Chapter 22

CHAPTER 22

THE SCANDAL HIT the front pages of every gossip rag in Town the following day.

There was no way to escape the embarrassment, especially now that they were about to enter Lord Winstone's elegant townhouse on the night of his ball. The Winstones had spared no expense to make this the affair of the year. Scented wax candles shone amid crystal chandeliers in a grand display of light as they walked in and advanced in queue.

Everything glittered and sparkled.

Champagne was plentiful.

One had only to glance around to see that no expense was spared.

Syd kept on the lookout for her mother or Lady Clementine. If there was to be a battle tonight, she wished to get a sense of where her opponents were positioned on this dazzling battlefield.

In truth, Syd did not want to engage in any battles.

However, she was never one to shrink from a fight.

She also had an army of friends to guard her back.

Not that she would ever impose on them.

She could fight her own battles and was ready to give the odious Lady Clementine a poke in the nose if the girl dared insult her beyond merely giving her the cut direct. Syd did not care about that insignificant slight. That was to be expected since the wicked ton diamond routinely snubbed all those who fell out of her favor, and there were many hapless souls who had fallen victim to her wrath.

One might even consider it a badge of honor to be cut by her.

It meant one was worthy of her notice, in the first place.

But Syd would not allow her to get away with anything more.

As for her mother…Lady Harcourt…Syd had no idea what to do about her. The woman was going to spew her poison.

Well, Syd could only wait and see what happened next.

Octavian was going to stand beside her and be the voice of reason should there be an altercation.

He was the most sensible, thoughtful man she had ever met.

She might even surprise him by following his advice to remain dignified in the face of hurled insults.

She glanced at him and her heart began to flutter.

He looked quite magnificent in his black tie and tails. He had always looked wonderful in his uniform, but now stole her breath away while dressed in his evening clothes that accentuated his broad shoulders and masculine physique.

He arched an eyebrow. "Syd, why are you smiling at me?"

"Can a wife not be happy to be standing beside her handsome husband?"

"Perhaps, but you are no ordinary wife. Are you going to behave yourself tonight?"

She gasped. "Me? What about–"

"It matters not what Clementine or your mother do. It is up to you to show the world that you are the better lady."

"I hate it when you are being reasonable," she muttered, but tossed him an endearing smile.

They did not have long to wait before trouble started.

Clementine purposely walked by them with her group of snide friends, all of whom sauntered past her and sneered as they gave her the cut.

No big surprise there.

Was she supposed to beat her chest in despair and weep?

Their feeble attempt to insult her was completely neutralized when Marigold and her Farthingale cousins, some of whom she did not know, rushed toward her and greeted her effusively. To all who were watching– and everyone was, since this erupting scandal was quite juicy– she and the Farthingales could have been lifelong friends.

How was she ever to repay this family's kindness?

Marigold was a marchioness, and the list of titles among her cousins included duchess, baroness, viscountess, and there were several countesses. Indeed, Daffodil Farthingale was the Duchess of Edgeware and Syd did not think there was a more powerful duke in the realm.

Take that, Lady Clementine.

When the two dowagers walked in, Lady Dayne and Lady Withnall, the first thing they also did was greet Syd warmly.

This was another victory shot across the bow, for no one was more respected among the ton than these two ladies.

First skirmish won.

Clementine defeated.

Not only defeated, but rendered insignificant.

Syd tried not to gloat, but this first win over the wretched girl felt awfully good.

Of greater concern was Lady Harcourt.

Syd felt her venom from across the ballroom.

Lord Winstone and his wife had opened the ball with a waltz, to the surprise of the elders in the crowd who looked upon this with disapproval. But many of the younger couples were delighted and eagerly stepped onto the dance floor to join in the first dance.

Octavian took her hand. "Come on, Syd. Try to look up at me adoringly as we waltz."

She laughed. "It shall be quite a struggle, but I will do my best."

If anyone questioned whether theirs was a love match, this waltz removed all doubt. Syd could not hold back. Everyone saw the love in her eyes the moment Octavian took her in his arms and began to twirl her around the dance floor.

No one could overlook the happiness gleaming in his eyes, either.

When Lady Harcourt approached them at the end of the dance, hatred oozing from her every pore, the guests were already inclined to dismiss the scandal as the nonsensical ranting of a troubled woman.

Octavian placed a protective arm around Syd's waist.

Perhaps some of his good sense flowed into her, because she suddenly had no desire to destroy this pathetic woman. How better to disarm her than to show sympathy instead of rage? "Lady Harcourt, you need not do this," she said, reaching out to offer her hand. "You are only hurting yourself."

"Me? Hurt? I am beyond hurt." She laughed loudly, her laughter bordering on the maniacal. "Your very presence is a blight that will never be removed until you die. I wish you both dead, you and Harcourt!"

That earned several gasps from those who were listening in.

Syd was also shocked and deeply wounded by the remark. She dropped her hand to her side, feeling quite sad rather than angry. This was the woman she had always believed was her mother. Yes, a flawed and icy mother, but still the woman she had always thought would nurture and protect her, if ever the need arose.

Children were like this, needing no more than a speck of affection to soothe their young hearts. Syd was no longer that hopeful child. But even now, despite knowing the truth, she never wanted to hurt this woman. "Please, let us not do this here."

"Who are you to tell me what to do? You are soiled and baseborn. You are a nobody and do not belong here!"

"Enough!" Lord Winstone roared as he approached, the look on his face seething.

Syd was not certain to whom he was directing this anger…well, it had to be Lady Harcourt or else he would have quietly rescinded the invitation to her and Octavian upon the scandal breaking if he did not want them here. Behind him strode two men. One was her father…well, she would always think of Lord Harcourt as her father. But she did not know who the other man was.

Others apparently did, for she quickly heard a murmur rolling through the crowd like a gentle wave upon the water. "Parkhurst," was the name on everyone's lips.

"His Grace," some guests whispered, pressing closer to see what would next unfold.

"Reclusive duke," others whispered. "Just come out of mourning."

Syd realized this man whose name was Parkhurst had to be the brother who had now succeeded to the title of duke upon the passing of his father. If what Syd's father had told her was true, this brother was the one who had married the Marquess of Sutton's betrothed after his death.

Syd's heart broke as she looked upon him. Was the Marquess of Sutton truly her father? Did the present duke standing before her now resemble him in any way? Was she in the presence of her uncle?

Octavian drew her closer to his side, his protective instincts on fire. This man who did not flinch in the face of battle, who had calmly stood his ground when surrounded by reivers and Scottish warriors, this man who was the very definition of poise under fire, looked ready to throw punches if another insult was hurled at her.

She was now the one to take his hand and give it a light squeeze to assure him that she was all right.

She felt his tension, and knew he was riled and had reached his tipping point. She would never allow him to throw a punch.

No, she was going to throw the punches if any were warranted.

Octavian must have sensed her thoughts, for his tension suddenly eased and he grinned at her. "Behave yourself, minx," he whispered.

"You too, you big ox."

Lord Harcourt now stepped between everyone. "My apologies, Lord Winstone. My wife is not well, as you can plainly see," he said, shooting Lady Harcourt a quelling look.

To Syd's surprise, Lady Harcourt suddenly quieted, her expression turning completely blank. It was as though her soul had abandoned her, leaving nothing but the shell of a woman before them.

"I will take her home now," Lord Harcourt said, looking quite beaten down himself. "But Syd, my darling, precious girl…" He spoke with so much love in his voice. "I would like to introduce you to a very good friend of mine, His Grace, the Duke of Parkhurst."

Syd turned to the duke, absorbing every one of his features as she sought sign of any resemblance between her and him. "An honor, Your Grace."

The duke took her hand and bowed politely over it. "The honor is mine, Lady Thorne."

He then invited her and Octavian to meet him for luncheon the following day. "We would be delighted," Octavian responded for them both.

Lady Harcourt gasped. "You would honor this…this…by-blow? Has everyone turned against me? Am I to have no justice?"

"Lady Harcourt, in what possible way have you been hurt? There was no deception played on you. I have no idea what you seek, but it is not justice," Parkhurst intoned.

Lady Harcourt ran out in tears.

"Papa…" Syd turned to run after her, but Harcourt stopped her.

"No, child. This is my mess to clean up. Enjoy the ball. All will be well." He excused himself and took off after his wife.

Syd meant to follow, but Octavian gently held her back. "Syd, you cannot heal everyone's wounds. Harcourt will treat her gently."

She nodded. "He always has. Dear heaven, what a burden he's carried all these years."

Parkhurst eyed her as intently as she had eyed him moments ago. Was he looking for the same resemblance? "I will not take up more of your time now," he said, "but I very much look forward to seeing you tomorrow."

That said, he walked off to engage with others she assumed were friends he had not seen in a while.

She now turned to offer her apologies to Lord Winstone. "I am so truly sorry. If you wish me to leave, I–"

"No, Lady Thorne. You are welcome here. I am sorry that…I have no words for what we all just witnessed. Your mother, has she always been this unwell?"

Syd's expression turned pained.

Lord Winstone grunted. "Ah, Lady Thorne. That look says it all."

The remainder of the ball passed uneventfully, not even Clementine daring to cause more mischief for fear she would be equated with Lady Harcourt, a sad woman everyone now viewed as bordering on deranged.

Lady Winstone took Syd aside a moment. "My dear, please know how saddened we are by your mother's ill health. It happens to some women, you know. As we age and our looks fade. The children grow up and leave home. We are left all alone in a big, rambling house, wondering what use we are to anyone now? Most of us adjust, but it affects some ladies quite badly. Your marriage to Captain Thorne must have sent her over the edge. In her mind, how else was she to deal with the loss of a dear daughter than by pushing her away first? By her illogical thinking, it made sense to deny that you were ever hers."

Syd did not wish to disabuse Lady Winstone of her faulty conclusion. She meant it kindly, and Syd had no desire to invite more gossip by telling her the truth. "It is a sad turn of events," she merely agreed. "Thank you for the explanation. It is very kind of you to offer it."

Lady Winstone patted her hand. "You dear thing, I hope this helps you understand that you did nothing wrong. Now I shall send you back to your husband who seems eager to have you once more beside him. Oh, how I do adore a love match. There are so many marriages entered into for the sole purpose of increasing one's wealth or enhancing one's alliances. Is it any wonder there are so many unhappy couples? But it is a joy to see a marriage that is real."

Syd returned to her husband's side.

"What happened, Syd? What did she say to you?"

She placed her arm in his. "She said our marriage is not make-believe."

Octavian snorted. "I could have told her that. Care to dance? The orchestra is playing another waltz."

She nodded.

But he walked her away from the dance floor and toward the terrace. "Where are you taking me?"

"Outdoors. Under the moonlight. In truth, Syd, I just wanted to be out of that ballroom and in the cooler air. Or we could give our apologies and leave now. I feel an extraordinary need to take you in my arms and hold you close."

"I feel the same." She cast him a wicked smile as she pointed toward some dense shrubbery along the stone wall running along the back of the garden. "Or you could just take me behind that row of bushes."

It took Octavian a moment to realize what she was offering.

He laughed softly once it sank into his mind. "I knew life with you would never be dull. Come on, love. I'll wrap my jacket around you so you don't get twigs poking your arse."

"Octavian! Oh, I did not think of that."

He grinned. "Because you've never been naughty like this before. But we are both tense and in need of a release. Trust me, you are going to enjoy this."

Was there ever a doubt?