A Scandalous Charade (Scandalous Series, BOOK 2), page 19
She strolled along the street, avoiding eye contact with everyone. If she didn’t look at anyone, she wouldn’t have to speak to them. The only person Susan really wanted to speak to was Juliet. She would advise her.
Susan had almost convinced herself that she was prepared to be Lady Haywood. She could ignore Will’s insensitive comments about her background. After they were married she’d be a baroness and none of that would matter, or so she told herself. She could pretend that he cared for her and not her fortune. After all, that was expected of women in her position.
But she didn’t think she could live with his other interests. She’d heard rumblings about Will’s gambling habit and that was a bit distressing. Her fortune was vast, but not bottomless. She’d also witnessed him embracing an actress after a play they’d seen together, when he was supposed to be getting her a glass of punch. That was truly hurtful.
Susan had a lot to consider, she didn’t have to marry Haywood, after all. There were certainly other men who would jump at the opportunity to marry a rich man’s daughter. Perhaps someone with whom she was a better match. Getting Juliet’s advice was imperative.
Just as she and her maid were approaching Prestwick House, Susan tripped over her own foot and went tumbling to the ground. Or she would have, but out of nowhere, at least in her mind, she was scooped up in midair and placed safely back on her clumsy feet.
Breathing a sigh of relief, Susan stared up into the lightest, crystal blue eyes she’d ever seen on a gentleman and her breath rushed from her body. He was of average height and slender build, with sandy blond hair that was a bit too long to be fashionable. His clothes were years out of style, but his smile was perfect. “Are you all right, Miss?”
She felt a blush stain her cheeks and nodded dumbly, wishing to high heaven that she had an ounce of her mother’s grace. “Yes. Thank you, sir.”
He tipped his hat, though his eyes never left hers. “My pleasure. Hugh St. Claire.” He introduced himself with an elegant bow.
St. Claire? Susan grinned. “Are you a relation of Lady Juliet? I was just on my way to see her.”
Mr. St. Claire’s face darkened instantly. “Do you know where she is?”
What a strange question. They were standing right in front of Prestwick House, after all. Susan furrowed her brow. “Is she not at home?”
His face softened and he shook his head. “Sorry.”
Susan pouted. “Drat. I so needed her advice.” What was she to do now?
***
Hugh couldn’t help but smile at the pretty, dark haired girl. Her brow crinkled in a most charming way and she seemed to have no artifice at all. He could clearly see every emotion that crossed her face—surprise, confusion, anxiety. But really, he needed to move her along, on the off chance that she knew something about Juliet that could lead to wherever his cousin was hiding. If his father stumbled on this girl, her secrets would be as plain as the delightful, pert, little nose on her face. “I’d be happy to offer you mine.”
The lovely blush deepened on the girl’s cheeks, and Hugh’s smile grew wider. What an enchanting creature she was.
“I—I don’t think that will be necessary, Mr. St. Claire. Th—thank you, again.” She motioned to where she’d stumbled, then smiled one last time before hurrying off in the direction of Park Lane, a mousy maid trailing after her.
Hugh watched her vanishing form, hips swaying from side to side, and he mentally groaned. He should be focusing on ways to protect Juliet, not lusting after some pretty girl whose name he didn’t even know.
He climbed the steps to Prestwick House and entered. Immediately, he heard his father’s bellowing voice echoing off the walls. “I don’t care how you go about it. She needs to be found!”
With a frown, Hugh started down the corridor toward the conversation in the blue parlor. A large, swarthy looking man was grunting some answer that Hugh couldn’t quite make out. Honestly, where had his father found this man? The docks? He shivered, thinking about Juliet in this man’s clutches. He needed to make sure that she wasn’t found, wherever she was.
Hugh cleared his throat. “Father, I was under the impression that Prestwick House was in mourning over the loss of dear cousin Georgina.”
Lord Albert’s red eyebrows rose indignantly.
“However, no one traveling Upper Brook Street would know that we have suffered any sort of loss at all.”
His father narrowed his icy eyes on him before turning his attention back to the hired man. “Find my niece.”
After the man lumbered out of the room, Lord Albert banged his cane on the ground, as if he hadn’t had Hugh’s complete attention in the first place. “I’ll thank you to not involve yourself with the running of this home. Althea will see to it that proper mourning will be conducted. Your attentions are needed elsewhere.”
“Indeed?” Hugh frowned. He really couldn’t allow himself to be sent away, as he needed to keep abreast of the operations here.
“Indeed. There are stacks of invitations waiting to be answered. Figure out which events will be the most attended and then do so yourself. If Juliet had any friends she’d go to for help, you can probably sort that out by getting to know them.”
Hugh’s mouth fell open. He certainly hadn’t expected that.
***
The Ashburn Ball was bursting at the seams, and the room was larger than most. It was a crush by anyone’s standards. Thomas Clarke looked around at the upper echelons of society, all the people who knew they were better than him. Over the years he’d felt guilty that he’d deprived his lovely Lucy from her rightful place in society, and he’d worked diligently to give her everything her heart desired—including a title for their daughter. But as he stared at his dear Susan clinging to the arm of that foppish baron, Haywood, he inwardly cringed. The man was far from what he would have chosen for his little girl. He had hoped she’d find an honorable man that he could leave his businesses to, one that wouldn’t squander his life’s work. Work—such a dirty word to these people.
Still, it was fairly disappointing that she’d seemed to settle on Haywood. The man didn’t have much going for him beyond a pretty face. He turned his attention to where the baron spun Susan on the floor during a country dance of some sort. Truly she didn’t even seem that happy.
“She is quite lovely,” came a voice from beside him.
Thomas Clarke turned his attention to a young man with light colored hair in outdated, fairly shabby evening clothes. “I beg your pardon?”
The man blushed. “My apologies. You seemed to be staring at that pretty girl with black hair. I was simply remarking that she is quite lovely.”
Apparently the fellow didn’t know who Thomas was, which was strange. Everyone knew who Thomas Clarke was, and they took great pains to avoid him. “It doesn’t bother you that her father is in trade?”
The light haired man seemed bewildered by the comment and shook his head. “Why should that bother me? I don’t even know the girl.”
Well, it certainly bothered everyone else, whether they knew her or not. Thomas offered his hand to the man, “Thomas Clarke.”
“Hugh St. Claire.”
Thomas inwardly frowned. Hugh St. Claire. So not a titled man. What a pity.
Before he could ask the young man anything else, his daughter and Haywood had joined them since the dance had come to an end. “There’s my angel.” He said and dropped a kiss on Susan’s cheek.
“Papa!” she whispered in admonishment.
But Thomas merely winked at her. “Susan, Lord Haywood, allow me to introduce Mr. St.—”
“Mr. St. Claire!” Susan finished for him, as she turned her bright eyes on the young man. A joyful smile lit up her face.
How interesting. Mr. St. Claire had said he didn’t know Susan. Thomas was re-adjusting his opinion of the man. Why would he lie about such a thing? “You’re already acquainted?”
“No.” Susan blushed. “I was clumsy the other day and Mr. St. Claire saved me from tumbling to the ground.”
“If you watched where you were going,” Haywood began, looking at Susan, “you wouldn’t stumble nearly as often.”
When Thomas saw the hurt expression settle on his daughter’s face, he was tempted to throttle the baron right there in front of everyone. But he didn’t need to as Mr. St. Claire took matters into his own hands. The young man smiled warmly at Susan. “Oh, I don’t know. There’s too much going on to focus simply on where you’re going. You’ll miss half the world if you don’t look around a bit.”
He might be a mere mister, but Thomas liked Hugh St. Claire more all the time. The young man had handled that situation much better than he would have, and Susan was grinning up at the lad.
“Mr. St. Claire, is Lady Juliet in attendance this evening?” Susan asked, while her dark eyes twinkled at him.
Hugh St. Claire’s jaw tightened and he shook his head. “I’m afraid not, Miss…Clarke, is it?” Upon her nod, he continued, “Honestly, we don’t know where she is. After Lady Teynham fell ill and passed away, my cousin Juliet disappeared. I’m certain it is her anguish over the situation, so I am quite concerned for her safety. That is actually why I’ve come to Town. To look for her. You don’t happen to know who her friends are, do you? I’ve had a terrible time locating anyone.”
“She doesn’t have any,” Haywood barked, apparently unmoved by the fact that a gently bred girl was all alone somewhere. That was a bit eye opening for Thomas and he leveled his gaze on the baron.
***
“I beg your pardon.” Hugh turned his attention to the young lord who had been fairly unkind to Miss Clarke just moments earlier.
“Juliet St. Claire,” Haywood began, “is an icy chit who thinks herself above everyone. She doesn’t have any friends.”
He certainly knew that aspect of his cousin. But still, there must be someone. Certainly she would have told him she had nowhere to go, if that was the case. Though Hugh was starting to worry about her in earnest. What if she hadn’t made it to London? And if she truly had no friends, who would she turn to for help?
“There is Mr. Beckford,” Miss Clarke supplied helpfully.
Ah, yes. The rogue who had compromised Juliet and left her bruised. Hugh started to respond, but Haywood was shaking his head. “Luke Beckford’s out of Town. He’s been gone since before Lady Juliet departed. Besides I’m fairly certain they’ve ended their friendship.” Then he grasped Miss Clarke’s hand and started to tow her away from them. “Come along, my dear, we should go and pay our respects to my sister.”
But Miss Clarke shook out of his hold and smiled sweetly. “Do go on without me, my lord. I’m quite concerned about Lady Juliet and would like to stay here.”
Haywood didn’t even bother to hide his annoyance. “Suit yourself.” Then with a disapproving frown, he stared at her, shook his head, and turned into the crowd, vanishing.
Miss Clarke gently touched Hugh’s sleeve, and stared at him with those pretty blue eyes of hers. “She is a friend of mine, and I thought she was very nice. Is there anything I can do, Mr. St. Claire?”
“Indeed!” Thomas Clarke seconded. “It’s awful to think no one knows where the girl is. I’d be happy to lend you men or assistance.”
Men or assistance. Juliet could have been helped by the Clarkes. Hugh wondered why she hadn’t gone to them, and he was certain she hadn’t. Miss Clarke’s face would reveal all. So whom would she go to? “That’s very generous of you, Mr. Clarke. If you can think of anyone she was close to, that would be a great help.”
“Lady Staveley,” Miss Clarke softly suggested. “When Mr. Beckford was courting Juliet, his sister, Lady Staveley, was often around. Other than that, I don’t know. Lord Haywood is right about one thing, she was alone most of the time before that. Like I was.”
Hugh had a hard time believing that last part. Miss Clarke was exceedingly lovely. How could she have ever lacked for company?
“Excuse me for a moment,” Thomas Clarke remarked, and then he stepped into the throng of people, leaving Hugh to stare after his departing form.
“How long has she been gone?” Miss Clarke’s sweet voice brought his attention back to her.
“Nearly a fortnight,” Hugh answered, staring down at the pretty girl who had occupied his thoughts since she’d stumbled into his path a few days before. He was certain he shouldn’t be doing this. He should remain focused on Juliet. But he had to know. “What is your Christian name, Miss Clarke?”
She blinked up at him, that familiar blush settling once again on her delightful cheeks. “S—Susan.”
“Susan.” He smiled for the first time in days. At least now he’d have a name to go along with his fantasies. “Are you allowed to waltz?”
She shyly nodded, and Hugh’s smile widened.
“Then will you do me the honors, Miss Susan Clarke?” And he offered her his arm.
***
Hugh sailed up the steps to Prestwick House, with thoughts of Miss Susan Clarke floating around his mind. There was never a girl more lovely. Just holding her in his arms as they waltzed across the room had made his heart race. She’d smelled of lilacs, and…
“Hugh!” his father’s booming voice interrupted his reverie.
“Yes, father,” Hugh responded, walking briskly into the blue parlor.
“Did you learn anything?”
With a shrug, he dropped onto the settee, keeping his eyes on his father. “Just what we knew before. Juliet was involved with this Luke Beckford fellow, but he’s been out of Town for weeks. She didn’t appear to have many friends.” He’d be loath to mention either Susan Clarke or Lady Staveley, in any event.
“Pompous little twit,” Lord Albert grumbled, and Hugh wasn’t certain whether his father was speaking of him or Juliet. Then he stomped across the room and poured himself a glass of whiskey from the sideboard. “Tonight I paid a visit to Lord Staveley.”
Well that name caught Hugh’s attention. “Staveley?”
His father grunted. “It seems that Lady Staveley was Georgina’s dearest friend. I thought it was worth a try…”
And? Hugh almost yelled. But he maintained his composure. Obviously, Juliet wasn’t there or his father wouldn’t be looking so cross.
“But they haven’t seen or heard from her either.”
Hugh breathed a sigh of relief. But if she wasn’t with the Staveleys, where was she?
“So just keep doing what you’re doing, going to these balls and parties. We’ll find her somehow.”
Keep going to societal events. Keep seeing Miss Susan Clarke. That, Hugh would do with no complaints at all.
Nineteen
The return of the prodigal beau
Prestwick House was swathed in mourning and a black wreath adorned the front door. Luke heart sank with every step up he took until he finally reached the stoop. What had happened to make the members of Prestwick House fall into mourning? He frowned as the brass knocker clanked against the door.
When Crawford answered, the elderly man looked anguished and even older than his years, though his features seemed to relax a bit when he recognized Luke. “Hello, sir.” That was a good sign. Juliet must not have barred him from the place for the butler to be so friendly.
“Afternoon, Crawford. Is Lady Juliet in?” Luke inquired as he stepped over the threshold.
But Crawford’s eyes dropped to the floor and Luke felt his chest instantly contract. Prestwick House couldn’t be in mourning over Juliet!
“I’m sorry, Mr. Beckford, but Lady Juliet… Well, no one seems to know where she is.”
He breathed a sigh of relief. She must be out shopping or visiting someone. “I’m sorry I missed her. When do you expect her back?”
“I really couldn’t say, sir.” Though it seemed as if the old man had something he did want to say, and he pursed his lips.
Luke frowned. “Lady Teynham, then?” If he was to patch things up with Juliet, he’d have to win Georgie over. Though, he would’ve rather had Juliet by his side when he dealt with her dragon of a sister.
Crawford sniffed back a tear. “I’m afraid Lady Teynham has passed away, sir.”
Shocked, Luke’s mouth dropped open. He’d known Georgie for fifteen years or so. She was younger than him by a good five. And she’d been in perfect health when he’d last seen her. This was simply tragic.
Before he could mutter his condolences, a man he didn’t know but who seemed somehow familiar stepped into the hallway.
“Crawford, who is our guest?” intoned the man, who appeared to be an exact duplicate of the late Duke of Prestwick—receding ginger-colored hair, large bulbous nose, icy blue eyes.
Luke stepped forward and offered the man his hand. “Lucas Beckford, sir.”
The man’s frosty eyes narrowed to little slits. “Ah, the rogue who ruined my niece. I can’t imagine why you would darken the doorway here, sir.”
That accusation nearly sent Luke tumbling to the floor. Ruined was a terrible word, true though it may be. But to be spoken aloud in front of Juliet’s staff? And how the devil did this man—still Luke didn’t know his name—know what had transpired between himself and Juliet? “You dare to impugn your niece’s honor?”
The older man snorted. “You dared to take it from her. What is it you’re after, Mr. Beckford?”
“I’ve come to see Lady Juliet.”
“Indeed? Haven’t you done quite enough? You should know that I lay Georgina’s death squarely on your shoulders.”
Luke coughed in surprise. He wasn’t a saint by any stretch of imagination, and he’d done many things he wasn’t proud of. But he hadn’t even known Georgie was gone until two minutes ago—and he certainly wasn’t responsible for her death. “I’d like to know exactly how you’ve come to that conclusion,” he snapped.
The uncle, whoever he was, motioned for Luke to follow him down the corridor. Which was about bloody time. Such topics shouldn’t be discussed in front of servants, no matter how loyal they were. Finally, the man stopped in front of the blue parlor and motioned Luke inside.
