Page 24 of The Scandal of the Season (Fairfax Sisters #2)

Chapter Twenty-Four

SOUFFLé AND DRAMA

Several hours later

W hen she awoke, Sophie discovered that the magic had extended to a small warm bath, fresh undergarments and a gown of sensible sprig muslin. Quietly, she climbed into the steaming water, feeling as though she might never appreciate something so much again.

‘For you are still a Fairfax, no matter what,’ she whispered, rinsing her face in the vain hope of ridding her eyes of their pink rim.

She hadn’t cried and knew she daren’t start for fear of never stopping. Briefly, she recalled the last time she felt like doing the same in the squalid, shady streets of Paris, and drew in a ragged breath. Back then she’d told herself she never wanted to see Rotherby's face again, and now she wasn’t sure how to face the future without it– libertine or not. A twist of pain darted through her as she recalled his burning kiss in the garden at the Tuileries, before his shadowed eyes in the Hall of Mirrors. And now, in trying to protect her family from the ripples of her scandal, she was quite alone in the world, as she deserved.

She pinched her cheeks hard and stared at her pale reflection, willing it to look more hopeful. Then she coiled her hair into a neat bun, before pulling a few curls free to frame her face. It was one of the first hairstyles she’d adopted as a schoolgirl before abandoning it in favour of more sophisticated updos. Tonight, though, it felt oddly comforting as she stood back and checked her wan reflection. She still had no idea why the unknown lady had helped her at all, but if it was true and she knew the Fairfax family, then the very least she could do was behave like one of them. Phoebe would advise her to thank her benefactor, and promise to pay back every penny of what she owed, and it was with this sombre intention that she left her bedchamber and descended the stairs for dinner.

If Madame Bernard still nursed any hostility, there was no trace of it when she greeted Sophie and escorted her to a private parlour, where a roaring fire and well-dressed table awaited. Sophie eyed it nervously as she entered the room. Now that the moment of truth had come, she felt strangely shy of the sharp-eyed lady who’d taken charge of her affairs so swiftly.

Yet she had only moments to wait before the parlour entrance darkened once more.

‘Good evening, I trust you have rested well?’

Sophie turned swiftly to greet her benefactor, who was standing in the doorway, eyeing her with the same piercing gaze she recalled.

‘Yes, thank you ma’am,’ she replied, sinking into her most modest curtsey.

She was determined to make a better impression now she was dressed appropriately; it felt like the very least she could do.

‘Well, come here then, child, so I might inspect you,’ the lady replied, leaning on an ebony walking stick as she made her way towards the table.

Instinctively, Sophie started forwards, just as she might to help Harriet or any of her elderly relatives only to find herself waved away. But when her benefactor sank into a chair, there was a softer gleam in her eyes.

‘Yes, you have the look of your mother, God rest her soul,’ she said, pouring herself a glass of claret.

Sophie frowned faintly, her head filling with a thousand questions, just as a knock at the door confirmed that dinner had arrived . She swallowed and nodded politely, realising her questions would have to wait a while yet.

In fairness, dinner turned out to be a most delicious affair comprising three full courses: a vegetable soup followed by platters of capons and quail, and Sophie’s favourite, soufflé au citron , before the last of the serving staff finally left them alone.

She looked up tentatively, wondering how to even begin to thank her for such generosity.

‘Now then, mademoiselle,’ her benefactor said, settling back in her chair. ‘You look and sound like a lady I once knew, who would be most concerned by her daughter’s appearance in Le Lion D’or with naught but a masquerade outfit to her name. ‘I wish to help, but require absolute honesty in return. Can you oblige me this much?’

Sophie smiled nervously, knowing that nothing but the whole truth would do for this perceptive lady– but that she wanted to tell her everything too. She drew a breath and then, haltingly at first, the whole story came tumbling out. She omitted nothing– knowing this wise and perceptive lady would somehow know if she did– and when finally she came to the end and lifted her gaze, she felt a hundred times lighter.

‘But what a tangled web you have spun in the pursuit of a love wager, my dear,’ her benefactor mused, swirling her claret. ‘I can only hope that this spoiled lord you describe has learned his lesson.’

‘If he is still alive,’ Sophie said, sniffing dolefully, ‘and if he is, it means I have consigned my sister to a lifetime of heartbreak.’

The kindly lady only smiled consolingly.

‘If I know ought of the characters involved, my dear, they’ll have come to their senses long before any bloodshed and realised that murder, in the name of honour, is rarely honourable at all. But your plan to remove to a provincial French town, despite numerous offers of marriage from undeserving puppy dogs? Now that has a truly noble ring to it! Tell me, does anyone else know of this plan of yours?

Sophie shook her head doubtfully. It had been such a relief to unburden herself, but her own behaviour couldn’t be further from noble.

‘And your fashion designs have been influenced by the public exhibition in London, as well as your time in Paris, you say?’

Sophie nodded again, wondering why she was taking such an interest in the dismal plans of a likely murderess.

‘Excellent! You remind me of someone else at your age in the way you’ve pursued your own path, and not bowed to societal pressure.’

‘But that’s just it,’ Sophie protested. ‘I was always the one most expected to make a good match, not pursue my own path or defy societal pressure– that’s Phoebe… or Matilda.’

‘You have Fairfax blood, Sophie,’ the lady said with a smile. ‘You have more fire than you realise– and sometimes our hearts know what we want, even when our heads don’t agree.’

‘Speaking of which, I believe we have company…’

Startled, Sophie pushed back her chair and jumped to her feet, as the sound of whinnying horses and tired ostlers reached through the small parlour window.

‘They have followed me from Chartres,’ she whispered, feeling the colour drain from her face. ‘Please, they will force me to marry… or join a convent… or…’

‘You have resisted them before,’ her benefactor replied calmly, picking up her glass. ‘And there is nothing to be gained by hiding, after all. We must face them and determine our fate without fear.’

‘But you don’t know the gentlemen involved! My brother and Sir Weston, they are determined?—’

‘I have more than thrice your years, child, and have navigated the world of gentlemen for as long. I know just what it is to feel the pressure of our position, and I never resolved anything by hiding. Trust me, we shall resolve the matter together, tonight, but not by running.’

Sophie stared in despair at the unruffled lady, who seemed unable to understand the severity of her situation and wondered if she’d thrown away her precious lead on a kind, but eccentric, stranger.

‘Take the horses please, I’m in a hurry!’

Sophie felt the rise of nausea in her throat as a curt tone filtered through the open window. She gripped her chair.

‘Sir Weston,’ she whispered. ‘He’s the real libertine.’

‘I’ve yet to meet a man who doesn’t have the potential, given half the chance,’ her benefactor observed drily.

Then there was only a low mutter, and swift footsteps in the corridor, before the door was flung open without ceremony.

‘There you are!’ Sir Weston growled, marching across the room, his sheen of good breeding entirely discarded. ‘You spent the night in my company and by God, you’ll marry me if it’s the last thing you do! I’ll not have my name dragged through?—’

‘I don’t think your name warrants any interest whatsoever,’ her benefactor cut in, ‘but I anticipate one has just arrived who may beg to differ.’

Sophie spun with mounting horror, as the yard outside filled with the sound of more horses and new, urgent voices. At this fresh intrusion, Sir Weston shot a scowling glance in the lady’s direction, before drawing his sword and turning back towards the door.

Then there were more harried conversations and impetuous footsteps, before the door flew open again to reveal not one but two riders gazing back at her. They were dishevelled, exhausted, and covered in mud, but unmistakable all the same.

‘Viscount Damerel! … and Lord Rotherby,’ Sophie whispered hoarsely, unable to tear her gaze from Lord Rotherby’s dirt-streaked face.

Her heart pounded: he lived. They both lived. She was not a murderess.

Yet, by the look on Weston’s face, there was still time.

‘Sophie, thank God! Please, let me explain properly—’ Lord Rotherby began, ashen-faced.

‘Thank goodness we have found you, Sophie. Phoebe is beside herself!’ Damerel exclaimed.

‘I’ll thank you to choose your weapon, sir! We will finish this now!’ Weston hissed, silencing them both.

‘You!’ Lord Rotherby snarled, pulling out his sword and advancing with such venom that Sophie felt it through her bones. ‘You are correct that we will finish this now, sir, and you will feel my blade for this night’s work!’ he added furiously. ‘God knows I’ve kept silent over the years, even though you have taken every opportunity to blacken my name! And I may not have yet proven that it was you who marked my cards in London, but the moment you involved Miss Fairfax, you crossed a line!’

Astonished, Sophie could only watch as Rotherby closed in on Weston, who brought his sword up so furiously that she knew at once they were evenly matched. She paled as she swung her gaze between the two men, reading hatred in every line of their bodies, while blood thrummed in her head.

‘You chose the family feud, while I left it where it belonged,’ Lord Rotherby accused with an ugly scowl. ‘And while there has never been anything I could do to change history, you have sought to punish me our whole life long!’

'You knew his father? I did, and let’s just say the apple never falls far from the tree.’

Weston’s words reached through her panicked thoughts, as Viscount Damerel’s gaze narrowed sharply. And she knew exactly why he stared. Their likeness had never been so obvious as now: it was in their murderous expressions, their proud stature and the flare of their tempers too. A chill chased through her as she locked eyes with her exhausted brother-in-law, never more certain their shared blood was the cause of their feud too.

‘The family feud?’ Sir Weston sneered angrily. ‘How poetic that sounds! Yet in truth, our father was a blackguard who thought nothing of taking what he wanted while ruining the lives of others. My mother was honest with me about his ruthless pursuit– which sounds more than yours ever managed.’

‘How dare you!’ Lord Rotherby hissed, white-lipped and furious. ‘You may have my commiserations on your blood, but my mother was beyond reproach and I will not have her name sullied. You will never speak her name again in my presence!’

He lunged then, though Sir Weston met him with a stinging defence, before following up with a series of powerful strikes.

‘You must forgive me if I fail to be moved by your tragic childhood,’ Sir Weston said, panting, ‘because while your mother enjoyed every luxury, mine was condemned to a life of misery. She was forced to live a life of shame for your father’s violation, while I grew up in the shadows– and all the while, I’ve watched you enjoy every privilege, knowing Rotherby blood ruined my life!’

‘You sir, have no idea of what you speak!’ Rotherby snarled as he parried, before advancing again with furious strikes and a final lunge that saw his blade pass terrifyingly close to Weston’s neck. In a heartbeat, Sophie snatched up a water jug and emptied the contents over the duellers, who paused, gasping for breath.

‘Well played, Sophie!’ the unknown lady said approvingly. ‘If gentlemen behave like children, we must treat them as such. And I’d rather not ruin my soufflé with blood and drama if possible– cards is my preferred entertainment after dinner.’

Sophie glanced at her companion, who’d been watching from the shadows, and wondered again if she wasn’t a little touched in the head. It was impossible to understand how she could be so calm unless she didn’t grasp the full situation, after all.

Yet, to her utter astonishment, both gentlemen suddenly froze, before lowering their swords and turning towards her, their expressions a mixture of incredulity and fear.

‘Tante Elizabeth!’ Rotherby was the first to find his tongue, executing a deep and respectful bow.

Tante Elizabeth? Confusion flushed Sophie’s veins as she swung her gaze back to her mysterious benefactor, who seemed just as serene and unmoved as ever– before she smiled.

Sophie clamped her hand to her mouth in horror.

Hadn’t Aurelia mentioned an aunt who’d stood guardian through Rotherby's childhood? Could she have confessed her entire pitiful story to none other than Lord Rotherby’s own Aunt Elizabeth? Including a very plain account of Lord Rotherby’s own misdoings too?

It was inconceivable, and yet the only answer, too.

Flushing scarlet, Sophie recalled everything she’d relayed to Rotherby’s aunt in painful detail.

‘I’m so grateful you decided to come to Chartres , Aunt Elizabeth,’ he continued, ‘and can only thank the heavens that Sophie– Miss Fairfax– had the good fortune to fall in with your company. Perhaps now you perceive the charms I wrote to you about?’

Sophie’s flush deepened.

If he’d written to his aunt about Chartres, she must have known about her fall from grace from the moment she’d shared her name.

‘Yes, well, you can save those pretty compliments for one who will appreciate them. And, of course, I was on my way. You wrote that you’d lost your heart, boy– the nephew who claimed never to have one!’ his aunt said, waving her glass of claret. Startled, Sophie stole a glance at Lord Rotherby’s rueful smile. ‘As for the rest, I have had the good fortune to enjoy Miss Fairfax’s company this evening, and can fully understand the appeal, though why she might wish to give either of you a second glance, is quite beyond me.’

Sophie watched in astonishment as Elizabeth pushed herself to her feet and shuffled into the light, where there was no denying the resemblance in her proud profile at all.

‘Now listen to me, all three of you,’ she commanded, eyeballing the gentlemen, who looked more like recalcitrant schoolboys with every passing second. ‘This is a most unfortunate business, and it is imperative you do not blemish this young lady’s name further, though you haven’t made things easy at all.’

She jabbed her cane as though it was a sword itself.

‘Rotherby, you were ever the impetuous hothead! When will you learn you cannot inflict your will on the world? And didn’t I say to find me if ever you were in a mess? You should have brought Miss Fairfax to me the moment you landed in France.

‘Weston, you were dealt an unlucky hand, but that does not give you permission to scheme against my nephew. You, sir, will confess your wrongdoing in a witnessed letter before this night is done and I will not, no I will not hear another word against my sister, or I will run you through myself!

‘And as for you, Damerel, you haven’t helped matters at all with that entirely unnecessary show of heroics at Versailles! You were ever the same as a boy, far too free and easy with that sword of yours.’

‘Apologies, my lady,’ Viscount Damerel mumbled with a crest-fallen expression.

‘In truth, I am furious to discover that between the three of you, you have managed to force the hand of this young lady so much that she had to flee across France with only a Versailles mask to her name. And so, it appears, I am left in a quandary.’

Elizabeth paused to assess each gentleman with her razor-sharp gaze, making them shrink visibly before Sophie’s eyes.

‘Miss Fairfax reminds me so much of myself at the same age, yet this world does not know what to do with women of our mould, does it, Sophie?’

Sophie shook her head speechlessly, feeling as though she’d agree with anything this marvellous lady might say just now.

‘Clearly, in besmirching her name, you each bear a responsibility to clear it.’ She eyed Rotherby and Weston with derision. ‘And yet, I feel certain that between us, Damerel and I could concoct a tale plausible enough for the world to swallow, should she desire it… which brings us back to you, Miss Fairfax. You have confided in me without shame or embellishment, and in return for your honesty, I offer you a choice.

‘You may choose Rotherby, if you desire it, though I struggle to find a heartfelt recommendation just now, or you can tour the galleries and fashion exhibitions of Europe with me until such time that you deign to give him a second chance… with your ridiculous brother-in-law’s blessing of course.’

At this further condemnation, Viscount Damerel sunk his chin into the folds of his cravat.

‘I am sure I have lived long enough to lend us both sufficient respectability while we put about an alternate narrative: that your sister the Viscountess was delayed in Europe while you were travelling to stay with her, and Rotherby gallantly offered to escort you to his aunt, an old family friend, with Madame Marie-Louisa Dupres in attendance. Above all, there need be no talk of marriage, unless you wish it.’

‘But Tante Elizabeth,’ Rotherby protested, a little flushed, ‘Damerel and I duelled at Versailles. Any number of the ton will assume it was a matter of honour concerning Miss Fairfax.’

At this, Elizabeth drew in a deep breath, her eyes glinting.

‘And you would be the first gentlemen to create a drama because your honour had suffered? Though you are correct in assuming that in thinking only of yourselves you have created further problems for the young lady you protest to care for so very much!’

Sophie stole a glance at Lord Rotherby’s ruffled profile, feeling as though she’d been living in a darkened room these past few weeks.

Could he really have lost his heart, just like she had, at the start?

‘You are fortunate indeed that my reputation is such that no one will dare say there was ever a different story!’ Elizabeth said in a steely tone.

‘We ladies of the ton are makers and breakers of reputation with a few well-chosen words, and it wouldn’t be the first scandal to be moulded into something else– that part you must leave to me. Yet I will say I am disappointed, for I may have thrice your years, but I have a thousand times more sense in my little finger, than you gentlemen have all together!

‘Now then, Miss Fairfax, the time has come. What do you choose?’

Silently, Sophie swung her gaze from a pale Lord Rotherby to a glowering Sir Weston, a sheepish Viscount Damerel, and finally back to Elizabeth’s sharp, inquisitorial expression.

She lowered her eyes and drew a breath to speak, just as a low voice intervened.

‘May I speak, Miss Fairfax?’ Lord Rotherby asked urgently.

She glanced up and nodded faintly.

‘I wish to say that I’m sorry…’

‘No please, let me say this,’ he entreated as Sophie tried to pause him.

‘We both know that you would not be here if it were not for my wager that night in Almacks. I was arrogant and unfair on a young lady in her first season, and if I could go back now and change them, I would,’ he paused to exhale, running his fingers through his unruly hair. ‘You must understand that love has always seemed a weakness to me, something that rarely results in anything but unhappiness. It hurt everyone I knew when I was growing up, and I vowed never to be that vulnerable with anyone. I told myself that if I believed I had no heart, I could exist in a space where no one got hurt … but what I did not understand was that we are never the authors of love, but rather the pages upon which it must be written?—

He broke off to take a few unsteady breaths, and when he spoke again, his voice was shaking.

‘Marry me, Miss Fairfax… because I have never been in less doubt that I do, indeed, possess a very real heart– and it burns and yearns for you, most furiously.’

Sir Weston groaned audibly and the viscount flicked some imaginary dust from his sleeve while Sophie stared, stilled by a raw vulnerability where once there was only detachment. His face was so close to hers, his scent enveloping her, making her ache so intensely that she felt it reach through every limb.

‘Touching though this display of sentimentality is—’ Sir Weston began.

‘I don’t recall anyone giving you permission to speak!’ Elizabeth said gloweringly, cutting him off. ‘In fact, I believe you forswore the right to anything when you treated Miss Fairfax to a display of your less than gallant colours on the journey to Chartres. You’ll be lucky if I don’t share that particular tale with every respectable family on both sides of the Channel, if only to ensure no female ever has to put up with your insidious attentions ever again!’

It was Sir Weston’s turn to pale, as both Rotherby and Damerel turned back to him, scowling.

‘Which is not another invitation to behave like schoolboys!’ Elizabeth exclaimed, before levelling a softer gaze on Sophie. ‘Come, child, you’ve heard what my tiresome nephew has to say, and you need not worry that either your brother or the viscount will bring any view to the matter. You have me now, and few spar with Tante Elizabeth and emerge unscathed. So, what is it to be?’

Sophie inhaled raggedly, the events of the past twenty-four hours beginning to take their toll, and yet somehow making more sense than anything had in a long while.

‘You owe me no apology,’ she replied directly, looking at Lord Rotherby. ‘I was the one who took it upon myself to prove I was right when in fact… neither of us were.’ She paused to swallow, ‘And you are correct when you say that we are not the authors of love, for it can be neither controlled nor denied when it is but a hope. You see, your wager has actually taught me a great deal.’ She glanced at Sir Weston, who looked up hopefully. ‘Including the true nature of a scoundrel!’

A fresh scowl settled on Sir Weston’s face as she pulled her gaze back to Lord Rotherby.

‘And when I said I would marry for love,’ she continued, ‘I never once imagined it would be to a rake with a reputation for scandal.’ A shadow crept into Lord Rotherby’s eyes, as she took a step towards him. ‘Yet I’ve also learned that reputation is only ever a mask.’ She paused, his eyes never leaving hers. ‘And now your aunt offers me the most wonderful opportunity to study the galleries and fashion exhibitions of Europe, which I have longed for my whole life and so I must choose… Tante Elizabeth…’

Her voice faltered, as she placed her hand against his thumping heart.

‘…Until such time that we tell the world of our engagement.’

He cursed then, and damning all propriety, pulled her into an ardent kiss.

‘So long,’ she chuckled breathlessly against his lips, ‘as you concede the wager?’

‘I concede every wager,’ Lord Rotherby said through a million tiny kisses, ‘I ever made, most readily.’

‘It is well then,’ she smiled tenderly, ‘that a Fairfax always honours their word.’