Page 4 of The Scandal of the Season (Fairfax Sisters #2)

Chapter Four

DAMEREL HOUSE

One week later

‘I thought you said we had until the Newmarket Races!’ Sophie exclaimed, stepping through the Fairfax crested trunks littering her sister’s hallway.

She and Phoebe had just returned from their morning walk through Mayfair, discussing the week’s round of balls, soirees and social visits.

‘Oh, I suspect Thomas got fed up with playing nursemaid a little sooner than expected,’ Phoebe replied ruefully, counting the luggage. ‘And I do believe we have the added delight of the twins too!’ she added as a door burst open and their harassed butler appeared, holding a large wriggling toad between his thumb and forefinger.

‘This is the third amphibian I have discovered in the lilac salon, Viscountess Damerel,’ he enunciated with visible control. ‘Do you wish me to accommodate our additional guests in any particular room?’

Sophie’s lips twitched, as her sister sought to placate the proud steward.

‘Oh it’s quite all right, Hargreaves,’ Phoebe soothed. ‘I’m sure my younger brothers have brought suitable… accommodation with them, haven’t you Edward?’

‘Duke Wellington!’ a ruddy-cheeked youth with copper hair exclaimed, as he emerged from the same salon. ‘How did you get there? I was worried the furious French cook might have added you to the soup! Thank you!’

A gurgle of laughter threatened to escape Sophie as her youngest brother prised the giant, fat toad from the bewildered butler’s fingers and popped him in his pocket.

‘He has a very adventurous spirit, you see,’ he added, as Hargreaves’s eyes bulged almost as much as Wellington’s. ‘Loves to travel!’

‘My apologies, Hargreaves.’ Viscount Damerel’s low tone resonated from the doorway of the library.

‘I invited the viscountess’s family to stay when I last met with Sir Fairfax, and should have given you fair warning of their arrival, together with their distinguished friends of course,’ the viscount said, nodding at Edward, who positively beamed in gratitude.

Sophie was conscious of a swift pang of envy as she watched Phoebe smile at her tall, impeccably dressed husband. She would never wish for a husband like the acerbic Viscount Damerel, but she did admire their relationship. There was a tangible warmth between them that always made Sophie feel as though she were intruding, even in a crowded hallway.

‘I said he’d hopped behind the atlas!’ Matilda cried, running from the saloon with one of her brothers’ sashes tied around her forehead. ‘He was deploying his ships in readiness for Little Boney!’

‘Matilda, dearest, give Henry back his trouser sash lest his buttons give way,’ Sophie said with a sigh. ‘No one wishes for him to be running around in his smalls! And I’m certain you shouldn’t be referring to Napoleon Bonaparte in such a manner either. He was a French General after all.’

‘Pooh! Fred called him Little Boney so I can too!’ Matilda replied, laughing and dancing back as an indignant Henry attempted to reclaim his clothing.

But the youngest Fairfax was swifter and she was up the marble staircase with her brothers on her heels before Sophie could remonstrate further.

‘I did suggest there probably weren’t too many pirates at the Battle of Waterloo,’ Josephine offered, emerging from the salon clutching the infamous atlas, ‘but she was insistent.’

‘Wonderful to see you too, Jo,’ Sophie grinned and embraced her sister.

‘I suppose piracy is a step up from marrying Misty at least.’

‘Well, that all depends on the pirate!’ Josephine smiled, making her way to the stairs.

‘A tea tray is waiting in the drawing room, your ladyship,’ Hargreaves boomed, in a final bid to retrieve his dignity.

‘Thank you so much, Hargreaves,’ Phoebe replied gratefully, ushering her sister towards the drawing room and closing the door.

‘In truth, I’m not sure who’s looking forward to Aunt Higglestone’s arrival more, Hargreaves or my furious French cook !’ She added with a chuckle.

Yet Sophie was far too distracted by the impressive receiving room to give Phoebe an answer.

‘Oh gracious, Phoebe!’ Sophie gasped, darting forward to inspect the floral displays crowding every available surface.

‘Gracious indeed!’ Phoebe returned admiringly, ‘Hargreaves mentioned some deliveries but I certainly didn't expect Kew Gardens.

‘Congratulations dearest, I thought your dance card filled quickly at the Beaumont Ball!’

Sophie whirled to face her sister, her eyes aglow with excitement.

‘Yes, but all the debutantes had full dance cards! I guess this just means that…’

‘Yours filled fastest?’ Phoebe laughed, walking forward to pick up the nearest calling card.

‘The Covent Garden Flower Sellers extend their compliments to the “newest toast of the season”!’ she read aloud, before leaning forwards to sniff some pale pink tulips.

‘They’re so very beautiful!’ Sophie exclaimed rapturously, darting forward to pick up another of the accompanying cards.

‘My goodness, there must be fifty ivory rose stems in this vase alone! “With the compliments of Lord Endercott”,’ she read aloud, before pulling a face.

‘It is very generous,’ Phoebe reminded her.

‘That may be, but Isabella says he spends every weekend at prizefights, with rarely a win to show for it.’ Sophie wrinkled her nose. ‘And he has dubious whiskers,’ she added. ‘But just look, Phoebe,’ she said, before her sister found some other redeeming feature to promote. ‘Surely one of these must wish for a real love match? I can’t believe that all these blooms indicate is a desire to marry sensibly– though many could be forgiven for thinking that is all a Fairfax requires with Thomas at the helm.’

‘Dearest, you know a Fairfax can look?—’

‘I must write and tell Aunt Higglestone at once!’ Sophie declared, interrupting her sister’s ready list of reasons why a Fairfax could marry anyone at all. And wouldn’t Mama be in rhapsodies?!’

‘With the flowers, or your talent for hypnotising their senders?’ Phoebe smiled in defeat.

She settled on her favourite window seat, and placed a small pile of post on her silk lavender skirts.

‘In truth, Mama would have expected nothing less. She always said you couldn’t have been “born so pretty without good reason”. Phoebe imitated their mama’s indulgent tone perfectly, and they both started to laugh.

‘Though I’m certain Aunt Higglestone will be beside herself, when she hears of your success,’ she added kindly. ‘In truth, I had no idea there were quite so many hopeful bachelors in London, although only one, it appears, with the sense to pick a flower that actually blooms in March!’

Phoebe leaned forward to pick a card out of the most modest affair in the room; a pretty arrangement of budding daffodils, tied with a matching ribbon. ‘“For the flower that puts these in the shade, Sir George Weston”,’ she read aloud, her brow wrinkling. ‘I will never understand the need for such laboured sentiment though. When will gentlemen learn we are no more flowers or songbirds than they are?’

‘Well, I happen to think it’s romantic,’ Sophie replied with a smile, taking a seat on a gold jacquard chaise longue.

‘And you haven’t so much as a milk stool to stand upon anyway. I’ve seen the nauseating notes Alexander leaves for you.’ Sophie paused to clutch her hands to the corset of her pink muslin dress overlaid with flounces of pale chiffon that complemented her fair complexion perfectly. ‘“I’m counting the hours… no minutes—in fact, make that seconds my love—until I can gaze upon you—Actually, why is there always so much gazing in love? We were always taught it’s rude to stare!’

‘Sophie!’ Phoebe squeaked, throwing a cushion embroidered with a peacock at her laughing sister. ‘Need I remind you that anything addressed to me is private ? My letters and notes aren’t for your eyes– or anyone else’s, especially considering you’re…’

‘A debutante?’ Sophie finished, rolling her eyes.

‘Need I remind you that you’ve only been married for a few short weeks yourself Phoebe Fairfax, so don’t go acting like an old married lady of the ton with me! Besides, what am I supposed to do when the pair of you carry on like lovelorn heroes in your very own novel?’ She tucked the cushion beneath her with a long sigh. ‘An advantageous love match, fine houses in the town and country, a high-perch phaeton with lavender seats and a ridiculously romantic husband… Quite frankly Phoebe, if you weren’t my sister, I might have disowned you already!’

‘Promises!’ Phoebe retorted.

‘And you still haven't shared any particularly levelling aspects of matrimony with me either.’

Phoebe sighed at her persistent sister. As the eldest Fairfax girl, she was certainly no prude, but she also drew a line at describing the intimacies of marriage to an inquisitive sister who was not long out in society.

‘Sophie,’ she tried to reason. ‘You know it’s not appropriate for me to say, and besides, you’re about as reliable as a parasol in winter!’

‘But if you don’t tell me, who will?’ Sophie grumbled. ‘I can’t ask anyone else.’

Phoebe flushed faintly, searching for words that might satisfy her inquisitive sister.

‘To be honest, dearest,’ she began slowly, glancing down at her post, ‘I do believe you will much prefer to discover the… mysteries of marital relations within the… precious union of?—’

‘Oh, enough already!’ Sophie exclaimed, throwing her eyes to the ceiling. ‘I cannot bear it when you start talking like an encyclopaedia! I swear you are the oddest sister in the world,’ she chastised. ‘Fiercely independent for yourself, while wrapping the rest of us up in so many layers we can barely breathe.’

‘Well I am the eldest—’ Phoebe began.

‘And I am barely two years younger than you, and quite ready for the world, thank you very much!’ Sophie retorted.

‘I know,’ her sister replied with a faint smile.

‘Speaking of which, there’s a letter here for you,’ she added in a brighter tone.

She pulled a pretty cream envelope from the pile of post on her skirt and waved it. ‘It bears the Hampton seal.’

‘Isabella or Ursula!’ Sophie predicted, jumping up to grab the missive from her sister’s outstretched hand.

‘And,’ Phoebe continued, picking up an open letter, ‘it looks as though our darling eldest brother did actually have the forethought to ask if the tribe could stay while he investigates his sweet runners for the Newmarket races.’

She frowned, turning the letter round and round in an effort to decipher her brother’s crossed scrawl.

‘Did he actually send the letter with them?’ Sophie asked incredulously. ‘How very considerate of him, given the fact you’re about ready to take off on honeymoon.’

‘I’m just impressed he remembered to ask at all,’ Phoebe replied, chuckling. ‘He must have his eye on some rank outsider who’s going to restore the Fairfax family fortune.’

‘I thought the viscount had done that already?’

‘Sophie!’ Phoebe chastised.

Sophie clamped her hand to her mouth, her eyes dancing. Phoebe had shared the viscount’s dowry-waiver in a moment of sisterly confidence before her wedding and, in truth, it had only made Sophie respect her brother-in-law more.

What more evidence of true love could there be?

‘You know Knightswood is still heavily encumbered,’ Phoebe continued, ‘and Thomas is convinced his Monstrous Marriage Masterplan will ensure its survival.’

‘I know,’ Sophie replied, rolling her eyes, ‘and we all have our part to play.’

‘All I was saying was that it’s frustrating to see our eldest brother is still offloading his responsibilities. I mean, you’re barely married and I’m only just out. Damerel House really shouldn’t be a dumping ground for all Fairfax waifs and strays! What must the viscount think for goodness’ sake?’

Phoebe chuckled. ‘He doesn’t mind because I don’t mind,’ she replied.

‘I love it when we’re all under the same roof, it makes me feel as though we might be back at Knightswood,’ she added. ‘And as you say, Alexander and I leave for our honeymoon at the end of the week so what difference does it really make? You’re the only one I worry about,’ she finished, popping a cream macaroon into her mouth.

‘Me? I’m the one most able to take care of myself!’ Sophie replied indignantly.

‘And also the one making inappropriate wagers with rakish bachelors of the ton!’ Phoebe retorted. Sophie scowled as Phoebe reached for another macaroon. ‘Anyway, Aunt Higglestone has agreed to come up a little earlier than planned. She’s both highly flattered and excessively excited about escorting you to all the glamorous balls and soirees until I’m back,’ she added with a grin.

‘Thanks so much!’ Sophie groaned. ‘She’ll be forever telling me to straighten my shoulders and mind there’s no mention of mud.’

They eyed each other briefly, before the reference to their chaotic stay in Bath with their aunt saw them descend into fits of laughter.

‘Just promise me you won’t fall in love while I’m gone,’ Phoebe managed to say, wiping her eyes. ‘At least, not with anyone wholly inappropriate.’ There was a moment’s silence while they both acknowledged the small void that still existed between them, even though Captain Damerel had been gone for months. ‘In truth, I really wish I could be here,’ she added.

‘No, you don’t!’ Sophie returned crossly. ‘For you are to skip off to the continent on your long-awaited dream of a honeymoon, leaving me stuck in Aunt Higglestone’s exceedingly respectable bourgeois lodgings, being harried and tormented by our younger siblings. Undoubtedly, I shall end up marrying any old country squire just to escape boggle-eyed toads and all my best bloomers being used as kites!’

‘Sophie!’ Phoebe gasped, using a cushion to muffle her gasps.

‘What? I don’t think Harriet will ever recover from the sight of my best smalls sailing over Knightswood lake and attaching themselves to the topmost branches of the old oak. Or the sight of yours as you climbed the tree to retrieve them!’

‘Oh hush!’ Phoebe retorted, dabbing at her eyes again. ‘Whatever will Hargreaves think? He thinks I’m a respectable viscountess!’

‘More fool him then,’ her sister said, grinning. ‘And given the tribe’s arrival, I’m sure he’s starting to revise his good opinion!’

‘Look,’ Phoebe managed finally, ‘I know the timing of my honeymoon isn’t ideal, especially since this is your debut season, but my going away shouldn’t really affect anything. And I’ve suggested to Aunt and Uncle that you all stay here at Damerel Place while we’re away. There’s more than enough room, and they are helping us out after all.’

‘You know Aunt won’t do it,’ Sophie replied with a sigh. ‘She considers you far above us mere mortals now, Phoebs, and no matter how much I try to convince her you’re still the same old trouser-wearing oddity, just elevated to the lofty heights of Viscountess, she won’t have it.’

‘“Wood Lodge has always been good enough for your dear uncle and me”,’ she mimicked. ‘“And I just wouldn’t feel like plain old Penelope Higglestone with a fancy phaeton and pair, let alone a grand Mayfair address!”’

‘Sophie!’ Phoebe begged, her cheeks aching.

‘Which leaves me with Aunt’s bourgeois lodgings, being tormented, and marrying any old country squire!’ she concluded grumpily.

‘I’m sure it could be worse,’ Phoebe replied, her eyes dancing, ‘but what news from the Hamptons anyway?’

‘Well, they’ve invited us to an archery party next week, which I suppose I’ll be attending alone, dear sister, since you will undoubtedly be very busy gazing ?—’

‘An archery party, how lovely!’ Phoebe exclaimed swiftly, ‘Who will be there?’

‘Oh, the usual young crowd,’ Sophie replied with a grin. ‘Isabella and Ursula, Lady Harriet Wakeley, the Farrington twins, Lady Aurelia and a few gentlemen of the ton too– Lord Endercott, I expect, simpering Lord Riley and perhaps Sir Weston… You know what Lady Hampton is like.’

‘Lord Rotherby?’ Phoebe quizzed.

‘Lord Rotherby?’ Sophie frowned. ‘I doubt it, but how should I know? I’m not in charge of the invitation list. However, if he is there, I shall simply remind him that while I am a fearless Fairfax , it is only the beginning of the season!’

‘Sophie, please remember Lord Rotherby is?—’

‘A notorious rake and entirely unsuitable company for a debutante looking to make an advantageous love match,’ she finished, rolling her eyes, ‘I’m not a ninny-hammer, Phoebe! Though what real offence he has committed other than possessing a lively wit and charming disposition, I’m sure I don’t know. And from what I recall, Alexander wasn’t half as gallant when you were gallivanting around Bath pretending to be a seasoned actress…’

She tailed off as Phoebe shot her a dangerous look.

‘Anyway, I’m not about to fall for someone who doesn’t believe an advantageous love match is even possible,’ she huffed. ‘We just have this silly wager, as you know!’

‘Yes, well I’m sure Thomas wouldn’t be happy with you having a silly wager with anyone, least of all a rakish bachelor of the ton,’ Phoebe retorted. There was a moment while each observed the other stubbornly before Phoebe exhaled in exasperation. ‘Lord Rotherby is only interested in mischief and distraction. You must see that?’

‘Of course I do,’ Sophie snapped. ‘I’m not a simpleton!’

‘Then why bother with the wager at all? Just treat it with the contempt it deserves.’

‘I can’t,’ Sophie replied crossly. ‘He spoke as though love should be the very last consideration in a marriage, and that exasperates me beyond anything.’ She paused to scowl. ‘And while I know I should place no stock in his opinions at all, I cannot help but feel a burning desire to prove him entirely wrong!’

Sophie paused to eyeball her sister.

‘But that is precisely why you should ignore him,’ Phoebe reasoned carefully.

‘Easier said than done when he’s entirely determined to prove he is right! After all, why else did he read Lord Byron at the Carlisles’s soiree last week?’

She rolled her eyes dramatically.

Phoebe took a deep breath. ‘I think I recall that, but why should his reading Byron mean anything at all, dearest?’

‘Did you not notice how Aurelia changed seats so she could be quite clearly seen by all?’ Sophie replied. ‘Simpering and fluttering her eyelids as though he read for her alone? Harriet says she has enjoyed a flood of new suitors since, and the marchioness is delighted. I suppose she must have all but given up hope of a decent match after her daughter informed the duke he was a pompous purple peagoose!’

‘Well, he is purple,’ Phoebe conceded, momentarily distracted.

‘Extremely so,’ Sophie agreed readily. ‘But he was trying to prove, of course, that the language of love is useful only to garner attention, and little else.’

‘Really? I rather think Lord Rotherby may have been proving his own popularity,’ Phoebe replied drily.

Sophie scowled at her perceptive sister, aware she sounded irrational, and yet with too much disquiet threading her veins to do much else. She also knew she was stubborn when it came to wagers, and that Lord Rotherby was a known and established rake of the ton, but for some inexplicable reason he bothered her more than she could put into words.

‘Dearest, you know Aurelia plays a very fast game, and that the gentlemen know it too,’ Phoebe said with a faint frown. ‘I shouldn’t spare a second thought for her flood of suitors when you have Kew Gardens at your fingertips.’

‘Lord, Phoebs!’ Sophie exclaimed, throwing her eyes to the heavens. ‘You sound like Mama, Harriet and Aunt Higglestone all rolled into one now! This isn’t about Aurelia at all. It’s just that Lord Rotherby clearly believes love is a tool, or a commodity, or something to be used , when you and I both know such feelings?—’

‘Are not always within our control?’ Phoebe finished quietly, recalling the moment she glimpsed the viscount and Captain Damerel fighting in Sydney Park.

‘Exactly so. And isn’t it the very definition of rakish behaviour to behave otherwise? Thank heavens there are gentlemen like Sir George Weston in the world. Jo and I believe he is the very epitome of a well-mannered gentleman with a title, respectable estate and good connections. In fact, the last time I saw him, he?—’

‘Tipped his hat at you. Twice. I know.’

‘Well, he did! And he is such a handsome gentleman too, though we don’t tend to notice because he’s so sensible– don't you think?’

‘Possibly,’ Phoebe agreed, her lips twitching.

‘Anyway, I just can’t imagine someone like him using any kind of false means to engage affections, can you?’

‘No, I can’t,’ Phoebe replied. ‘And his manners and flowers do much to recommend him too, dearest, but he is a trifle quiet and serious for you, surely?’

‘And why should I not be an excellent match for someone quiet and serious?’ Sophie challenged. ‘I have as much of an enquiring mind and independent will as you.’

‘You do,’ her sister nodded sagely. ‘Together with a very lively and vivacious disposition that I cannot help but think would be wasted on someone like Sir Weston.’

‘Oh.’ Sophie paused uncertainly.

‘Well I was only going to say that I could no more think myself into loving Sir Weston for his sense, than I could into loving Lord Rotherby for his wit and charm. Such strong feelings have to come from another place altogether, don’t you think?’

‘I do,’ Phoebe agreed with a smile, ‘and I’m quite relieved to hear you say it.’

‘And in the meantime we must look to our own interests instead.’

‘Absolutely,’ Phoebe nodded.

‘Which is why I need to attend the new exhibition at The British Institution.’

‘Pardon?’ Phoebe paused, wondering if she’d misheard her wilful sister.

‘The British Institution,’ Sophie replied brightly. ‘At the Carlisle dinner, I heard there is to be an exhibition of Parisian ladies’ fashion there. All sorts of ladies’ clothing will be featured: pelisses, gowns, corsets, chemises, plus the newest fabrics and patterns. Just imagine, Phoebe,’ she appealed wistfully, ‘the world of French fashion under one roof. It’s my dream!’

‘I thought your dream was to make an advantageous love match?!’ Phoebe retorted with a laugh.

‘Oh it is!’ Sophie smiled winningly. ‘But my reserve dream, should such a gentleman not be found, is to move to Paris and design fashionable pelisses instead. There’s just one tiny drawback…’

‘Which is?’ Phoebe prompted suspiciously.

‘Debutantes aren’t allowed to go, on account of there being undergarments on display.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Well, exactly!’ Sophie exclaimed. ‘As if I’m likely to be plagued by such a thing when I wear them myself! Plus, they are French,’ she added with a shrug. I’d have to be a real ninny-hammer.’

Phoebe closed her eyes with a look of pained denial.

‘Sophie, wearing undergarments oneself– French or otherwise– does not make it acceptable to peruse undergarments at a public exhibition,’ she uttered in a strangled tone, ‘Just imagine what Aunt Higglestone or Harriet would say for a start!’

‘Well I hope both would understand that an interest in fashion requires one to have an eye to every detail,’ Sophie returned stubbornly. ‘Besides, I think it’s very silly to pretend to be missish about such female things when I am female too. And I have already thought of a way to safeguard my reputation.’

She eyed Phoebe with a defiant gleam.

‘Should I even ask?’ her sister replied in a voice of great sufferance.

‘But of course!’ Sophie smiled winningly. ‘The newest darling of the ton, Viscountess Damerel, will escort me!’