Wedded in Scandal

Robert straightened up with a frown. “My correspondence is none of your concern, Dribbs, just the delivery. Any competent butler would know that.”

The man colored a dark red to the tips of his ears, but he did not back down. “Of course, my lord,” he said. “But it may interest you to know that I also received a note from Mrs. Mortimer.”

Robert felt his eyebrows rise almost into his hairline. “Did you?” he asked, his voice deceptively low. “I can’t imagine what about.”

“Well, my lord, she bade me to make a pot of your new tea directly, and…um…”

“Spit it out, man.”

He didn’t spit it out. In fact, he dashed out of the room only to return a second later with the tea tray. On it was a steaming pot of tea, presumably with the leaves already brewing. The tea, he recalled, that Helaine had sent. The tea that reminded her of him. He took a tentative sniff and felt his sinuses clear. Good Lord, but that was strong stuff. Meanwhile, Dribbs finished setting out the tray, but he didn’t leave. Instead he stood there, still flushed a dark red, and with a clear apology in his eye.

“She said something else, didn’t she?” Robert asked.

“Yes, my lord. She said if you were to write her a letter or in any way try to contact her, I was supposed to give you something. And say something.”

Robert leaned back, surprise and pleasure slipping through his mind. “Go on.”

“She said that she hopes you enjoy this rather strong, almost overbearing brew. And that while you are drinking, you might enjoy some reading material.” At which point, Dribbs held out a political pamphlet.

Robert took it, frowning as he saw an unfamiliar woman’s name as the author. A quick glance, however, had him bursting out with laughter. The opening lines asked these questions: Why can’t women have productive careers? Why are we forced to choose between becoming a wife or a whore with nothing in between? It went on to claim that a woman without a man was perforce expected to become a mistress. She was barred from most legitimate trades and occupations. And even the lower orders such as maids and cooks were subjected to the lewd and unwanted advances of their employers. Almost as if the men believed that if a woman had no protector, she must wish to be a whore.

The message from Helaine was obvious. Coupled with her statement that this overbearing tea reminded her of him, she was sending him a well-deserved slap. After all, she had refused him. And when he thought to ignore her refusal, she turned his own butler against him.

“Clever woman,” he said as he continued to scan the pamphlet. Sadly, he did indeed recognize the attitudes described in the treatise. Other men of his set, and certainly his own father, believed the female staff existed to serve his needs—sexual and otherwise. He had not until this moment put himself in that category.

Meanwhile, Dribbs was shifting awkwardly from foot to foot, obviously nervous about his employer’s reaction. Robert barely spared him a glance.

“Never fear, Dribbs. You are not about to be punished, but do try to recall that you work for me and not Mrs. Mortimer.”

“Of course, my lord. Did you…would you still like me to call a footman for your letter?”

“No, no. I shall have to write something else now.” Then, while Dribbs was bowing himself out, Robert took his first sip of the tea, which surprised him by being rather delightful. It was bold, strong, and with a hint of something sweet underneath that kept it from being crass. In truth, it reminded him of her.

He continued to sip his tea and think of her. He also read her pamphlet from cover to cover, then, when that was done, he turned his attention back to Charlie and the difficulties at the mine. It was another hour before he realized he was stuck. And another hour beyond that before he was rescued and from a most unusual source: Gwen’s fiancé.

The boy was of a lanky build and quiet demeanor and had the rather prosaic name of Edward. His father had died of a fever some years back, so he had inherited the baronetcy as well as a parcel of domineering women in his mother and an aunt who had been a stern schoolteacher. He had a younger brother who was off at school and a sister who was growing up to resemble the mother, more’s the pity. And yet, this quiet, henpecked boy, who looked just like an Edward ought, had somehow captivated the vivacious Lady Gwen.

Exactly how he had done it was a mystery Robert wanted to solve. And given that Robert was doing nothing more than sipping cold tea and staring at correspondence that annoyed him, the sound of Edward’s voice in the hallway was a welcome distraction. When the boy requested a moment of his time, it seemed like a gift from heaven. When Dribbs opened the door, Robert bade the boy to please sit down, by God. He ordered something stronger than tea, too, though, given this tea, he wasn’t sure anything but a stiff brandy would qualify.

“Hello, hello, Edward,” Robert began with a warm smile. “What brings you here this afternoon?”

“Escaping my mother and aunt, of course,” said the boy as he dropped into the leather chair by the fire. “Must tell you how sorry I am that we rented the house next door. You’re not used to having all those women squawking about, and I’ve talked to them about making too free with your door, but they don’t listen. Not yet, at least. But if you want them barred, I’ll see to it.”

Robert took a moment to stare at the boy. Edward wasn’t fidgeting, just sitting there with an open-eyed honesty. “You’re asking me if I want to bar your mother from my doorstep a few weeks before your wedding?”

“My mother, my aunt, and my sister. Yes, my lord. And myself, too, if you wish, though I’d be sad ’bout that, you understand.”

“But you’re about to marry my sister.”

The boy grinned. “Exactly. I’m stuck with my kin, you see, but you aren’t. And I can’t see the point of upsetting my future brother-in-law just because my mother likes to poke around where she’s not wanted.”

Robert tried to think back. “Has she poked herself somewhere she wasn’t wanted?”

“Well, she did rearrange your mother’s thingy-bobs.”

Robert raised his eyebrows. “Thingy-bobs?”

“A shepherdess and her flock, I believe. In the salon.”

Oh, that. He remembered now.

“And she bought your mother perfume, too, I believe.”

Robert was busy unstopping the brandy bottle but he did manage to raise an eyebrow. “Why would I be insulted by a gift of perfume?”

“Well, she gave it to your mum by way of saying that the lady smelled and this would sweeten her up.”

Robert released a snort of amusement. “My mother does smell badly at times. So maybe she will take the hint.”

“And then she forced your mum to take a walk. All but abducted her. I doubt Mum could have done it alone, but she had my aunt and sis with her. To hear them tell it, they grabbed both of your mum’s arms and just lifted. Then didn’t stop until they were blocks away.”

Robert set the brandy down, his mouth slack with astonishment. “They forced my mother to walk with them?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“But she hasn’t been out of the house in…in three years.”

“So I was given to understand. Which was the final straw, you see. I don’t listen to half what they say, but that was too much. If your mother’s of a delicate constitution, she won’t be proof against the women of my family. They’re too much for most men, you see. And, well, I wouldn’t want to overset something you had placed in balance. But that’s what my mum does, you see. Oversets things that are in balance. Which leaves the rest of us to put everything back in order.”

“You mean you do it,” Robert said. “You put everything back in balance.”

“Well, I am the man of the household. It is my duty, and all.”

“By asking me if I want to bar your family from my door.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Robert just stared at the boy. The man wasn’t more than twenty-two years old. He hadn’t even fully grown into his adult stature yet. He was too lanky by half, too much arms and legs and ears. And he did have rather large ears. Yet here he was, talking to a future earl about balance and barring his mother and the like.

“My God, that’s how you caught her,” he breathed, shock in every syllable.

“My lord?”