Page 20 of A Hint of Scandal (The Mismatched Lovers #2)

W hen the invitation came to call on the Dowager Countess of Westbury and her daughter-in-law, the present countess, Araminta could barely conceal her satisfaction. The missive arrived at breakfast, which was being taken at ten in the morning as Araminta’s habit was not to rise until that advanced hour. The footman she’d engaged on their arrival brought the note in on a silver tray and presented it to her with some aplomb for a young man being paid the lowest amount possible. He must have been desperate for a job.

Ogden, whose head was buried in his morning copy of The Times newspaper, ignored this arrival.

Without a glance for her husband, who should have been the one opening it, Araminta unfolded the sheet of paper. As she read, her face, which had been wearing its usual sour expression, took on the appearance of the cook’s cat having her bowl filled with the unexpected largesse of cream. Her normally pebble hard eyes shone with triumphant excitement for an instant, before something must have dawned on her and she veiled them in a hurry.

Serafina, who’d been nibbling a piece of toast as she wasn’t at all hungry for some reason, glanced sideways at Letty, to find her gazing at her mother in expectation. She was clearly thinking this might be a missive of some kind from Mr. Talbot. Or possibly one of the other young gentlemen who seemed so taken with her. Although surely none of them would offer for Letty in such an unexpected manner.

Araminta refolded the letter with precise care and slipped it into her reticule, something she carried with her at all times. No doubt for purposes of concealment like this.

Letty set down her cup of hot chocolate. “Is it an important letter, Mama?” It must have taken a certain amount of courage to pose that question to her intimidating parent. But with her sojourn in London progressing, she was becoming bolder by the day. Not always a good thing.

Serafina swallowed her mouthful of toast, ears pricked. Something had affected her sister-in-law and she was now struggling to hide this fact.

Araminta compressed her already thin lips as though having to force herself to remain silent when what she would rather do was shout her news from the rooftops. Well, perhaps not quite that, but something similar. From the look she was having trouble hiding it had to be something good.

Ogden lowered his paper. He must have been listening after all. “What is it?” he grunted. “What’s going on? Something important, my dear?” His tone was casual, but with a hint of warning that she’d better not be hiding anything. Proof that on occasion, when necessity arose, he could get the better of his wife.

Araminta’s face contorted in indecision for a long moment before she heaved a sigh and withdrew the letter from her reticule. “We have an invitation to call on the Countess of Westbury at her house in Cavendish Square.” She was clearly having difficulty maintaining a balance between smug self-satisfaction and annoyance that this invitation had only been forthcoming due to Serafina’s unexpected engagement and impending marriage.

Good.

Serafina lowered her gaze to her half-eaten toast and kept her face as expressionless as possible. Difficult. If she could have chosen a betrothed for herself, out of all those available, she could not have chosen one whom Araminta would envy more, unless perhaps an actual duke or earl. Max might only be the son and younger brother of an earl, but it was obvious Araminta considered him the next best thing.

“We do?” Letty almost squealed. “Do you think Louis Herbert will be there? I do hope so.”

So much for encouraging her towards less flirting and more consideration of one suitable man.

“All of us?” Ogden asked, folding the paper up and laying it on the table. “To an earl’s residence?”

Araminta must have been fighting hard to suppress her smile of triumph, because it suddenly defeated her and sneaked across her face. “Yes. It will give Letty so much more credence if we let it be known that we are friendly with the Westburys. Of course all of us. This invitation will be the making of our family.”

Letty clapped her hands. “How perfectly splendid. I shall wear the new white gown with the roses embroidered on it.” She threw a glance at Serafina, who’d looked up. “But what about Fina? She can’t go to an earl’s house in any of the old gowns she has, can she? And she’s already been seen in the one new gown you bought her. And besides, that one is so dull and boring. She can’t wear that either. Not when she’s engaged to the earl’s brother.”

A stony silence fell in the dining room.

Serafina kept her head down, with a wary eye on her sister-in-law. A struggle was going on beneath the surface. Satisfaction that their family had received such an exalted and much desired invitation must be vying with Araminta’s innate desire to keep her young sister-in-law firmly under her thumb and in the shadows. Given Serafina’s new status, she was going to find that nearly impossible.

Ogden glanced at Serafina, brows furrowed. “She could wear one of your gowns, Araminta. She’s the same size as you are. A little thinner, perhaps…” He picked up his newspaper again as though he wished the matter closed. “I’d think the blue one would suit her well enough.”

Araminta’s mouth opened, but for a long moment, no sound came out. When she found her voice, it was as squeaky as Letty’s had been. “But that’s one of my new ones. Even I haven’t worn it yet.”

“All the better,” Ogden said with a snort that betokened a definite end to the discussion. “They won’t have seen it before, and they’ll think the gown is hers. That should do nicely.” He fixed his wife with a hard stare. “After all, we have only received this invitation because of her. We don’t want her future in-laws thinking she’s a poor relation, now do we?”

Only of course, she was.

Although Cavendish Square was but a short distance from Great Titchfield Street and easily walked on a fine afternoon, Araminta insisted on taking the carriage. “No one,” she pronounced, “goes anywhere in London on foot, unless they are of inferior birth, of course.” Whether this was true or not, Serafina had no idea. But from the number of well-dressed people she’d seen on the street both on her visit to the British Museum and in the park, she concluded Araminta might well be wrong, and perhaps just lazy.

So, that afternoon, with Serafina feeling both overdressed and out of place in Araminta’s new blue gown, the whole family took the short journey to Cavendish Square. Letty, who’d been fairly bubbling with excitement, had required a stern talking to about how she should comport herself, and a reiteration of Serafina’s earlier dire threats of what might happen to her, were she to behave in too forward a fashion. Consequently, she sat with unusual decorum all the way to their objective.

A butler showed them into the magnificent interior of Westbury House and up a wide marble staircase to a drawing room on the upper floor. He opened the door for them and announced their arrival in stentorian tones. “Sir Ogden and Lady Gilbert, my ladies, Captain. With Miss Letitia Gilbert and Miss Serafina Gilbert.”

Serafina did her best not to stare around herself in too awestruck a fashion, but this room was so much more magnificent than either the one in Great Titchfield Street or the one at home in Milford House. Everything about it was more sumptuous and luxurious, from the heavy curtains over the long windows to the thick Persian rugs and the upholstered seating. Paintings of people who must be Max’s noble ancestors festooned the walls, and elaborate ornaments sat on every available surface. What a room. She almost didn’t want to sit in it.

The two ladies seated near the blazing fire were on par with their surroundings. The dowager dountess, whom she’d already briefly encountered, was a tall, gray-haired woman of imposing demeanor, dressed in a gown that could only be described as flamboyant, while her daughter-in-law, the present Countess, was a plumpish, much more approachable looking woman with a ready smile on her face and brightly sparkling eyes.

Max was sitting on a chair opposite his two ladies, wearing topboots and a navy coat of immaculate cut, and with his hair teased into a Grecian of artistic proportions. He looked as self-conscious as she felt.

He rose to his feet as they entered. “Sir Ogden, Lady Gilbert. How charming to see you again.” He swept a bow. “And the Misses Gilbert as well.”

Serafina suppressed a smile at his guessed discomfort at having to be polite to two people he’d made clear to her he didn’t like. Such were the exigencies of society.

Ogden shook his hand with relish, and Araminta held hers out palm down, clearly expecting to have it kissed. Max obliged, brushing his lips across the back of her hand in a perfunctory fashion. As he lifted his head, his eyes met Serafina’s, and he winked.

A sudden sensation of camaraderie washed over Serafina. She wasn’t alone in this alien parlor having to face Max’s family with the handicap of her own family hanging about her neck. She had a partner who understood how she was feeling and would support her. A partner.

Everyone sat down.

The dowager opened the conversation. “Now that I have met you, I’m curious to know,” she said, her sharp eyes lingering on Ogden’s corpulent form, “whether your family is related in any way to Sir George Gilbert?”

Ogden cleared his throat. “Sir George was my father, Lady Westbury.”

Her severe face lit up, making her appear both younger and gentler. “I thought you must be some connection of his. Sir George and I knew one another when we were quite young.” She looked across at Serafina, sitting stiffly upright beside a disappointed Letty, this being due to the absence of either of the young Herberts. “And so Miss Serafina Gilbert is also his daughter, I take it?”

The countess clapped her hands together. “So they are all related to your old friend, dear Mama. This is so exciting.”

Ogden nodded. “She is but my half-sister, I’m afraid. My mother died when I was fifteen and my brother, who is a clergyman of some standing, was only ten.” He paused as though considering how to word the following. “My father, ahem, chose to marry my brother’s governess, and that marriage produced Serafina.” He was doing a poor job at hiding his dislike of his father’s second wife, and his oft repeated scorn for her having been nothing but a lowly governess. Serafina bit her lip to make herself stay silent. If she burst out with what was in her head right now the dowager and the countess would be so shocked they’d immediately veto the marriage.

The dowager looked directly at her. “And does your mother still live, Miss Gilbert?”

Serafina shook her head, a pang of sharp pain stabbing at her heart. “I’m afraid she died when I was only a baby. I don’t remember her at all.” Something that had been a constant source of regret.

“And your father?”

Was that a hint of sadness in the dowager’s suddenly hoarse voice?

Serafina shot a glance at Ogden, to find him looking affronted that she’d had the temerity to include herself in the conversation, but as the dowager had addressed her directly, she had no other recourse but to reply. “He died when I was six.”

The countess’s smile faded, commiseration in her eyes. “How sad that must be for you.”

The dowager sighed. That was definitely sadness in hers. “And do you remember him, Miss Gilbert?”

Serafina nodded. “I do.” A tall, gray-haired man with a hearty laugh who’d catch hold of her and swing her up into the air until she squealed with delight. A man who’d taught her to ride on her own little pony in the park that surrounded Milford House, who’d read stories of the Ancient Greeks to her as she sat on his knee, and who’d brought gifts for her every time he’d had to be away from home. But she wasn’t about to say all that.

The dowager rose to her feet. “We have a much admired garden here at Westbury House. Not large, but a pleasure to walk in when the weather is fine as it is today. I think I would like to walk in it with Miss Gilbert. I will leave my capable daughter-in-law to entertain the rest of you.” Her voice had that crisp quality to it that commanded instant obedience, as though, indeed, she was used to that deference in everything.

Max made to rise.

“You should stay here too, Max,” said his mother with an imperious wave of her hand. “I should like time alone with your betrothed, so that we may talk without interruption. Come, Serafina. I may call you that, may I not? It is such a pretty name.”

What could she do but acquiesce to this autocratic demand? “I should like it very much if you did.” Not that she was about to ask to be able to do the same.

Max sank back into his chair, a slightly worried frown on his face, but the countess seemed unperturbed by her mother-in-law’s absconsion with their chief guest. However, both Araminta and Ogden’s faces betrayed open indignation at Serafina being singled out for such attention. Only Letty, absently twiddling a strand of her hair, appeared unaffected. Probably still sulking that the young Herberts were not present.

Walking alone in the company of Max’s imposing mother was not something Serafina had envisaged herself doing when they’d set out from Great Titchfield Street. But there was no way she could politely refuse. She stood up and smoothed down the skirts of the lovely blue gown, and the dowager held out her arm for her to take. With some trepidation, she slipped her hand into the crook of her elbow, and together they left the drawing room.

“We’ll go out through the parlor doors,” the dowager said, leading the way into another magnificent room. One which boasted double doors out onto a stone-flagged terrace and beyond that, a walled garden. Outside, the air was bracing, but the sky was still clear. Snowdrops filled the nearest flower beds in a welter of green and white.

The dowager must have seen the direction of her gaze. “I like the town to remind me of the countryside. We don’t come here very often, but my son keeps a full staff to maintain the house in our absence, as his father did, and two gardeners. It was his father who engineered the planting of wildflowers in the beds especially for me.”

This seemed a safe topic of conversation. “They’re lovely. I thought I would miss them this year as we had to be in London for the Season.”

The dowager smiled. “Then I am glad I have brought pleasure to George’s daughter.”

She was right that the garden wasn’t large. The rest of the rear of the house must have been taken up by the necessary mews. From what Max had told her, the stabling here had to be extensive. “This garden would have brought pleasure to him, as well,” Serafina said. “He used to take me out in the spring and we would pick little bunches of snowdrops, then primroses in the woods and, later, bluebells, campion, stitchwort and lent lilies. He always had room in his study for my little bunches of wildflowers.”

The dowager patted her hand. “Tell me about your papa, my dear. It must be nearly fifty years since I last saw him and it would give me pleasure to hear his daughter’s memories of him.”

“You might be better asking my brother. He knew him far longer than I did.”

The dowager shook her head. “I am in the habit, my dear Serafina, of forming an opinion of people the moment I meet them. I do not wish to converse with your brother or his wife any more than I have to. I feel he would have quite different memories to you.”

Promising. How awful would it have been if the dowager had liked Ogden and Araminta? Serafina could have lived with that, but she would always have known her future mother-in-law lacked wise judgement.

“My father was a gentle person,” she said. “I loved him very much. He died a long time ago now, but I have some very clear memories of him.”

“Might I ask you to share some of them with me?” Her voice was gentle.

Serafina, who had expected a walk in the garden with the dowager to be a severe trial, smiled at the old lady. “I remember when he took me on his horse, riding on the pommel in front of him, down to the little river that runs through the park at Milford. We tied the horse to a tree and took our shoes and stockings off to paddle together in the shallows. He’d brought a fishing net and showed me how to catch sticklebacks.”

The old lady swallowed as though she might have had a lump in her throat. “He was always a kind man.”

“You knew him well?”

The dowager nodded. “I knew him during the Season when I came out. He was one of my suitors. My parents dismissed him as a mere baronet, and I married Max and Julian’s father instead.” She cleared her throat. “I have no regrets about my marriage to their father, of course, but I do have regrets that I lost George. We never saw each other again after my wedding.”

A revelation indeed. Serafina struggled to remember if her father had ever mentioned Lady Westbury, but failed. Why would he have to a six-year-old? All her memories were of warm summers’ days by the river or in the park and gardens. It was impossible now to even recall her father’s voice. Only his face remained to her.

The dowager seemed to snatch herself out of the reverie she’d fallen into. “If you are to marry my younger son, I would like to know you better, Serafina. Perhaps you might like to visit Bratton Park before the wedding? It would be quite respectable as I would accompany you. And you could also visit the house that will be yours after your marriage. It lies within a few miles of Bratton.”

Get away from Ogden and Araminta? Now? Before the wedding which was to be set in three weeks’ time? Of course she would like that. “What about the Season? Aren’t you here to accompany your daughter and granddaughter? Don’t they need you?”

The dowager chuckled. “Maria gives the impression of being empty-headed and vaporish, but in truth, she’s as sharp as any knife in the kitchen cabinet. She will be perfectly all right here with Arabella on her own.” She met Serafina’s eyes, which must have been holding hope. “And besides, I would like to see you away from your family, and have the fun of providing you with a trousseau. I was never blessed with a daughter…” her voice trailed off for a moment. “Not one out of petticoats, that is. I should derive a great deal of pleasure from outfitting you for your wedding.”

Serafina hesitated. If she agreed to this, she would have to abandon Letty, whom she was all too aware could not be trusted to choose the right man for herself. She would revert to flirting again and encouraging rakes to hang about her. But… the wedding was to be in three weeks, and after that she would have had no further influence over her niece, anyway. What harm could it do to bring that forward by those three weeks and acquiesce to the dowager’s request? And it would mean escaping from not just Great Titchfield Street and Milford House, but also from Araminta and Ogden. A far too tempting proposition.

The dowager must have divined the direction her thoughts were travelling in. “You could even be married from Bratton Park, in our local church. You will like it there—the woods and fields are full of snowdrops and will soon break out in all manner of other flowers as well. You will make a beautiful spring bride.”

Throwing caution to the wind, Serafina nodded, ignoring the suggestion that she could ever be beautiful. “I should like that very much, thank you, Lady Westbury.”