Page 35 of A Game of Scandal

“Of course you must go!” Mother exclaimed. “It’s my fault for arriving unexpectedly. Besides, it will give me a chance to spend time with Felicity.”

“Yes, go,” I said, knowing that whatever was in that envelope was much more important than the tension simmering at this breakfast table. “We’ll see you later. At the ball.”

“Of course,” Izzy agreed, sending me a look of moral support before she whirled out of the room. I envied her sense of urgency and purpose.

Mother and I were alone, and I listened to her enthusiastic chatter, careful to keep a pleased smile on my face the whole time, trying not to dwell too much on what was in store for me.

“… And of course one tries to keep abreast of all the town gossip, though it can take a day or two to reach us,” Mother said. “I rarely miss the city, but I must admit I am looking forward to getting all the latest news.”

An idea struck me then. Perhaps I could make use of Mother’s love of gossip.

“I found out only yesterday that a young baron had passed away,” I said, carefully casual.

“No!” Mother exclaimed. “Who?”

“Peregrine Archer,” I replied.

“Peregrine Archer,” Mother murmured thoughtfully.

“Baron Ely,” I said. “I believe.”

“Ah, Viscount Ely’s eldest.” She nodded. “I don’t think I ever met him, though I am acquainted with his parents. But what a shame! He can’t have been much older than Max, poor man.”

“Apparently he was the victim of some sort of attack,” I added woodenly. Truly, I was going to have to work on the art of espionage.

“Oh, yes.” Mother’s eyes widened. “Now I do remember. It was the most shocking thing! I heard that he was shot in the street, an attempt at burglary that went awry. It was put about he was on the mend, but clearly that wasn’t true.” She lowered her voice conspiratorially. “If the man who killed him had known what he was about, then he’d never have bothered in the first place, because the Archers haven’t two pennies to rub together. Now that poor young man is dead, and the desperate soul responsible will hang for it if they catch him.”

“You say you know his parents?” I asked, digging further.

“Mmm…” Mother nodded again. “Though not well. We moved in different circles, and Lady Archer was several years older than me. A proud woman, from what I recall. The viscount’s title is an extremely old one, but the family fortune has dwindled over the years. Bad investments, apparently. They have one of those great old piles somewhere that they can hardly afford to keep.” She sighed. “It’s becoming a more and more common problem, you know. Of course, we’re lucky that your brother is such a responsible steward. The Roxton estate is certainly in a safe pair of hands.”

“And do they have more children?” I plucked at my napkin, trying to seem like I wasn’t too invested in the answer.

Again, Mother looked as though she was trying to recall the details. “Yes,” she said. “I seem to recall they did have another son … but he died too.”

“He died?” The words came out too loud, too shocked. “I-I mean, that’s terrible. To lose two sons,” I covered quickly.

“Isn’t it?” Mother agreed. “I believe it was about four or five years ago.”

“So who will inherit the title now?” I asked, my brain trying to rearrange the pieces of information to fit with what I knew about Ash. Had I made a mistake? Was he not Perry’s brother?

If Mother thought the question strange, she didn’t show it. “I’m not sure,” she started. “Oh, no, wait… How could I forget? It was such a scandal! There’s a third son.”

“A third son?” I murmured.

“Yes, though the rumour was he wasn’t Archer’s son at all.” Mother seemed to catch herself, as though remembering who she was talking to. “But really, Felicity,” she said, suddenly prim, “we mustn’t sit around gossiping. We have appointments all over town!”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

As I looked around at the happy, excited crowd, I wondered – not for the first time – if they were superior actors, or if these people were really enjoying themselves. Was it possible that a person could be squeezed into a ballgown and then squeezed into a ballroom and feel anything other than a simmering sense of panic combined with crushing boredom?

Lord and Lady Wellerby’s “small get-together” consisted of roughly two hundred people. Mother had been instantly swallowed whole by a hungry gaggle of chaperones: friends from her own season who were delighted to welcome her back to town and into the familiar ritual. I’d been deposited by the dance floor like an item of lost luggage, and then had danced every dance with an interchangeable partner: he was always expensive-looking, always knew the steps and asked questions by rote, always utterly dull.

“You look charming tonight, Lady Felicity,” the one who currently had his arm round my waist said. I couldn’t recall his name, but he was about my age, with a bobbing Adam’s apple, and I thought he was counting the steps in his head. At least it meant there had been less awkward small talk.

“Thank you,” I replied. The dance floor was hot and crowded and, as we danced, I felt eyes on me – weighing, measuring eyes. I tried taking a deep breath to steady myself and the young man’s gaze dipped to the neckline of my dress. His Adam’s apple bobbed harder, a flush crawled up his neck.

Not that there was anything indecent about the gown. Mother had chosen it, and it was a demure blush pink, trimmed with ivory lace, pretty as a strawberry mousse. Personally, I much preferred the dress I’d worn to play the part of Mrs Williams. Mother had found it hidden in my wardrobe earlier and I’d had to hastily pass it off as one of Izzy’s, accidentally misplaced. Such a daring creation was not for young debutantes: no, we had to look like puff pastries, sweet enough to cause indigestion.