Chapter One
"'Tis sorry I am to be the bearer of ill tidings, Miss Gabby."
More than sorry, Jem Downes sounded positively miserable over the news that hehad crossed an ocean and parts of two land masses to bring her, Lady GabriellaBanning thought. His rheumy brown eyes met her widening gray ones sadly. Behindhim, the aged butler, Stivers, bowed himself out, closing the door with amuffled click. The smell of damp from Jem's clothes overrode the faint scent ofsulfur from the coal fire and tallow from the candle sputtering at her elbow.Jem's hat was in his hands; his travel-stained clothes were splotched withmoisture and dotted with shiny-wet raindrops from the unrelenting downpouroutside. His boots and trousers were flecked with mud. In the ordinary way ofthings, the family's lifelong servant would never have dreamed of presentinghimself to her in such a state. The fact that he had not waited for the morrow,or even to put off his soiled apparel, spoke volumes about his state of mind.
Almost unconsciously, Gabby braced to receive the blow. Her lips compressed andher spine stiffened until she was sitting regally erect behind the massive desktucked into the corner of the estate office, to which she had retired afterdinner to go over the household accounts. Until this moment, her biggest worryhad been whether or not just a few more shillings could be squeezed from theestate's already pared-to-the-bone expenditures. Jem's words caused her heart togive a great lurch, and effectively drove the family's financial picture fromher mind. Nevertheless, she fought to preserve a calm demeanor. The only outwardsign of her sudden anxiety was her rigid posture, and the convulsive tighteningof her fingers around the quill she held. Conscious of this last, Gabbycarefully put the pen down near the ink pot, and placed her pale, slender handsflat upon the open ledger in front of her.
Outside, thunder crashed with enough volume to penetrate even so deep within thefortresslike walls of Hawthorne Hall. The fire in the hearth flared suddenly, nodoubt because windblown raindrops had found their way down the chimney. To Gabbythe sudden thunderclap and the subsequent surge of light and heat seemed almostportentous. With difficulty she repressed a shudder. What now? she thought,staring hard at Jem. Oh, dear Lord in heaven, what now?
"You have seen my brother?" A lifetime of living with the meanest sort of bullyhad taught her the value of maintaining an outward imperturbability, no matterwhat disaster was about to befall. Her tone was as cool as hock.
"Miss Gabby, the earl is dead." Clearly aware of the terrible import of hisnews, Jem twisted the soft felt hat in his hands until it was almostunrecognizable. Fiftyish, with short grizzled hair and sharp features, he hadthe slight, wiry frame of the jockey he once was. At the moment his posture,hunched under the weight of what he had to tell her, made him seem even smallerthan usual.
Gabby drew in a short, sharp breath. She felt as though she had sustained aphysical blow. Rejection of her plea, even a reprimand for daring to make it, ifMarcus was in personality anything like their father, she had been prepared for— but not this. Her half brother, Marcus Banning, who, upon their father'sdeath some eighteen months before had become the seventh Earl of Wickham, was amere six years her senior. Two months previously, when it had become obviousthat the new Earl was in no hurry to come to England to claim his inheritance,she had sent Jem with a letter for her brother to the tiny island of Ceylon,where Marcus had lived most of his life on a tea plantation owned by hismother's family. In it she had explained their circumstances as concisely as shecould, and asked Marcus for permission — and funding — to take their sisterClaire to London for her long overdue come-out.
She had sent Jem off with little hope. Still, something had to be done. Clairewas already nearly nineteen. Gabby could not bear to think of her sistermarrying Squire Cuthbert, the stolid, middle-aged, long-widowed owner of theneighboring property, who was her most persistent suitor, or Oswald Preston, thelocal curate, by default. Both, in their different ways, were top over tail inlove with Claire, and, having been unwelcome at Hawthorne Hall during theirfather the sixth Earl's lifetime, were now frequent visitors. Claire was kind tothem because kindness was an integral part of her nature, but the thought of herwedding either the portly squire or the sanctimonious Oswald was enough to makeGabby ill.
"My brother is dead?" Gabby repeated slowly. A knot formed in herstomach as the ramifications began to ricochet through her head. "Jem, are youcertain?"
A foolish question. Ordinarily she would never have asked it. Jem was not likelyto make a mistake about something so enormous as the death of the new earl,after all.
Jem looked, if possible, even more miserable. "Yes, Miss Gabby. Certain sure. Iwas there when His Lordship met his end. He was out with a party hunting atiger, and the beast charged from cover when none expected it. Someone fired ina panic, and the shot struck him. He was gone just like that. Nothing to bedone."
"Dear God." Gabby closed her eyes, feeling suddenly light-headed. In the monthssince her father's death, she had both hoped for and dreaded the coming ofMarcus, the half brother she had met just once in her life. Everything would bechanged with the advent of the new earl: her position, and that of her youngersisters, was bound to alter. For the better, she had hoped, although, as fatehad taught her to, she had feared it might be for the worse.
But what could be worse than seeing Claire, and Beth after her, suffer the samefate she had herself? To be alternately bullied and ignored by a father with anabiding contempt for females and not even the smallest scrap of naturalaffection for his offspring; to be kept so short of money — and this when theirfather was a very rich man — that the amount of food on the family table wasofttimes insufficient; to be left to wither away on the vine with scantprospects for a husband or children or any life beyond the vast isolated acreageof Hawthorne Hall?
Suddenly Gabby knew what could be worse: to lose their home entirely, and thefunds that had allowed them to live adequately if not well in it. To be forcedto leave Hawthorne Hall, to make their own living as — and this was if theywere fortunate — governesses or companions. Beth was too young to take up anypost, Gabby realized as she tried calmly to consider it, and Claire — wouldanyone hire Claire? Claire, whose beauty was so arresting that she turned headswhen she did no more than walk down the streets of York, which was the nearesttown of any size? No respectable woman would be likely to offer employment toClaire, Gabby realized with a deep sense of forboding. At the ripe old age oftwenty-five, with her nothing-out-of-the-ordinary looks and the limp that hadresulted from an accident she had suffered at age twelve, she herself was theonly one of the three who was in the smallest degree employable. Would she beallowed to keep her sisters with her in any position she was fortunate enough toobtain?
Not likely. Almost assuredly not. Especially not once a prospective employer seteyes on Claire.
What were they to do? The question curled, cold and snakelike, around Gabby'sheart, bringing near panic with it. Suddenly Squire Cuthbert and Mr. Prestonbegan to seem almost like lifelines in a raging sea. Certainly, if faced withthe choice, Claire would consider marrying either better than being cast uponthe world with little more than the clothes on her back.
But wait, Gabby told herself firmly, trying to quell her rising fear, it wasearly days yet. There had to be other alternatives. It was just that none had asyet occurred to her.
"Did he leave — a family? A son?" A last faint hope fluttered in her breast asGabby opened her eyes to look at Jem again.
"His Lordship was unwed, Miss Gabby, and childless, I think. Doubtless he wouldhave chosen a proper English bride when he came home to take his place as earl."
"Yes." Gabby took a deep, steadying breath. Whatever was to become of her andher sisters, there were immediate steps that had to be taken, people who neededto be notified of the earl of Wickham's death. She had so recently performed thesame functions after the demise of her father that she felt quite like an oldhand. Mr. Challow, her father's chief barrister, would need to be informed, forone, and Cousin Thomas...
Gabby went cold at the thought.
With Marcus's death, the earldom and all that went with it passed to the nearestmale heir, the Honorable Thomas Banning, son of her father's late cousin. Herfather had loathed Thomas, and Thomas, together with his horrible stiff-neckedwife Lady Maud and their two simpering daughters, had returned the earl'sanimosity with interest. She had seen him and his family perhaps half a dozentimes in her life, most recently at her father's funeral. He had been barelycivil to her and her sisters, and his wife and daughters had not been even that.
She, Claire, and Beth were now at Thomas's mercy, Gabby realized with a sicksensation in the pit of her stomach. Her father, in his terrible misogyny, hadmade no provisions in his will for his three daughters, as she had learned toher dismay only at the time of his death. They had no income, no funds of theirown. They had been left totally dependent on the generosity — or lack of it —of the new earl.
Not for the first time, Gabby wondered if her father, upon dying, had foundhimself in hell.
Terrible as it was for a daughter to entertain such a thought, she could nothelp but feel that, if so, it was a reward well earned by the misery he hadcaused, and continued to cause, those whom he should have most cherished inlife.
Perhaps Thomas would allow them to continue to live at Hawthorne Hall, Gabbyspeculated without much hope. It might please his wife to have Matthew'smiscellany, as she disparagingly called Gabby and her sisters because eachwas the offspring of a different, subsequent countess of Wickham, as dependentpoor relations.
But then Gabby thought again of Claire, and knew even that faint hope wasmisplaced. Maud would not want Claire within a mile of her own whey-faceddaughters.
"Miss Gabby, His Lordship writ you a letter."
At Jem's words, Gabby's attention focused on him again.
"A letter?" Her voice, she was surprised to discover, revealed no hint of herdistress.
"The night before he — before he was took. He was on the trail after that tigerI told you about when I caught up with him, away off in the wilds with justthose heathen native servants of his. He called me into his tent and gave methis to give to you." Jem fumbled in the leather pouch that hung at his side,and extracted a slightly crumpled and stained letter, which he passed to her.
Gabby took it, broke the seal, and spread it out. It was a single sheetcontaining just a few lines scrawled in a firm black hand. Another sealed sheet,wrapped inside the first, was revealed as she unfolded the missive. This she setaside.
My dear Gabby, the letter began,
My own knowledge and the tales I have heard of our father lead me to believe that you have, if anything, understated the case in which you have been left. I beg your forgiveness for not attending to the matter earlier. Indeed, I freely confess that I have been remiss in not seeing to the welfare of my sisters, and hereby give you permission to take our sister Claire to London for the Season. You do the thing up in high style, and draw on my funds as needed and at your discretion. A letter to that effect is enclosed, which I suggest you present to Messrs. Challow, Mather and Yadon, attorneys at law, with my compliments. As it happens, my circumstances are such that I find myself viewing a trip to England with favor, and may join you in London myself before many weeks have passed. I look forward to furthering our acquaintance, and to reacquainting myself with Claire and baby Beth, at that time.
Yours most sincerely, Wickham.
Unexpectedly, Gabby felt a lump form in her throat as she stared down at thebold script. Her brother sounded both likable and as if he were disposed to havea care for them, and this sheet of paper, along with his scarce-remembered visitto Hawthorne Hall when she had been no more than eleven, was all she was ever toknow of him.
It seemed hard. But then, she had learned, such was life.
The other sealed letter was indeed addressed to Messrs. Challow, Mather, andYadon, she saw as she picked it up, then glanced again at Jem.
"Gabby, Gabby, is that Jem you're talking to?" The library door flewopen without warning. Lady Elizabeth Banning, an exuberant red-hairedfifteen-year-old still faintly round with puppy fat, burst into the room. LikeGabby, she was dressed in the unrelieved black of mourning for their fatheralthough the obligatory period of time for such had passed, for the simplereason that they were the newest gowns any of the sisters possessed. Thedispersal of funds for the purchase of mourning garments had been reluctantlyallowed by Mr. Challow after the death of their father, although by rights, hesaid, he should not be approving any expenditures at all without the sanction ofthe new earl, whose funds they now were. Even continuing the minimal allowancethat had in the past permitted Gabby to run the house had been the subject ofsome debate within the law firm, he told her, with the consensus being that,without notice from the new earl, the best course of action was to let things goon as they had been until they received instructions to the contrary.
"Oh, Jem, it is you! What did our brother say?" Beth'sspaniel-brown eyes had fixed on Jem at once, sparing Gabby the need to answerher original inquiry. She bore down on the pair of them, firing questions as shecame. "Did you find him? Did you give him Gabby's letter? What did he say? Canwe go? Can we go?"
"I'm sorry, Gabby, I tried to stop her, but you know how she is," Lady ClaireBanning said with a sigh as she followed her younger sister into the room. Noteven her sober black gown could detract from Claire's dazzling combination ofsilky raven curls that spilled in charming profusion over slender shoulders,huge, thick-lashed golden-brown eyes, porcelain-pale skin, and perfect features.In addition, her figure was round where it should be round, slim where it neededto be slim, and altogether delectable. "She just could not contain herself onemoment longer."
If Claire could just have her season, Gabby thought, looking at her sisteralmost achingly, she would be overrun with eligible gentlemen wanting to marryher. The sad thing was that here, right under her own hand, was the veryinstrument that would have given Claire the future she needed, that she wasentitled to by right of birth, that she deserved.
Marcus had granted permission for Claire to have her season. He had practicallygiven Gabby carte blanche to fund it, too.
But Marcus was dead. The letters he had sent were now no more than worthlessscraps of paper. As soon as Cousin Thomas was apprised that he had become theearl of Wickham, they would be very fortunate indeed not to be cast out ofHawthorne Hall forthwith.
A growing despair knotted Gabby's stomach. What she had to tell her sisters wastoo, too cruel. If only, she thought, throat aching, Marcus had survived just ascant three more months, just until Claire had had her season....
"For goodness' sake, Jem, can't you talk? Did you or did you not find ourbrother?" Beth demanded, bouncing like an excited puppy around the man who hadtaught her and her sisters to ride and hunt and fish and enjoy almost everyimaginable outdoor pursuit. Over the years the sisters had come to regard him ascoconspirator and friend rather than servant, and were on terms of disgracefulintimacy with one who was in actuality no more than a groom.
Jem looked even unhappier than before. "That I did, Miss Beth, but...."
He glanced helplessly at Gabby, who looked down at the letter in her hand andtook a deep breath, willing herself to sound composed as she broke the dreadfulnews.
At that moment Beth spied the letter, and with a quick movement and a gleefulcry snatched it from her sister's hand.
"Beth, wait...." Gabby groaned, grabbing for the letter, but speech was more ofan effort than she had imagined and her protest was too strangled to deter hersister, who danced out of reach with a tantalizing grin. To learn how close alltheir hopes had been to being realized could only make the truth harder tobear....
"Oh, Beth, try for a little decorum, do," Claire put in crossly, throwingherself down in a chair near the fire and trying to pretend that she, too, wasnot vitally interested in the contents of the sheet that Beth now eagerlyperused. "I declare, I've never in my life seen such a hoyden as you're turninginto."
"At least I don't break my neck craning it to look into every mirror I pass."Beth retorted, glancing up for a moment to glare at her sister. Then as shereturned her attention to the letter her face broke into a beatific smile andshe looked at Claire again. "Oh, Claire, you're to have your season! Our brothersays we're to go."
Claire's eyes widened, and soft color rushed into her cheeks as she sat upstraight in the chair. "Beth, truly?" Her gaze flew to her older sister."Gabby?"
She sounded almost afraid to believe that so wondrous a fate could be hers.
As indeed, Gabby thought, looking at Claire with a sudden sharp sensation thatshe could only conclude was heartbreak, she was right to be. What she would notgive to be able to provide this one thing for Claire....
At that moment the fire popped as loudly as a sharp clapping of hands and flaredagain, higher and hotter than before, momentarily drawing everyone's startledattention to it. The color of the flames tinted the pale skin of Gabby's handsan eerie shade of red, she saw, glancing down at the letter to the barristersthat still rested beneath them. She had no doubt that her face was turned thesame, suddenly most appropriate, hellish hue.
Because the most dreadfully sinful notion had just occurred to her....
"Read it for yourself." Beth thrust the letter at Claire, then perched on thearm of her sister's chair, watching the older girl's face with an air ofjubilant expectancy. When Claire reached the end, she gave a little squeal ofexcitement. The two younger girls put their heads, one bright red and one ravenblack, together and began reciting the words aloud with increasing glee.
As her sisters read, and the fire died back down, Gabby made a decision. Shewas, she discovered with some surprise, a true Banning after all. Gaming ranstrong in their blood, and now it was her turn to wager all on a daring throw ofthe dice. She stood, a too-thin woman of no more than medium height clad inhead-to-toe black bombazine, her untamable chestnut hair dragged into areasonably neat chignon at her nape, her pale, squarish face with its small,straight nose and decided mouth and chin brought to sudden vivid life by thefierce resolve that glowed from her usually calm gray eyes, and walked with thedeliberate care she had learned to take to conceal her limp around the deskuntil she reached Jem's side.
"Have you told anyone else of this? Talked to anyone on the ship, perhaps, orsince you landed in England?" Gabby asked for his ears alone as they watched hersisters poring over the letter once again. Jem looked wretched as, finishing themissive for what must have been the dozenth time, both girls looked at eachother and began to chatter excitedly. Gabby's whisper turned urgent. "What I amasking you is, who else knows of my brother's death?"
Servant and mistress were of much the same height, and their eyes were nearly ona level. Jem glanced at her, his brow deeply furrowed.
"No one in England, Miss Gabby, save you and me. I wouldn't be talking tostrangers about family business, on the ship or anywheres else, now would I? Afew know in Ceylon, I reckon, but mostly natives and such."
"Then I am going to ask you to do me a very big service." Gabby spoke rapidly,before her nerve could fail her. "I am going to ask you to pretend that you leftmy brother's side immediately after you received these letters, and neverwitnessed his death at all. I am going to ask you to pretend that, as far as youknow, the earl is still alive and in Ceylon and will be home in his own goodtime."
Jem's eyes widened. As he met her determined gaze, his lips pursed in asoundless whistle.
"Miss Gabby, I can do that, and for you I will willingly, as you knows, but thetruth of it is bound to come out sooner or later. Such like that always does,and then where will we be?" Jem's low voice was both alarmed and cautionary.
"In no worse case than we are right now, and perhaps a great deal better off,"Gabby said firmly. "All we need is just a little time, and a little luck."
"Gabby, aren't you excited? We're going to London," Beth exclaimedrapturously, springing up from the arm of the chair and dancing forward toenvelop her oldest sister in a suffocating hug. "Claire will have her season,and we'll get to see the sights. Oh, Gabby, I've never been beyond Yorkshire inmy life."
"None of us have," Claire chimed in. Her eyes were glowing with anticipation andher step was light as she joined them, although, conscious of her status as amature young lady, she refrained from jumping up and down with the heedlessabandon shown by Beth.
"London will be a treat for all of us." Gabby, returning Beth's hug, managed acredible smile. A sideways glance showed her that Jem was looking at her with asmuch alarm as if she'd suddenly grown horns and a tail.
"Does this mean we can have some new gowns?" Claire sounded almost wistful.Claire loved pretty clothes, and had upon many occasions spent hours poring overthe fashionable sketches in such publications as the Ladies' Magazine that,banned from the house by their father, still had chanced to come her way.Without being overly vain, Claire was very aware of her own beauty, and suchmatters as the latest hairstyles, or the design of a gown, were important toher. She had longed for a season in the worst way, but given their circumstanceshad known that her chances of ever having one were remote. To her credit, shehad been very good about the prospect that it was never to be. But now — nowshe could have one after all. Despite the risks, Gabby was suddenly fiercelyglad to be able to provide Claire with such a chance.
"Certainly we may," Gabby said, refusing to look at Jem again as she well andtruly threw caution to the wind. "An entire new wardrobe, in fact, for each ofus."
The fire in the hearth popped loudly and flared again just then, causing Gabbyto jump. As her sisters exclaimed more over their unprecedented good fortune,Gabby could not forbear casting the hearth a sideways, slightly nervous glance.
Why could she not escape the feeling that, no matter how pure her motives, somesort of hellish bargain had just been made?
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Scandalous by Karen Robards. Copyright © 2001 by Karen Robards. Excerpted by permission. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Copyright © 2001 by Karen Robards. All rights reserved.
