A Promising Little Scandal Read online

  Calliope turned her focus back to the interior of the carriage and stared at the bare spot of the opposite seat that wasn’t occupied by her maid. It just seemed so… empty.

  “Are you well, mistress?”

  With a deep breath, she nodded. “I will be.” She lifted her chin. “I always am.”

  Calliope looked outside and watched the scenery of London pass by her window, until it was replaced by green hills dotted with fluffy sheep. It was so peaceful and serene that she couldn’t help but be transported to another time and place, where she had lived in harmony with her father and sisters. She yearned to return to those carefree days at times, but with the passage of the seasons, so too, did life change. She was no longer a little girl, but a woman grown, who had to find a way to manage on her own if she didn’t wish to be tied down to the strictures that came with a husband.

  Although that had initially been the objective of all the Bevelstroke women, Araminta had been the first to fall to Cupid’s arrow with Lord Somers, followed almost immediately by Olivia with the Duke of Gravesend. They had found a true and everlasting love to keep them company for the rest of their days. While Viscount Blakely might be adept in the bedchamber, he was far from someone who could offer such abiding devotion.

  She snorted, just imagining him being coerced to walk down the aisle. He would likely rather drown in the Thames. Honestly, his devil-may-care attitude was quite similar to hers, and yet, she would detest the fact she might cause injury to someone, whereas she was quite sure he had left a trail of broken hearts in his wake.

  But perhaps she was being too harsh. He had been good friends with Araminta’s husband, so surely that commended him if nothing else. Then again, she knew his particular weakness for women with red hair, which she just happened to have. That alone was enough to steer clear of him, because flirtation could easily lead to more and she wasn’t willing to blur that line.

  She realized that she should have refused to dance with him at the Langston Ball, as being in such proximity with him during the waltz, and again during supper, was enough to make her shudder in remembered awareness.

  Thankfully, she could content herself in knowing that they would be separated for some time. Her absence should give him enough time to move on to his next paramour, and for her to put him out of her mind as well. Truly, he should have never found a way within her thoughts in the first place.

  With determination, she directed her attention toward the task ahead. She had promised Mr. Bullock that she would send regular updates regarding her progress, and he was anxiously awaiting word from her.

  Now all she had to do was follow through on her promise.

  “This is the best you could come up with?”

  Sebastian rolled his eyes as his grandfather, Harold Clearwater, Marquess of Abersheen, looked around their rented rooms at the Three Cups Hotel. Stooped over slightly from age, and limping from the gout that affected his right foot, he still held himself with the pride of the aristocracy. Even his wiry gray hair was neatly combed, when most of the time it appeared as though he’d spent the last few minutes trying to pull it out for some reason or another.

  He turned in a slow circle. “Bah!” He waved a hand through the air. “It’s not fit for a rat.”

  Of course, his reaction didn’t come as any surprise to Sebastian. “It was the best accommodations I could find since you adamantly proclaimed that you would not be staying with your cousin, Lord Grammel—”

  “Damn that man’s eyes!” He jammed his cane onto the floor, emphasizing his displeasure. “He would like nothing more than to poison me so that I should die and his son might inherit my fortune.”

  Sebastian’s mouth kicked up at the corner. “I doubt that’s the case—”

  “I may be nine and eighty,” he continued, as if his grandson hadn’t even spoken, “But I am determined to outlive them all, just for spite.”

  “I have no doubt that you will be successful in your endeavors,” Sebastian drawled. “I have always heard that the good die young.”

  This earned him a sharp glare, but Sebastian merely lifted a brow as he waited for the rejoinder. It never came, likely because the marquess knew that he was right.

  He continued to grumble as he made his way into his bedchamber that connected Sebastian’s by a solitary door in the middle. It was the nicest room that the innkeepers had available when Sebastian had written ahead with his request for lodgings, and he wasn’t about to let his grandfather’s displeasure keep him from accepting the offer. It wasn’t as though the old codger would have been content with any other place they had chosen to stay at.

  Sebastian walked over to the window and glanced outside at the quaint village nestled along the Dorset coast. Situated directly across the street from the Three Cups Hotel was another coaching inn. The Royal Lion boasted the whitewashed exterior and timber framing that most of the historic buildings from the Tudor period were known for.

  It was while he was observing the activity in the yard below that he abruptly forgot all else. A lady who looked entirely out of place in her peach day dress and straw bonnet was walking along the street, but the moment she turned her head, a copper tendril escaped her coiffure and blew across her face. She smiled at a woman walking beside her and the sight nearly knocked the wind from his chest.

  It had been more than two weeks since he’d laid eyes on Lady Calliope. It had been the longest that he’d been deprived of her beauty since her initial arrival in London with her sisters during the Christmas season.

  He drank in her loveliness and couldn’t force himself to turn away. It wasn’t until she rounded a corner and disappeared that he realized he was no longer alone.

  He swiveled his head around to find that the marquess was peering in the same direction with a narrowed glare. “Is that the gel?”

  Sebastian blinked in confusion, because he hadn’t spoken a word about Lady Calliope. “What?”

  The cane slammed against the floor. “The gel that caused you to haul me all the way out here under some ridiculous pretense about my foot.” He tapped the bandaged appendage in question.

  “I don’t know what you mean—” Sebastian tried to ease over the situation with a dose of his usual charm. When his grandfather struck his cane again, he gave up any further pretense. If this continued, they might be thrown out on their arses for disturbing the peace. “Very well.” He sighed. “Yes.”

  The marquess snorted. “I should like to meet her, and since we’re already here, you might as well take me down to the shore to soak this blasted leg.”

  Sebastian’s lips twisted as he bowed deeply. “Of course, my lord.” And then went to retrieve the three-wheeled Bath chair.

  “You are too kind to meet me at the inn, Mrs. Anning,” Calliope said to her companion. “I had planned to call on you at the shop when I arrived, as I had mentioned in my letter.”

  The older woman had dull, gray hair that must have been dark in her youth, but the struggles she’d endured in her lifetime had made her appear much older than her middle-aged years. The deep grooves in her face told of hardships that Calliope could not try to comprehend as a duke’s daughter. The instant she’d met the lady, Calliope had been thankful that she’d made this journey, as the funds she had promised her to provide for a personal guide along the cliffs would go far to help the woman’s destitution.

  “Please call me Molly. Everyone else does, and you’ll find that most of the locals here don’t stand on ceremony.” She smiled.

  Calliope returned her greeting with a wide grin. “Then I must insist that you call me Callie. All my sisters do.”

  Molly inclined her head, but something told Calliope that she would reference her by her honorific because Calliope was a member of the aristocracy, and not just another shopkeeper in town.

  As they entered her store, Molly gestured to the various fossils and rocks on display around them with obvious pride. “My Joseph and Mary go out every day and search the shore surrounding the cliffs. They have brought back all the treasures you see around you, including the prehistoric fossil you mentioned in Mr. Bullock’s collection.”

  Calliope nodded. “I assure you that he is quite proud of it and is eager to discuss it with anyone who might listen.”

  “I imagine so. The children certainly delighted in finding it.” She shook her head. “Oh, listen to me carrying on. Of course, that was several years ago, and they are grown now. Although they haven’t found anything quite so impressive since then, Mary is determined not to give up the search.” Her wizened eyes were assessing as they lit on Calliope. “Something tells me you are just as bold as my girl, so between the two of you, I imagine you will uncover a masterpiece.”

  “I don’t know about that. Although I shall do my best to try.” Calliope winked. “I merely appreciate you giving me the chance to tag along and learn a thing or two from her experience.”

  “Have you searched for fossils before?” Molly asked.

  “I regret that I have not,” Calliope admitted as she strolled slowly about the room, inspecting each bone, rock, and artifact that was on display. Some of which were so intricate that she couldn’t even begin to describe what they were. “My father never cared much for the sea air, nor London, for that matter, so I fear my expertise if very limited.” She returned her attention to her hostess. “However, if you are interested in embroidery or the latest fashion plates from Paris, I would be more than happy to share my knowledge.”

  The lady laughed. “I fear I have little need for such fripperies at my age.”

  Calliope could have kicked herself for being so careless of this woman’s situation. It was obvious by the simple, serviceable gown she had on, which was practically worn through in places, the hem adjusted accordingly, that e
ven if Mrs. Anning might wish for a dress from Bond Street, she would never be able to afford it in her lifetime.

  A sense of shame abruptly washed over Calliope. She felt guilty for her lavish upbringing, as anything she could have ever wanted was at her fingertips. Even her ladies’ maid wore better attire than this woman.

  A thought occurred to her, but if she didn’t wish to offend the lady further, she would have to be careful in carrying out the plan brewing in her mind.

  She put a thoughtful finger to her lips. “Is there a seamstress in town, by chance? I daresay this might not suit the harsh, salty sea air.” She lifted a section of her muslin gown to the side.

  “Yes, you are quite right,” Molly murmured. “Mrs. Bastine is the only one in the village. I’ve heard she’s quite accomplished, although I can’t say that for certain as I make my own gowns.”

  “I appreciate the suggestion,” Calliope returned. “I shall have to pay her a visit soon.” She clasped her hands before her and said brightly, “Shall we get started searching today?”

  “If you’d like. I know you’re eager to get started,” Molly returned. “Mary will be down at the shore as she generally is, so she will be easy to find.” She lifted a brow. “Of course, tomorrow is the Sabbath, so we attend church in the morning and generally Mary and Joseph go down to the cliffs in the afternoon. You’re welcome to join us if you’d like.”

  It had been years since Calliope had entered a sanctuary of any kind, but since she was grateful this woman had allowed her into her life so graciously, and she didn’t wish to offend that hospitality, she said, “I should like that very much.” She scrunched up her nose with a smile. “But now, it’s time to go exploring.”

  Chapter Five

  Calliope had to hold on to her bonnet with one hand, and her skirts with the other, as the wind was whipping harder the closer she came to the bay. It might have had something to do with the Cobb, the stone wall that had been built as a barrier around the coastal section of the town to protect the occupants against the fierce storms that blew in from the Channel. She was particularly glad she had decided to grab her velvet pelisse when she’d told her maid where she was heading. It might have started to become warmer farther inland, but the ocean breeze slapping her in the face carried a decided chill.

  She noticed that there weren’t many people about as she drew nearer to the strand. She spied a trio who appeared to be a mother and her two young children playing in the sand. She would find no governesses about here.

  Calliope continued walking and found that the crash of the water upon the rocks was a rather comforting sound. She paused for a moment and watched the white foam caps burst into the air, before they returned to the earth and were swallowed up by the sea once more. She smiled to herself, deciding that she might discover she liked it here.

  As she kept walking, she spied another couple out for the day. It appeared to be an older gentleman in a three-wheeled chair and a man who—

  She squinted her eyes against the water’s spray and shielded her focus from the glare of the sun. If she didn’t know better, from this distance she might have thought that towering figure was familiar. But she discounted that notion as soon as it surfaced, as there was no possible way that Lord Blakely would be here. The similarities could surely be explained by some sort of illusion.

  Or else her mind was attempting to play a terrible trick on her.

  She looked away to gain her equilibrium, but her attention was quickly drawn back to the man and his companion. It appeared as though they had switched course and were now heading back toward the village, which meant that they were coming closer to where she stood.

  At this point she was blatantly staring, but something about the scene just didn’t…look right. While there was a blanket covering the older man’s legs, there was no mistaking the quality of the chair he sat in. It was not the sort that one might find in a seaside village, but rather in a place like Bath, where the aristocracy preferred to go for their health.

  She glanced once more at the man pushing the contraption and realized that the greatcoat flying out behind him was made with equally fine material. Even from a distance, it wasn’t difficult for her to spy a tailored fit. She had pored over the best fabrics that money could by the moment they had arrived in London and knew quality when she saw it.

  And as the distance continued to close between her and the two gentlemen, she started to feel a sudden sense of unease. It wasn’t until her brain finally accepted the sight of that familiar, sandy hair and the broad, wily grin that the viscount wore so well that her fists clenched at her sides.

  When he drew to a halt a few feet from her with an easy greeting, she could not stand for it. She immediately strode forward and demanded, “What are you doing here?”

  The viscount didn’t have time to reply before in the chair admonished, “That’s no way to talk to a viscount, young lady. He should be addressed as my lord.”

  Calliope gritted her teeth and turned her glare on him. “I might use a different adjective when it comes to Lord Blakely, sir, but perhaps I should begin by introducing myself.” She offered the slightest of curtsies. “Lady Calliope Bevelstroke.”

  “Hmmph,” he snorted, as if he wasn’t impressed. “One of Marlington’s gels.” He narrowed his glare on her. “And which unfortunate wife did you come from?”

  Her mouth promptly fell open, and she heard a sigh come from behind the chair. “Now who’s being rude?” the viscount noted with a decided drawl.

  The man wore a proper scowl and spoke as if she wasn’t even standing there. “There’s nothing wrong with wanting to know about the chit. Besides, it isn’t as if everyone doesn’t know about the ‘Black Widower’—”

  Calliope could hold her tongue no longer. She held out a hand. “Let me stop you right there.” She retrieved their attention, as two pairs of eyes swiveled back to her. “None of my father’s wives were unfortunate, but proper duchesses and deeply cared for while they were alive.” She lifted a brow in challenge. “It sounds to me as if you put too much stock in those gossip rags that used to enjoy shredding my family to bits. And not that it’s really any of your concern, but my mother was the third.”

  The old man eyed her sharply. “As I suspected,” he retorted. “You’re still barely fresh from the schoolroom, and yet, you have no problem dressing down one of your elders. Didn’t your governess teach you any manners?”

  She set her hands on her hips. “Did yours?” she countered. “For a man of your advanced years, perhaps it would benefit you to comport yourself with a bit more kindness so that a sharp-tongued girl like me doesn’t have to remind you of proper comportment!”

  Calliope was fuming, eager to know what he had to say to that, but a gust of wind abruptly caught her bonnet and whipped it from her head and sent it sailing through the air. With a cry of alarm, she started to chase after it. The rest of her coiffure quickly went tumbling about her shoulders, but her only thought was to rescue her poor hat before it disappeared beneath the crashing surf.

  She had nearly caught it as it bounced on the sand a couple of times, and then the wind current lifted it back into the air. With a mumbled curse, she continued the pursuit, until it finally landed softly on a rock. Breathing heavily from her exertions, she reached out to grasp the trailing ribbons when a larger hand came into view and retrieved it before she could.

  “Is this what you’re looking for?” The viscount dangled the straw from his fingertips with a sly tilt of his lips. “Or perhaps you might prefer to chase after me instead?”

  “Give me that!” She snatched the bonnet from his grasp and nearly crushed it within her clasped fist. “What are you doing in Lyme Regis?” she hissed. “Have you sunk so low that you have resorted to harassing me now?”

  He laid a hand over his heart and stumbled back a couple steps. “You think I am that zealous in my quest for you?” He tsked. “I hate to break it to you, my lady, but I’m here because of my grandfather. His gout decided to flare up and he wished to take the waters by the sea, as opposed to fighting the crowds flocking to Bath.”