Page 6 of A Hint of Scandal (The Mismatched Lovers #2)

O f course, no gentleman came to offer to escort Serafina into supper, although Letty had by then quite a crowd of eager admirers vying for the honor of her company. Once Serafina had returned with their somewhat sticky glasses of lemonade, Ogden and Araminta reprimanded her for their state, then seemed to forget all about her presence. As soon as the last dance finished and supper was announced, without another word, nor even a glance her way, they departed into the supper room in a swish of Araminta’s silk gown.

Serafina looked about herself, wondering if she should just follow them in, but the ignominy of going in alone put her off, and of course, she wasn’t au fait with the etiquette of a ball and whether that would even be the right thing to do. Everyone else seemed to be going in with someone, even if it was only a friend of the same sex, and she would stand out if she went in by herself. People would stare and even perhaps pity her, something she couldn’t abide. She glanced with longing towards the doors out onto the terrace.

A few people had been going in and out of them all evening, both ladies and gentlemen, often in the company of one another, so perhaps for a tryst or two. She’d been keeping an especial eye out to make sure no young man tried to take Letty out there, given Letty’s propensity for indiscretions. But now everyone was busy with heading off to eat, she could perhaps try the terrace herself, in safety, and escape the fug of rich scent and hot bodies, and the noise of raucous chatter that could never include her. A little bit of peace, unobserved by any other guests, would be a pleasant change. A whole hour of peace seemed suddenly the most attractive thing in the world.

As unobtrusively as possible, head down to avoid eye contact, she slipped around the edge of the dance floor until she reached the nearest doors. It was going to be cold out there after the heat of the ballroom, but after all, she was well used to being cold at Milford House, so what would that matter?

No one took any notice of her as she slipped into the curtained alcove that contained the double doors, took hold of the handle, and let herself out.

Not so cold as she might have expected as spring could not be far off, but a dampness hung in the air that brought with it the unpleasant tang of coal fires from neighboring houses. Not really the fresh air she was used to in the countryside, but better than the shared, stuffy atmosphere inside the house. She inhaled some deep breaths, immediately feeling better.

A graveled terrace ran along the entire back of the house, with low stone balustrades that must overlook whatever garden, at present invisible, the house possessed. It being London, the garden would of necessity not be large. Half a dozen oil lamps on head-height iron posts illuminated the terrace with a soft golden glow, and a few ornate metal tables, their chairs empty, were scattered across the gravel. Not a single person with whom she might be forced to share her haven.

Good.

But ballgowns, however plain, were not made to keep their wearers warm and cozy while out of doors at night. She shivered as she closed the doors behind herself, and wrapped her arms around her torso. Anything was better than having to go into supper by herself, though. And being away from her brother and his family, even if just for an hour, was something to be savored. She so very rarely had any time to herself, as Araminta always kept her busy waiting on them all.

Indeed, if there was nothing for Serafina to do, Araminta delighted in making some useless task up. She’d been known to dispatch Serafina to make an inventory of the linen cupboard, to itemize what was stored in the lofty attic of the house, and to count the ducks on the lake below the house before now.

Curiosity about the garden got the better of her, and on wary feet she crossed to the far side of the terrace, the gravel crunching under her slippers. Two lamps stood at the top of a short flight of wide stone steps, leading down into the dark garden. Perhaps there might be a summerhouse which would be a little warmer? Nothing ventured, nothing gained, as her old nurse had liked to say. Before Araminta had dismissed her for being, in her opinion, too lenient with the seven-year-old Serafina.

The steps were wide and shallow, and as her dress had no flamboyant train, Serafina was able to negotiate them with ease. A wide path continued down into the gloom, past a circular pond that might have proved to hold goldfish had it not been so dark. Beyond that, the bright lights of the house played upon the many glass windows of what did indeed appear to be a summerhouse. What luck. An octagonal one of wood, with a conical tiled roof.

Shelter indeed. Supper should take at least an hour, and this might prove to be the warmest, most secluded spot to spend that hour. Out of the prying, embarrassingly sympathetic gazes of the house servants. The pity of the other guests would have been bad enough, but the pity of servants was something she could not stand.

Her eyes now accustomed to the lack of light, she approached the summerhouse with some confidence that none of the other guests would have felt the need to retire to such an inhospitable retreat, especially not during supper. She pushed open the door and stepped inside.

Despite the many windows, the darkness within was deeper than that of the garden, and an unused, musty smell tickled her nostrils. This being the tail end of winter, with spring only sniffing at the year, doubtless no one had been in here for a number of months, nor would anyone venture down here for several more months yet to come. A summerhouse was a thing for late spring and summer only.

There appeared to be a circular, cushioned seat around the circumference of the interior. Not that she could see all of it. The far side was thrown into almost complete darkness by the proximity of several tall trees that must overhang it. Undaunted, Serafina settled herself on the left of the closed door, smoothing out her skirts and uttering a sigh of pure relief. It was still chilly in here, but not as cold as the night air of the garden. She could definitely sit out here for an hour, and no one would miss her until supper was done with. Araminta would only then miss her when she discovered she was in need of her dogsbody to run some errand.

She leaned her head back on the window and closed her eyes, tiredness washing over her. Since their arrival, she’d been kept running about after everyone, doing the work of the servants no one had seen fit to take on in advance. She’d lit fires—only in Ogden and Araminta’s room, of course, made breakfast and brought it on trays to the bedrooms, helped Mrs. Cottrell, the housekeeper with any of the tasks she was too old to accomplish herself, as well as spent hours perfecting the hairstyles for both Letty and her mother. She never minded helping Letty, who was always such a joy to prettify, but Araminta had proved to be the most exacting of subjects for whom her hairstyle was never quite good enough. Even tonight she’d had to spend over an hour doing her sister-in-law’s hair and it still hadn’t met with her satisfaction. A single word of thanks would have made it all the more bearable, but none had been forthcoming.

At least, though, she now had an hour to herself. A little nap might be nice, or just a little quiet contemplation. She breathed deeply and allowed her body to relax, ignoring the chill creeping up from the flagstones into her feet. This was better.

For a long minute, she noticed nothing but her own breathing and the gentle soughing of the branches above the summerhouse. She smelled nothing but the musty dust and her own light perfume, lent by Letty in an uncharacteristic moment of generosity.

Wait. Was that a slight shuffle as of something moving across the flagstone floor?

She stopped breathing and listened, ears straining. Could there be rats in here, as there were in the stables at Milford? Or worse? What sort of wild animals might exist in a city? Something that had escaped from a menagerie? She knew those existed in London. Somewhere.

No. That wasn’t the sort of noise scuttling rats made. And that second, less intrusive sound was of someone else breathing. Faint, but definite. She’d always had exceptional hearing. Or maybe of some thing else.

She swallowed, glancing out of the window behind herself at what now looked to be the very distant lights of the house. All the other guests would be in the supper room, chattering away, making so much noise of their own they’d hear nothing at all if she screamed. They’d be oblivious to the danger she might be in.

Sitting very still, and trying to keep her own alarmed breathing as quiet as possible, she listened harder.

That was definitely someone, or something, else breathing. Over there, in the darkest part of the summerhouse. If she jumped up now and flung the door open and ran, would she be able to get away from whoever or whatever it was? Suppose it was an escaped lion? She glanced down at her gown. She’d be hampered by long skirts and her flimsy little satin slippers, and a man, which she wanted to be almost sure this must be, would catch her in a few short seconds, possibly before she even got the door open. A lion certainly would.

It must be a person. She wouldn’t think about the possibility it was an escaped wild animal.

It could be anyone. A homeless vagabond of some kind, perhaps, who’d wandered in here to get out of the cold. Or maybe a burglar out to spy on the house he intended to rob when everyone had gone home or to bed. Or just a plain murderer, lurking here with the intention of bludgeoning or stabbing or shooting the first party guest who was unwise enough to come his way. Just as bad as a lion. Logic had no place in her tumbled thoughts.

And she would be that unwise party guest, found dead in here in the morning. In a pool of her own blood.

She could hear him moving. Just the rasp of fabric, but it came to her as clearly as if he’d been shouting. And with it the faint scent of gentleman’s cologne… a little hint of lavender and citrus, not unlike the cologne she remembered her dear papa as having worn. But… a villain wearing gentleman’s cologne? How likely was that? And definitely not a lion.

Her thoughts strayed from the track they’d been following. The person lurking here so secretively was now no longer a villain of the lower classes, but some dastardly cad, some rake, as up to no good as a burglar would have been. And she still needed to get away from him.

The worst thing was, he must have seen her enter through the door and take a seat. He must know her for a woman. Perhaps that was what he’d been waiting for—some unwary woman to find her way to this summerhouse in the dark. To be ravished.

What on earth was she thinking? Anyone would conclude that she read the same lurid novels as Letty did, where young heroines were always getting themselves into danger and screaming and fainting. But she was not the stuff those hapless young heroines were made of. She was more than that. She was Serafina Gilbert, a young woman who’d had to fend for herself since she was six years old, and she refused to be afraid of whoever was sharing this summerhouse with her.

She drew in a silent but deep breath, albeit a little shakily. “Whoever you are, sir, would you please make yourself known to me?” Her voice, a trifle high-pitched, sounded far too loud in the screaming silence.

A sound of shuffling feet. “Good evening.” The voice was deep and a little irritated, and even a little familiar. Where had she heard that voice before?

As he was being polite and sounded as though he was indeed a gentleman and not the vagabond she’d at first suspected, she’d best be polite in return. “Good evening.” She paused, gathering her thoughts. “I had supposed to have this summerhouse to myself as the night is so cold.”

“As had I.”

Why hadn’t the owner of this voice gone into supper like everyone else? The itch to ask him blossomed, but if she did, he might ask of her the same question, and she didn’t want to answer that. Somehow it seemed important above everything that he shouldn’t pity her. “I am sorry if I disturbed you.”

Light glimmered over a profile as he leaned forwards out of the darkness, but he retreated almost as swiftly so she saw nothing of his face save a long and slightly aquiline nose and a determined chin. He cleared his throat. “I suppose I too should apologize for disturbing you.”

“You were here first. I should leave you to your reflections.” She rose to her feet, unsure where she would go if she had to leave, but determined to do so.

“Please don’t leave on my account.”

She hesitated. Did he mean that or was he just being polite? Deciding to take his words at face value, and not wanting to return to either the cold terrace or the ballroom, she sat again and resmoothed her skirts. “Very well. But I should prefer it if I could see the face of the gentleman I’m addressing.”

He was silent for so long she thought she might have offended him. But at last he cleared his throat again, and there came the sound of him standing. “Do not be anxious. I will sit as far away from you as possible.”

A tall and shadowy figure emerged from the darkness and took a seat in the gloom. A figure which unmistakably carried its right arm in a sling.

“Good heavens. Captain Aubrey. I had no idea it was you.”

Captain Aubrey was staring at her as though as surprised as she was, although it was hard to make out his exact expression in the dark. “Miss Gilbert. I also had no idea it was you. All I saw of your arrival was a silhouette against the lights of the terrace.”

She managed a little laugh. “I certainly wasn’t expecting to meet anyone at all down here.”

Captain Aubrey laughed in return, but his wasn’t a pleasant laugh, being mirthless and bitter. “We, the outcasts of society, have found our niche in life it seems.”

He’d divined why she was out here alone all too easily. Thank goodness for the sheltering gloom that would hide her embarrassment. And yet, he’d included himself in this sweeping statement. Why was he, the brother of an earl, an outcast of society? His mother was a dowager countess, so he must be from a far more exalted family than her own and surely a richer one. Definitely not a poor relation. Although, as she well knew, money did not necessarily make one happy. She herself had managed to find small things that made her happy throughout her life, without having a penny to her name, despite her situation and her withheld inheritance. She was surely a happier person than Araminta, despite all of her and Ogden’s money.

Still, she wasn’t prepared to admit to being an outcast. “You mistake me, Captain. I came out here solely for some fresh air.”

He smiled, a fraction too knowingly. “As did I. Of course.”

Why did she get the feeling he knew exactly why she’d ventured out in the cold dark, all alone? Most irritating of him, and bad mannered to imply so.

Silence fell between them. He broke it. “You are here with your brother and his family?”

And how did he know this? She frowned. “I am.”

“Your niece has been quite the success.”

She nodded, realization dawning. Ah, that was it. He was interested in Letty and wanted to use her to get an introduction. Oh well. “She is a very pretty girl, so that is no surprise.”

“And I would say that hopefully she is possessed of a lot more pleasant a disposition than her sour-faced mama.”

Serafina’s eyes widened at the same time as her heart plummeted into her boots. She was unused to hearing anyone, especially not someone she’d taken more than a passing fancy to, speak their mind so boldly. What was she supposed to say to that? She scrabbled about in her head. “She is indeed a pleasant-natured girl.” If he had intentions towards Letty, then she’d better sing her praises and not mention Letty’s selfish side. Finding her a suitable husband, after all, was what they were in London for. From what she’d seen of Captain Aubrey so far, he might suit Letty well enough.

“And I am sure her head is as empty of wit as the fish in that pond out there.”

Serafina gaped at him. “That is a most unkind thing to say.” But it was true. Apart from reading her rather lurid romance novels, Letty had never shown any inclination toward things intellectual. Serafina had overheard Araminta assuring Ogden that no man wanted a girl who might know more than he did. She’d been referring to Serafina herself, of course, whom she classed as bookish, but had held up Letty as an example of the sort of girl a man would prefer to marry. A girl who could paint a neat watercolor and play a pretty tune on a piano, but not one who could discuss Egyptian antiquities with a man. “Letty is a lovely girl and will make an exceptional bride.”

He chuckled. “Lovely girls don’t interest me.”

Serafina’s heart started to creep up out of her boots. “They don’t?”

He shook his head and let out a rather heartfelt sigh. “I’m only here in Town to act as escort to my sister-in-law and her daughter. To accompany them to dances and such like. My brother is not a well man, and my mother and sister-in-law have prevailed upon me to perform the duties he would normally have undertaken. I can assure you, Miss Gilbert, that a girl like your niece would not be to my liking.”

Should she be angry at his turning up of his nose at Letty? Or should she be glad? The suspicion that he was hiding something from her arose.

Two could play at that game. “I too am here in the position of escort. For my brother’s wife says I am too old and plain for the marriage mart, and even if I were not, I don’t think I would like to find myself married to a man who didn’t want an intelligent wife with a mind of her own.”

He snorted with laughter, which annoyed her some more. “Well said, Miss Gilbert. A woman after my own heart. Then perhaps, as neither of us are at this moment required for our squiring duties while our charges are at supper, you might sit here a while with me and talk of what it is that does interest you and what it is you wish for in life. I’m all agog to hear.”

Was he teasing her? No. Perhaps not. Perhaps he did want to hear about her interests. It would be refreshing to talk to someone else about them, as all she had at home was Miss Wychwood, her nieces’ and nephews’ governess, whose knowledge of Egypt was minimal. She settled herself more comfortably on her cushioned seat. Somehow, the darkness surrounding them made baring her thoughts and wishes all the easier. “What I would really like, is to go to Egypt and see the pyramids and the Valley of the Kings for myself.”