One Night Of Scandal by Teresa Medeiros
"The two of us were just about to have breakfast," Allegra informed her. "Why don't you join us? Unless you're too sad to be hungry, that is."
Lottie stared at their joined hands. Hayden might not have need of her, but perhaps his daughter did.
Wiping away the last of her tears, she allowed Allegra to tug her to her feet. "Don't be silly," she said, swinging the girl's hand in hers as they started for the house. "I'm never too anything to be hungry."
* * *
Hayden St. Clair was being haunted.
This spirit was much more tenacious than any found between the pages of a Gothic thriller. It didn't wail like a banshee or shine mysterious lights from the window of some deserted chamber. It never rattled chains after midnight or drifted up and down the corridors of the manor in the moonlight with its severed head beneath its arm. Nor did it play ghostly melodies on the piano in the music room or wake him out of a sound sleep with a whiff of fragrance that should have dissipated years ago.
On the contrary, it haunted his every waking moment, boldly laying claim to each room of his home until there was nowhere he could flee to escape it.
He had his first inkling of its presence a few days after his moonlight encounter with Lottie in the music room. He was passing by the drawing room when he heard a most astonishing sound. He froze in his tracks, cocking his head to listen. The sound wasn't completely foreign to him. He had heard it many times before, but so long ago that it was like a song remembered from a dream.
His daughter was giggling.
Unable to resist the siren lure of the sound, he retraced his steps and warily peered around the archway that framed the drawing room door.
Lottie, Harriet, Allegra, and Lottie's scruffy old doll were all gathered around a teak-inlaid table, partaking of afternoon tea. They each wore elaborate hats festooned with a colorful array of feathers, ribbons, flowers, and cobwebs. Hayden did a double take when he spotted the stuffed parrot perched on the shoulder of Lottie's doll. The mangy bird perfectly complemented both her eye patch and her leering smirk. The doll required only a cutlass in her dainty little hand and she would be ready to sail the bounding main.
Even Mirabella wore a hat — a baby bonnet of ivory lace, its satin bow tied beneath her furry chin. Allegra held the squirming kitten in her lap to keep it from bolting, giggling every time the creature reached up to bat at the ribbons dangling from her own hat.
Apparently, Hayden was the only one who hadn't received a formal invitation to the tea party. Three of the kittens Lottie had given him stood on the table, lapping cream from a china saucer, while their yellow sibling chased its own tail around a table leg.
As Allegra added a ruffled petticoat to Mirabella's elegant ensemble, Pumpkin and Mr. Wiggles went streaking past Hayden, obviously fearing they were in danger of being subjected to similar indignities. Hayden knew he would be wise to follow. Yet still he lingered, reluctant to abandon the charming chaos of the scene.
He hadn't counted on the yellow kitten spotting him. Before he could slip away, it came trotting toward him, mewing at the top of its tiny pink lungs.
"Traitor," Hayden muttered, nudging it away with his foot.
But it was too late. The smiles had vanished. The merry chatter had ceased. Miss Dimwinkle looked as if she were trying to choke on a mouthful of scone. If she succeeded, Hayden assumed he'd be required to add the burden of another untimely death to his conscience.
Lottie blew a wayward feather out of her eyes, surveying him coolly and looking every inch the lady of the manor in her tulle-and-cobweb draped hat and her fingerless lace mittens. "Good afternoon, my lord. Would you care to join us?"
Allegra buried her sullen face in Mirabella's fur as if she could care less whether or not he accepted Lottie's invitation. Hayden was the only one who knew it hadn't been an invitation, but a direct challenge — one Lottie obviously expected him to refuse.
He returned her mocking gaze with one of his own. "You won't make me wear a bonnet, will you?"
"Not unless you choose to."
Lottie drew the only remaining stool up to the table and poured him a cup of tea. Hayden dutifully sat, but bounded quickly back to his feet when the stool let out a protesting yowl. Gritting his teeth, he swept the yellow kitten off the stool and onto the rug. It immediately clawed its way back up his leg, snagging his doeskin trousers, and curled up in his lap, purring madly. Hayden draped a napkin over it and tried to pretend it wasn't there.
The stool was far too short for him. Every attempt he made to fold his long legs beneath it failed miserably. He finally had to content himself with stretching his legs to the side, which brought them in dangerous proximity to Lottie's trim ankles. Her shapely limbs might be swathed in layers of petticoats, pantalettes, and stockings, but that didn't stop him from imagining how sleek and warm they would feel wrapped around his waist.
"Would you care for some cream?" Lottie asked.
Jerking his gaze away from the curve of her calf, Hayden eyed the cream pitcher askance. The black kitten was teetering on its lip. Even as he watched, it lost its balance and went plunging into the milky froth. Before Allegra could rescue it, it scrambled back out and gave itself a dazed shake, scattering drops of cream all over the front of Hayden's waistcoat.
"No, thank you," he murmured, watching it lick its whiskers clean with fastidious care. "I believe I shall pass."
"We borrowed the hats from the attic." Lottie offered him his teacup, her haughty tone all but daring him to protest. "I hope you don't mind. Allegra said they belonged to her mother."
"Not all of them." Hayden pointed to the lace-trimmed bonnet framing Mirabella's cantankerous little face. "If memory serves me correctly, that one once belonged to me."
Allegra cupped a hand over her mouth to suppress an involuntary giggle. "You wore a bonnet?"
"I most certainly did. But it wouldn't have been so mortifying if your grandmother hadn't insisted on having my portrait painted in it while she dandled me on her knee. I must confess that at the time I had curls that would rival your own."
Allegra looked doubtful. "I've never seen such a painting."
"Nor will you," Hayden assured her, taking a sip of his tea. "I 'accidentally' spilled some lamp oil on it and set the hateful thing afire when I was around your age."
"That was quite clever of you," Allegra blurted out. Ducking her head so that her hair shielded her face, she returned her attention to stuffing Mirabella's hind legs into a pair of doll's pantalettes.
"Have you any other youthful indiscretions you'd care to share with us?" Lottie asked, her blue eyes all innocence as she pinched off a bite of scone and tucked it between her lips.
Hayden fought the overpowering urge to lean over and lick away the dab of clotted cream at the corner of her mouth. "One doesn't have to be a youth to commit indiscretions," he replied, refusing to surrender her gaze. "Some temptations, however foolhardy, only sweeten with age."
Blinking at them both from behind a pair of oversized spectacles loaned to her by one of the servants, Harriet snatched up a handful of iced tea cakes, obviously hoping that if she kept her own mouth full, Hayden wouldn't address her directly.
"So tell me, Miss Dimwinkle," he said pleasantly after she'd crammed them all in her mouth, "are you enjoying your stay in Cornwall?"
Harriet lowered her tea, her hand trembling so violently that the cup rattled against the saucer. "Oh, very much, my lord," she mumbled around a mouthful of cake. "I can't begin to tell you how grateful I am to you for writing my parents and asking them to allow me to stay on here as a companion to Lottie. Why, if you'd have sent me packing back to Kent, I would have simply di— " Harriet stopped talking and chewing at the same time, her expression horrified.
"Died?" Hayden gently offered, hoping to help her swallow before she did just that.
From out of nowhere, Allegra suddenly said, "Lottie's mama died when Lottie was only three. She burned up in a fire. Lottie doesn't even remember what she look
Hayden stole a look at his wife. She looked as puzzled as he felt. "Yes, it is," he agreed with utter sincerity. "Terribly sad."
Still refusing to look at any of them, Allegra rocked Mirabella in the crook of her arm like an ill-tempered, overdressed baby. "Lottie said I should be thankful that I remember my mama."
Hayden felt his throat tighten. "And so you should," he finally managed to choke out, speaking of Justine to his daughter for the first time since her death. "She loved you very much."
Awkwardly shoving back the stool, he stood. The yellow kitten rolled to the floor, shooting him a wounded look. "If you'll excuse me, ladies, I have business I must attend to. I'm sure you'll be eager to get back to your lessons after tea."
Hayden didn't linger long enough to deter-mine who looked guiltier at his mention of lessons — Allegra or Lottie. His only thought was of escape. But as he strode down the long corridor that led to his study, the merry music of their laughter pursued him more surely than any phantom.
* * *
Hayden soon learned that there was nowhere he could go to elude their happiness. In the days that followed, it echoed from the schoolroom in wild bursts as poorly muffled as the mysterious thumps that preceded it. It drifted through the open window of his study at dusk as Lottie and Allegra chased the kittens through the garden. It came rippling out of the drawing room after supper as Lottie read aloud from one of her treasured Gothics, her dramatic delivery generating more giggles than shivers. When Hayden caught Meggie and Jem lurking behind the drawing room door, hanging on to her every word, he didn't even have the heart to rebuke them. Especially not since they'd stolen his own hiding place.
Even more haunting than the laughter was the music. Now that the doors of the music room had been thrown wide open, Hayden never knew when it would come spilling through the house, shattering the walls of silence he'd spent the last four years building around himself. It was the one manifestation he could not endure. Whenever Allegra played, he would find some task to take him from the house, whether it was striding to the village on some poor excuse of an errand better suited to his steward or driving his bay across the moor at a breakneck pace.
Although it was a joy to watch his child blossom beneath his bride's attentions, their growing bond only made Hayden feel more isolated. He sought refuge in the library one damp, rainy evening only to encounter a sight he'd never witnessed before — his daughter… reading.
Allegra was curled up in a large leather chair before the fire in stocking feet, her nose buried in a book and Mirabella dozing on her lap.
Hayden hesitated in the doorway, unable to resist taking advantage of the rare opportunity to study her. If Allegra knew he was there, she would doubtlessly bolt.
Her face had lost its sallow cast. Her daily romps with Lottie and Harriet had coaxed a flush of color into her cheeks, while their elaborate afternoon teas had begun to ripen the flesh on her bones. A blue velvet ribbon held her glossy mane of dark hair out of her eyes. He'd seen Lottie tending to it before the fire in the drawing room each night, chattering away as she dragged a brush through the stubborn tendrils until they crackled and shone.
As startling as those changes were, the greatest transformation had taken place in his daughter's expression. Her eyes were no longer shadowed by wariness, her lips no longer pinched in a sullen pout.
As Hayden traced the purity of her profile, he shook his head ruefully, realizing that he would soon have a young beauty on his hands. He had always believed she would never marry, when in truth, he might have to beat off her suitors with a stick.
Although Hayden's first instinct was to back out of the room before she saw him, some curious impulse made him clear his throat.
Allegra jerked her nose out of the book, her eyes widening and a guilty flush staining her cheeks. "Father! I didn't hear you come in. I was just… studying my lesson for tomorrow."
As Hayden approached, she attempted to slide the book behind her back.
Before she could succeed, he plucked it neatly from her hand. "What are you studying? History? Latin? Geography?" He held the book up to the firelight, recognizing the thin paperbound volume as one of the cheap chapbooks sold by vendors on the street corners of London. They'd succeeded in introducing the wicked pleasures of the Gothic to impoverished readers who couldn't afford genuine novels.
"The Spectre of the Turret, eh?" He thumbed through the pages. "Kidnapping, murder, ghosts, nefarious doings. It sounds very enlightening to me. And what's this?" he asked, spotting another volume tucked between cushion and chair arm. He picked up the book and flipped open the cover, studying a hand-colored engraving of a swordsman dressed as Death offering a severed head to his opponent. "Hmm? The Cavern of Horrors. Doesn't look like a place I'd care to visit."
Dumping a disgruntled Mirabella to the hearth rug, Allegra scrambled to her feet, snatching both books out of his hands. "I was just going to return these to Lottie. She must have left them here last night."
Hayden tucked his tongue into his cheek, silently applauding his wife's craftiness. If Lottie had left the chapbooks in the library, she had done so deliberately, hoping to whet Allegra's hunger for the printed word.
"Don't go!" he blurted out as Allegra turned away. "Please," he added softly to reassure her that it wasn't a command, but a request. "I was just looking for a book to wile away a few hours of the evening." He held out a hand, nodding toward The Cavern of Horrors. "May I?"
Still eyeing him warily, Allegra handed over the book and sank back into her chair. Hayden settled himself into the twin leather chair opposite hers, kicking off his shoes and propping his own stocking feet on an ottoman. He opened The Cavern of Horrors, pretending not to notice the bewildered scowls his daughter kept shooting him over the top of her own chapbook.
He didn't have to pretend for long. After only a few pages, he found himself curiously caught up in the convoluted tale of murder and mayhem.
Both Hayden and Allegra were so engrossed in their reading that they never saw Lottie pause in the doorway of the library to study the cozy tableau. With the rain beating against the mullioned windows and the cat dozing on the stone hearth, they could have been any father and daughter enjoying a quiet evening in each other's company.
Neither one of them heard Lottie go creeping away, still smiling to herself.
* * *
Although he didn't make the mistake of joining them again, not even Hayden's pride could stop him from wandering past the drawing room each day when Lottie, Harriet, and Allegra were taking tea. No matter how busy he was, he would find some excuse to linger in the doorway and drink in their merry chatter. His daughter might not welcome his company, but she did seem to be growing more accepting of it. She no longer sought to leave a room the minute he entered it.
As he strolled past one afternoon, he was surprised to find the expensive doll he'd had made for his daughter sitting across the table from Lottie's doll.
Apparently, Allegra was as surprised as he was. She was standing with hands on hips, surveying the new arrangement with an all too familiar scowl clouding her face. "What's she doing here?"
"Harriet's not feeling well this afternoon," Lottie informed her smoothly, taking a sip of tea from a bone china cup. "She has a touch of the ague. We needed a fourth for our table so I didn't see any harm in inviting our little friend here. She's been buried in that box ever since she arrived at Oakwylde. I dare say it's frightfully stuffy in there."
Allegra slumped into the empty chair, still glaring at the interloper. With her immaculate white gloves and exquisitely coiffed sable curls, the doll appeared to be looking down her patrician nose at them all. Lottie's doll leered back at her, her eye patch askew.
Hayden continued on his way, barricading himself in his study until curiosity got the best of him. He peered around the drawing room archway a short while later to find Allegra wagging a finger in the new doll's face. "I'll not have you hogging up all the tea cakes, y
As Allegra proceeded to peel off the doll's gloves and thrust a crumbling jam cake into her dainty hand, dripping strawberry preserves down the front of her costly lavender frock, he felt an involuntary chuckle well up in his chest. As Lottie glanced at the door and lifted her teacup to him in a mocking toast, Hayden realized that she hadn't dug the neglected doll out of its trunk for Allegra.
She had done it for him.
* * *
By the next week both Lottie and Allegra had abandoned all pretense of lessons while Hayden had abandoned all pretense of believing they were still having lessons. When they decided to celebrate a rare appearance of the sun one morning by dragging Lottie's hobbyhorse out to the drive, Hayden lounged on the front stoop of the manor to watch, his eyes shamelessly drinking in his wife's every move.
The wheeled contraption was designed to be propelled by the rider straddling its wooden frame and taking long gliding strides until the vehicle reached a hill steep enough to coast down. It's wooden wheels had been fashioned for paved garden paths, not cobbled drives, so at the moment poor Miss Dimwinkle was rattling past at a pace guaranteed to jar her teeth from her head. Lottie and Allegra ran along on either side of her, laughing and shouting encouragement.
As they disappeared over a hill, Hayden leaned back on his elbows and turned his face to the sun, basking in its warmth. The fine, windy day seemed determined to prove that spring might come late to this corner of Cornwall, but it was well worth the wait. The air smelled of warming earth and things growing wild on the moor. Tender wisps of greenery were beginning to sprout on the branches of trees one would have sworn were dead only a few days ago. A snowy blanket of hawthorn blossoms draped every hill, while the cliffs were coming alive in a blaze of bluebells, sea campion and gorse. The colonies of young kittiwakes roosting in their sheltering crags heralded spring's arrival with their chiming calls.