A Lady’s First Scandal Page 4

  She would have liked to spend more time in the genteel man’s company, but as soon as their dance was over and Lord Howsden escorted her back to where the political conversation was still going on, one look at Rupert told her that would be impossible.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Rupert asked in a tense, quiet voice once Lord Howsden let her go. He cupped her elbow and led her to the side so they could speak undisturbed.

  Cece blinked at him. “I was dancing,” she said, astounded by the force of his objection, ire rising within her. “Seeing as you didn’t want to.”

  “I never said I didn’t want to, only to wait,” he snapped.

  “To wait?” Cece gaped at him, growing hot. “You have the audacity to ask me to wait?”

  “I was in the middle of a conversation.”

  “A conversation of little importance,” she said, standing taller. “I have waited for four years, Rupert. After all that, a woman grows tired of waiting.”

  Fire filled Rupert’s eyes, enough to make Cece nervous. Without another word, he slipped her arm through his and marched into the heart of the ballroom.

  She expected him to stop in the midst of the couples that were forming for the next dance, but instead, he continued to march, all the way to the far end of the room where the orchestra was tuning for the next song. Without so much as a by your leave, he let go of Cece’s arm and stepped up onto the small dais where the conductor stood.

  “You’re tired of waiting?” he told her as those nearest to the orchestra dropped their conversations to turn and look at him. “Fine. You won’t have to wait anymore. Ladies and gentlemen,” he called out in a loud voice.

  A cold sweat broke out on Cece’s back, and her irritation mingled with alarm. She turned, eyes wide, toward the ballroom. There must have been two hundred people in attendance that night at least, and all of them were turning to stare at her.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” Rupert repeated, clapping his hands together for extra notice. “I trust you are all enjoying your evening,” he said as soon as he had the entire room’s attention. “I’m sure I speak on behalf of all us soldiers when I say it is good to be home.”

  Cries of, “Hear, hear!” rang out around the room, as well as a spattering of applause.

  But Rupert didn’t stop there.

  “This is an especially happy day for me as well, for I have been blessed with something I have longed for these past four years. I am exceptionally pleased this evening to announce my engagement to the beautiful and loyal Lady Cecelia Campbell.”

  He gestured toward her.

  The room broke into applause.

  Cece’s heart dropped to her feet. But even as it did, the rage that had been smoldering within her boiled over.

  “No,” she shouted. She stepped up onto the dais with Rupert, standing toe-to-toe with him and glaring at him with the heat of a thousand suns. “No,” she shouted again, even louder. “How dare you make such a presumption? How dare you stand up here and announce something so personal without consulting with me first? Can you do nothing without treating me as a mere afterthought?”

  It wasn’t until she was halfway through her angry questions that she realized the rest of the room had gone dead silent. Two hundred startled, confused faces stared back at them, mouths hanging open, hands poised as if they weren’t sure whether to celebrate or call for a constable.

  That didn’t stop Cece or her fury.

  “How arrogant must you be to simply assume that I have been idling here the whole time you have been gone, that I want nothing more for my life than to be your wife? I deserve a great deal more than that.” Her voice grew so loud that she was certain she could hear it ringing in the rafters. “I demand passion and excitement. I want more than to be an ornament on your arm. You have failed to see me as more than an accessory in your life and I will not stand for it another day. I want more than that.”

  She jerked to face the stunned crowd, finding Henrietta’s face in the sea of awed and uncomfortable guests.

  “I want to be like Lady Tavistock,” she declared, pointing toward her new friend. “I want to have a voice—a voice in politics, a voice in my family, a voice in my own life. I want to stand up for causes I believe in, like she does, and not to be treated as a pet. I want to be like Lady Katya, with a string of lovers, if I so choose. I want to be a modern woman. I am through with being second in importance to your friends, and I am through with you.”

  She whipped back to face Rupert, adding, “And I don’t care how fashionable it is, that moustache looks dreadful on you—like, like an emaciated hedgehog trying to crawl up your nose.”

  Rupert’s face had gone pale, and he stood there, wide-eyed with shock. Cece had no sympathy for him, though. None at all. She fixed him with one, final, furious glare, then stepped down from the dais and shoved her way through the scandalized guests toward the door.

  When she was nearly there, she burst into tears. The orchestra had struck up the next dance and conversations had resumed, but she felt as though her life as she knew it had ended as certainly as if she’d fired a cannon into it.

  The one, shining moment of grace in the whole, embarrassing debacle was when her father appeared seemingly of nowhere and wrapped her protectively in his arms.

  “There, there,” he said, hugging her close.

  Cece spotted Lady Katya, Bianca, and Natalia hurrying toward her out of the corner of her eye, but all she really wanted was her papa.

  “I’m proud of you,” he said, his Scottish brogue thicker than usual. “I want to wring your neck for making such a public spectacle,” he went on, “but I’m proud of you for speaking up.”

  “Yes,” Bianca said. “If only more women would do the same.”

  “Hush,” Lady Katya warned her in a more serious voice than usual. “We should leave.”

  Cece nodded, pushing gently away from her father and wiping her eyes on the back of her gloves. She knew exactly why Lady Katya was in such a hurry to shepherd them out of the room. Bianca may have approved of her shocking display, but Cece was smart enough to know that she had, in all likelihood, just destroyed any chance she had of being accepted into polite society for the rest of her life.

  Chapter 4

  Cece’s head throbbed when she awoke the next morning. It reminded her of the time, several Christmases ago, when she’d accidentally imbibed too much wine and had been utterly miserable in the morning. The difference this time was that her soul ached with regret as well as her head and her body.

  Still, she managed to drag herself out of bed and dress with the help of Gemma, the upstairs maid on whom fell the unfortunate task of helping her, Bianca, and Natalia with bathing and dressing. Gemma was judiciously silent as she buttoned the back of Cece’s morning gown, but Cece had no doubt that the sober maid had heard the entire story of the scandal she’d caused at the ball.

  Her feet were like lead as she left her room and headed downstairs to breakfast. Not that her stomach felt up to the task of digestion. She dreaded running into Rupert in the hall and flinched at every creak of the floorboards and every opened door. She’d embarrassed him as much as she’d embarrassed herself, perhaps more so. His pride had to have been sorely wounded by her public outburst. Not that he didn’t deserve it. But in the cool light of day, her heart withered more over the ass she’d made of herself and him than because of her anger.

  Her family was all gathered around the breakfast table, Bianca and Natalia chattering away as her father read The Times and Lady Katya The Daily Telegraph. Because, of course, Lady Katya would never stoop to reading one of the journals designed specifically for women. Rupert was not there, though, and neither was Lord O’Shea.

  As soon as she appeared in the doorway, Bianca spotted her. She cut short her conversation with Natalia and jumped to her feet, rushing to put her arm around Cece.

  “Come in, dearest,” she said as though speaking to a child or an elderly aunt. “Sit down and fortify yourself.”
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  “I’ll fix a plate for you,” Natalia added, leaping up and charging toward the sideboard to load a plate with eggs and meat and all the things Cece knew she wouldn’t be able to stomach.

  “I’ll pour you some tea.” Bianca continued to fuss over her as she pushed Cece into her usual place by her father’s side at the head of the table. “You poor thing,” she added with a sigh.

  “I am not a poor thing,” Cece said quietly, head bowed. “I am an embarrassment.”

  All at once, Bianca, Natalia, and even Lady Katya burst into protest.

  “Of course, you’re not,” Lady Katya told her soothingly.

  “We all make mistakes,” Natalia agreed, though Cece was convinced she was too young to have had a chance to do more than step on a gentleman’s foot while dancing.

  “I’ve done far worse,” Bianca added.

  “You made an ass of yourself,” her father said without glancing up from The Times. Everyone at the table went silent, staring disapprovingly at him. He glanced up and around at the ladies. “Well, she did,” he said, then shrugged. “But you’re beautiful and you’re intelligent, and when beautiful, intelligent women put on a show in public, it only makes them more alluring.” He finished by sending a look across the table to Lady Katya that was entirely inappropriate for so early in the morning.

  Lady Katya blushed and returned the look with one that reminded them all that age was not a barrier to passion.

  It was not, however, the sentiment Cece wanted to see expressed in that moment.

  She drew in a sullen breath as Bianca set a full cup of sweet, milky tea in front of her and Natalia slid a plate heaping with food into her place. “Where is Rupert?” she asked, reaching for the tea.

  Another, awkward silence followed. Cece’s heart sank even before Lady Katya cleared her throat and said, “It was decided, after you went to bed last night, that perhaps Rupert would be better off residing at Campbell House for the moment.”

  Cece lowered her teacup without taking a sip. She swallowed the urge to weep, but managed to say, “We are fortunate to have two townhouses at our disposal.”

  “Yes, we are,” her father said, turning a page in his paper. “But if he drinks my scotch or smokes any of my cigars, I’ll hang him from the banister in the hall and have Mrs. Mellon beat him with a carpet-beater.”

  Cece managed a weak smile for her father’s joke. At least, she thought it was a joke. Her father had a bit of a reputation for ruthlessness. It didn’t matter either way. Rupert was gone and she’d driven him away. He’d deserved it, but she could have found a more dignified way to bring him to his senses.

  “Think of it this way,” Bianca started once she’d resumed her seat.

  “No.” Cece sat straighter, holding up a warning hand. “Please. I cannot bear to talk about this anymore. Please just let me eat my breakfast in silence.”

  A heavy pause followed before Bianca let out the breath she’d taken for whatever speech she’d wanted to make. Cece reached for her teacup, staring at her over-laden plate and bolstering herself to take just a few bites.

  The table was silent for two minutes before Bianca and Natalia resumed their previous conversation—something about how abominable Lady Claudia and her friends had behaved and how Natalia had pulled off a coup by convincing Lord Eakins to dance with her.

  Things were beginning to feel almost settled and Cece’s appetite had just begun to return when Mr. Stewart appeared in the breakfast room doorway with a letter on a silver salver. Cece only sent him a cursory look, until he cleared his throat and said, “Lady Cecelia, this letter has just come for you.”

  Instantly, Cece’s fledgling appetite vanished and her stomach turned sour. The letter could only be from Rupert. He had likely written to her at length, scolding her for her behavior. She was both mortified and furious at the thought. What right had he to censure her when he was the one who had interrupted the ball, drawn attention to the both of them, and humiliated her with his shocking and entirely inappropriate assumptions?

  But when Mr. Stewart brought her the letter, a whiff of rose tickled her nose. Not only that, the envelope he presented was a subtle shade of pink. Cece took it from him with a frown and a brief thank you.

  A chill of absolute dread shook her at the sight of the embossed initials in one corner of the envelope, HH.

  Natalia—who had leaned over her shoulder to get a look as soon as the envelope was in Cece’s hands—exclaimed, “Good Lord. It’s from Lady Tavistock.”

  Heat flooded Cece’s face. Even more so when she opened the letter and read its brief contents. “Dear Cecelia. Please call on me at your soonest possible convenience this morning on a matter of great importance. Yours, Henrietta.”

  Cece tucked the letter back into the envelope with a gulp, pressing the whole thing to her stomach.

  “Why does Lady Tavistock want you to call on her?” Natalia asked. It didn’t surprise Cece one bit that she’d read the private correspondence.

  “No doubt to give me a thorough dressing down for dragging her into my personal troubles,” Cece said in a rather sick voice. She stood, pushing back her chair. “I’d better go right away and get it over with.”

  “Do you want me to come with you?” Bianca asked with a little too much enthusiasm, rising from her place across the table.

  “No.” Cece shook her head. “The condemned always go the gallows alone.”

  “I’m certain everything will be fine,” Lady Katya said as Cece rounded her end of the table. “Henrietta Hopewell has always been a sensible woman.”

  Cece could only reply with a nod as she stepped into the hall. Mr. Stewart had heard the entire conversation and offered to have the carriage prepared before Cece could reach the stairs. She plodded up to her room to change into something suitable for visiting, and by the time she plodded down again, the carriage was waiting.

  Only a few minutes later, she arrived at Tavistock House and was escorted to Henrietta’s fashionably-decorated morning parlor. Cece had resolved to take her punishment as a lady. She kept her chin up and her shoulders square, but she couldn’t bring herself to manage even a slight smile. She was utterly unprepared when Henrietta smiled fondly and rose from her settee as she entered the room.

  “Ah, Cecelia. How lovely to see you,” she said, crossing the room to take Cece’s hands and to kiss her cheek like a friend. “How are you holding up?” she asked with what appeared to be genuine concern and sympathy.

  Cece’s jaw went slack, and for a moment all she could do was stare at Henrietta, still half expecting to get a tongue lashing. “I’m….” She hesitated, but the well of emotion that suddenly bubbled up inside of her was too much to resist. “I’m shattered,” she said with a burst of regret. “I’m so terribly sorry for embarrassing you the way I did last night. It was utterly unforgivable. I let my frustration get the better of me, and now I’ve caused a scandal that is effecting so many people.”

  Henrietta continued to surprise her by responding with a light laugh and, “You’re new to causing a scandal, aren’t you?” She met her eyes with a mischievous glint.

  Cece could only stare back at her in shock. “You don’t hate me for it?”

  “Heavens, no,” Henrietta said, drawing Cece deeper into the room and gesturing for her to sit. “In fact, the passion of your speech and the way you stood up for yourself so boldly are exactly the qualities we need to further our cause. And I wouldn’t mind having a string of lovers myself.”

  Cece perched on the edge of the chair she’d been offered as though she would be asked to jump up and leave at any moment. She blinked at Henrietta’s words, too many thoughts jostling in her head. She latched on to the one that seemed safest. “I don’t understand. Our cause?”

  Henrietta’s smile turned triumphant. “The May Flowers, of course. I suspected before, but now I am certain. You would be the perfect addition to our ranks.”

  Every other surprise Cece had had until that point was dwarfed by the sh
ock of what she could barely comprehend Henrietta was asking. “Are you…are you saying you would like me to join the May Flowers?” she squeaked.

  “That is exactly what I’m saying.” Henrietta turned to the elaborate arrangement of lilies, tulips, and cherry blossom beside her. She took a small pair of scissors from behind the vase, clipped one of the pink tulips, and handed it to Cece. “It’s pink tulips this week,” she said. “We change weekly. A bouquet will be sent to you early each Monday morning with the week’s flower, although you’re welcome to procure your own if those begin to fade.” She put her scissors down and brought out a long pin from behind the vase. As she handed that to Cece as well, she went on. “We wear our flowers above our hearts, bloom up. I don’t need to tell you that the flower of the week is to remain a closely-guarded secret until such a time as we are seen in public. To avoid imitators, of course.”

  Cece was too astounded to pin the tulip to her bodice on her own. Henrietta must have seen her hesitation. She stood and took the tulip from her, doing the pinning herself.

  “I need all the help I can get speaking up for the causes that matter within the group,” she went on. “I regret to say that there have been divergent opinions about several issues within the May Flowers in the last few years, as there have been in the Liberal Party. And not all of our members consider themselves Liberals. I am in particular need of help with Irish Home Rule, and since you explained the issue so cleverly to Mr. Langley last night, I knew I could count on you.”

  “But I’m no expert,” Cece said, finding her voice again at last as Henrietta resumed her seat. “I only know what I have heard my father and Lady Katya discussing and what I have read in the newspapers.”

  “Ah, but already you know more than most women, and I dare say most men in London,” Henrietta said. “I can see you have an inquisitive nature, and that is what matters most. We have a rally in St. James’s Park next week, but that gives us plenty of time to research the relevant issues and to come up with a strategy for your speech.”