best authority she fed poor Harold wine from morning to night. No doubt she called in a preacher while he was in his cups and did the deed. It is nothing else but coercion, and as soon as Belton can get one of the footmen or maids to corroborate it, I shall have her taken before a magistrate.”

  Swann poked the dying embers and said in an amiable way, “Nothing in that, I fear. Harold was always a bit of a toper, beginning with ale for breakfast, through to a jug of brandy before hitting the tick at night. Mind you, he held his spirits like a gentleman.”

  “Nothing wrong with a wee drop,” Horace said, tilting the wine decanter into his glass.

  Lady Sykes directed one withering look of disgust at her brother. He looked little better than a groom, in his wrinkled jacket and with th
at unkempt head of gray hair. He was the image of their papa, a hulking man with no elegance and no manners. Lady Sykes preferred to forget her ancestors. Thank God Horace made his home with Scawen, or she would be lumbered with him in London.

  “It was the brandy that rotted Pargeter’s brain,” she announced. “Pargeter must have been insane to marry her. Insanity is an excellent excuse to overturn the will. And who performed the ceremony? I made sure it was Vicar Hellman, but he tells me he knew nothing of the marriage until he heard it from Lord Malton. They did not post any banns. That looks fishy. I doubt they were ever legally married at all.”

  “Special license, I believe,” Scawen said, with a kindly smile. “Perfectly legal.”

  Lady Sykes snorted. “I shall ask Belton to look into it.” She rose, gathering her shawl around her, to retire.

  Phoebe regularly retired to her chamber at nine on the dot to fire off a barrage of scolding letters to all her near and dear. The gentlemen agreed they could not cope with her were it not for those few free hours at the end of the day. They exchanged a sorry look when the door knocker sounded. Nine was late for a caller, but not too late for Belton, and his calls always put Phoebe in a pucker. Lady Sykes resumed her seat, mentally arraying accusations, complaints, questions, and demands to put to Belton.

  Morton, the butler, appeared at the door of the saloon. “Lord Fenwick,” he announced.

  Lady Sykes leapt from the sofa as if she had been goaded by a cattle prod. “Lord Fenwick! What the devil is he doing here? Show him in, Morton.” She turned to Swann, adding, “You ought to speak to that butler, Scawen. Leaving Lord Fenwick standing in that drafty hall, and in a soiled jacket, too.”

  “Fenwick never wore a soiled jacket in his life,” Scawen chided her. “A regular out and outer.”

  “Morton never wore a clean one.” She said no more, for she had to compose her face into a smile to greet Lord Fenwick, who was top of the trees.

  To describe his appearance did not do him justice. He was of sufficient height and breadth of shoulders to qualify as well built. While not excessively handsome, his features were regular and pleasantly arranged: well-barbered brown hair, clever gray eyes, a straight nose, good teeth. His jackets, while impeccably cut, did not soar to any Olympian heights of dandyism. Yet with no outstanding features, he still managed to create a special air of consequence. His breeding showed in his easy manners, which never gave offense—unless he wished to.