Chapter Seven
The next morning brought precisely what Elowen had expected of it—silence, despite the fact that the Tremaine name was once again splashed across the scandal sheets.
She read the column dedicated to her and her outing with the Duke of Beaushire, feeling oddly calm.
It wasn’t the reaction she had anticipated upon learning she was fast becoming the talk of the town.
When her parents had insisted she partake in this year’s Season, her single aim had been to remain unseen—to give society no reason to speak of her.
Because if they did, it would only dredge up the disgrace that had ruined them years ago.
Yet here she was, her name now linked not only to one of London’s most influential gentlemen, but to two—the Duke of Beaushire and the Marquess of Cherrington.
At least the article had not been unkind.
It mentioned her father’s scandal, naturally, several times, but did so in a tone of curiosity rather than cruelty, remarking upon how the disgraced daughter of Lord Trenton had somehow found herself worthy of attention from not one but two men of consequence.
The writer seemed intrigued, not derisive, which was something.
Still, it meant she would now be watched far more closely.
Every word, every expression, every dance would be weighed and judged.
She didn’t like the pressure.
“What’s that you’ve got there?”
Elowen looked up sharply. She hadn’t noticed her mother enter the drawing room, but the baroness was now settling herself on the sofa, embroidery hoop in hand.
Elowen considered lying. It would only delay the inevitable. The only reason her mother hadn’t read the paper first was that she had spent the morning at her husband’s bedside. He’d been too unwell to rise, and the house had been unusually still because of it.
“A scandal sheet,” Elowen admitted at last.
Mama froze mid-stitch, her head snapping up. “What does it say?” she asked in a half-whisper.
“Nothing dreadful,” Elowen said quickly. “It merely reports that I have been seen in the company of the Duke of Beaushire on several occasions—and speculates that we may be courting.”
The relief that flooded her mother’s face pinched Elowen’s heart. “Well, that is good news, is it not? Or at least, not as bad as it might have been.”
Since they both knew how bad it could have been, Elowen could hardly fault her for saying so. But she wasn’t nearly so heartened.
“Only we are not courting, Mama,” she reminded gently. “And it is only a matter of time before the ton realises that. I shudder to think what they will say then.”
“Oh, there is no need to be so pessimistic, my dear. You and the Duke seem quite taken with one another…” She trailed off, noticing the look of incredulity her daughter gave her, and laughed lightly.
“Very well—perhaps you are not taken with him, but his attention must surely mean he intends to court you.”
Elowen turned to the window. Somehow, it felt like a lie not to contradict her mother’s optimism. She was not enamoured with the Duke. She knew better than to lose her head over a handsome face and a smile that could stop hearts. She was not some na?ve debutante dazzled by wealth and charm.
And yet… she could not deny that she did not entirely dislike his company either.
Lucas... She should be warier of him since she didn’t know what his true purpose was.
But, somehow, she’d let her guard slip for half a moment and caught herself actually enjoying his company at the museum the previous day.
Goodness, she had to be more careful or else she might find herself in an irreparable position, which was the very last thing this family could handle.
“And truly, Elowen,” her mother went on, “I cannot imagine why you are not more excited. The Duke of Beaushire is an extraordinary prospect. Every young lady in London must be green with envy that he pays you any mind at all, when he has long declared himself uninterested in marriage.”
“If he is not in the market for a wife, Mother, then it is clear he does not wish to marry me.”
“Perhaps he changed his mind when he first saw you. Perhaps it was love at first—”
“Oh, for pity’s sake, Mama, please do not speak such folly. You will only break your own heart.”
Margaret sighed, setting her embroidery in her lap. “I am your mother, Elowen. I cannot help but hope. What of Lord Cherrington, then? You saw him yesterday, did you not? Have you grown any fonder of him?”
Elowen smiled faintly. Her mother’s persistence was almost endearing. “He was quite… kind.”
“Kind,” Margaret echoed, sighing again. “So you do not like him.”
“I do not dislike him either, though he is very talkative. I don’t believe I’ve told him a single thing about myself.”
The Duke, on the other hand, she thought, seemed rather interested in learning about me—though whether from amusement, curiosity, or something else entirely, I cannot yet tell.
“Well, the Season has only just begun,” Margaret said, resuming her stitching. “You have time yet to decide. Just not too much time.”
Elowen wisely let that pass. She’d have this conversation again soon enough. “How is Papa?” she asked.
“He’s quite tired. Resting now.”
Elowen felt the familiar knot of worry tighten in her chest. “I’ll sit with him when he wakes.”
“I’m sure he’ll be glad of it—and eager to hear about your outing with the Duke.”
Elowen groaned softly. “Mother, must we—”
Suddenly, the door swung open. Elowen stiffened, half-expecting the Duke of Beaushire himself to stride in unannounced. Instead, a tall, dark-haired young man stepped inside.
Her mother’s gasp was sharp and delighted. The baroness rose at once, joy flooding her face, and Elowen followed suit—just in time to see her mother hurry forward and all but throw herself into the arms of the twenty-year-old gentleman wearing an identical grin.
“William!” she cried. “Oh, my sweet boy—you gave me quite a turn.”
William chuckled, the sound far deeper than Elowen remembered it to be.
It had been a couple of years since she’d seen him last, but she couldn’t believe just how much he had grown in that time.
His hair was fuller, curling at the nape of his neck as if he hadn’t bothered to have it cut before he made his trip home.
And there was a faint shadow of facial hair covering the lower half of his face.
He was only one year younger than herself, but she’d always seen him as more than her younger brother, like a baby she had once had to take care of.
“Mother, you know nothing gives me more pleasure than to give you a gentle fright,” William said, eyes twinkling with mischief. “It’s a good thing I didn’t send word ahead, or it would have spoiled the surprise.”
“Perhaps then we might have had a proper reception for you,” Elowen teased, smiling as she approached. “But I suppose your rascality takes precedence.”
“As it always does.” William slipped free of their mother’s embrace to hug his sister and kiss her cheek. “How are you, dearest sister?”
“Quite well, all things considered.”
“Then tell me—has the ton welcomed us back into their good graces?”
Elowen’s smile faltered. William had always been able to jest about the scandal in a way she never could.
“Actually,” Margaret said brightly, sliding her arm through his and steering him toward the sofa, “you will be happy to know that your sister has already made quite a name for herself this Season.”
“Mother, I’m sure the last thing William wants to hear about is my social exploits,” Elowen said with a sigh, following them. She sat across from mother and son, folding her hands in her lap.
“Why ever not?” the baroness countered. “He’s been away at Oxford for so long—he can scarcely have had the chance to hear a word of our news.”
Elowen arched a brow. “You mean to suggest you haven’t written to him about it already?”
William chuckled. “She’s got you there, Mother. It’s never been easy to fool Elowen.”
“Only because I’ve had to learn to keep my wits about me thanks to you.”
“You are quite welcome, dear sister,” William responded with a grin, entirely unperturbed by the sarcasm lacing her voice. “And you are right. Mother has already regaled me with tales of your adventures with the Duke of Beaushire—and the Marquess of Cherrington.”
“But I have not yet had the chance to write and tell you about her afternoon with the Duke at the British Museum—”
“Of which you will have ample time to do later,” Elowen cut in. “I am sure William is quite exhausted from his travels and would prefer to rest before luncheon. Wouldn’t you, William?”
William leaned conspiratorially toward their mother and said, in a stage whisper loud enough for Elowen to hear, “I do not think she wishes to speak of the Duke.”
“I do not,” Elowen replied crisply. “I would much rather talk about you. To what do we owe this sudden pleasure?”
“Can a young gentleman not visit his family without needing a reason?”
“Yes, generally they can,” she said. “You, however, seldom do anything without one.”
“You wound me, dear sister.” He paused, a grin tugging at his mouth. “But you are correct. There is a reason for my visit. Is Father in? He is the first I should like to speak with about it.”
Margaret patted his arm, her expression dimming. “Your father is resting, my dear. He was not well this morning.”
“On the contrary, Margaret, I feel as sound as ever.”
Elowen stood at once as her father entered the room. Despite his words, he looked pale and drawn, though he managed a faint smile as his gaze fell on William.
“And it is a good thing too,” he said, “else I would not have known of my son’s return.”
“I would tell you,” Elowen assured him, hurrying to his side. The way he accepted her arm told her all she needed to know about how unwell he truly was.
“Or I would go up to disturb your rest,” William added cheerfully, taking his father’s other arm. He looked every inch the picture of ease, though Elowen noted the way his grip steadied their father as they guided him toward a chair.
Papa chuckled, the sound far more akin to a wheeze. “I think seeing you would have gotten me out of bed all the sooner. It is good to see you, my boy.”
“It is good to see you as well, Father,” William said. “Though I wish you were in better health to receive me.”
“Nonsense.” Papa waved a dismissive hand. “I am perfectly fine.”
The statement rang hollow. Silence fell. William was the one to break it, his voice gentler now. “All the same, I am glad you are here. I’ve made certain discoveries that may well change this family’s future.”
Mama frowned. “In what way?”
William’s eyes brightened like they always did when he was focused on something. Like the last time he’d planned on playing an elaborate prank on Elowen when he was two-and-ten, right before she’d found him out and ended his ploy before it even started.
“I have been reviewing shipping manifests and trade regulations from the past decade, you see,” he explained. “And within the last two years, there’s been a sudden and troubling shift—one that cannot be easily explained.”
Papa leaned forward, brows knitted together. “What sort of shift?”
“On paper, nothing appears amiss,” William said. “The rules remain the same. But in practice, they are being applied very differently. Certain powerful interests seem to be steering the system to their advantage, forcing smaller merchants to fall in line.”
“Which interests?” Elowen asked quietly.
William met her gaze, but before he could speak, Papa cut in, his tone sharper than before. “That does not matter at present. What matters is that you may be treading on dangerous ground.”
“You do not sound surprised,” William observed.
“I cannot say that I am,” Papa admitted. “Though it seems your investigations have gone further than mine ever did. Perhaps we could continue this discussion in my study.”
He braced his hands on his knees and pushed himself upright. William rose immediately, steadying him as he swayed.
“Very well, Father,” William said. He cast a reassuring smile toward Elowen and Mama. “I shall be done by luncheon—then you can tell me all about the poor fellows vying for my sister’s hand.”
Elowen didn’t have the heart to laugh, though the baroness managed a small chuckle. They watched in silence as father and son made their slow way out.
Once they were gone, Mama picked up her embroidery and recommenced in silence.
Elowen hesitated, tempted to press her mother about what William had meant. Both her father and brother were clearly involved in something they deemed too serious to discuss in front of her—and that troubled her more than she cared to admit. On any other day, she might have insisted on knowing.
But one look at her mother’s tightened mouth and fixed attention on her work told her that Mama’s thoughts were every bit as uneasy as her own.
Elowen drew a steadying breath. “Mama,” she said at last, “would you care to step out with me this morning? Perhaps we might look in at a few shops.”
The baroness dropped her hands into her lap, surprise written across her face. It slowly morphed into delight. “You would like to visit the shops?”
Elowen resisted the urge to grimace. “Perhaps I should not—”
“Oh, no, you shan’t wriggle out of it now.” Margaret was already on her feet. “You are in dire need of new gloves, and your father has given me pin money for precisely that purpose. I thought I would have to coax you, but this is far better. I shall fetch my bonnet.”
Elowen sighed softly as her mother hurried out of the room. Perhaps wasting a morning shopping for gloves was a small price to pay for her mother’s peace of mind—and for keeping her own thoughts from wandering toward whatever was being discussed behind the closed door of her father’s study.