Katie MacAlister - Noble Intentions

Gillian Leigh’s first social event of the Season began with what many in the ton later labeled as an uncanny warning of Things To Come.

“Well, bloody hell. This isn’t going to endear me to the duchess.”

Gillian watched with dismay as flames licked up the gold velvet curtains despite her attempts at beating them out with a tasseled silk cushion. Shrieks of horror and shrill voices behind her indicated that others had spotted her activities, which she had hoped would escape their notice until she had the fire under control.

Two footmen raced past her with buckets of water and soon had the fire extinguished, but it was too late, the damage was done. The duchess’s acclaimed Gold Drawing Room would never be the same again. Gillian stood clutching the sooty cushion to her chest and mournfully watched as the blackened curtains were hastily bundled past the small clutches of people who stood talking intently, looking everywhere but at her.

“Sealing my fate as a social pariah, no doubt,” she muttered to herself.

“Who is? And what on earth happened in here? Lady Dell said something about you burning down the house, but you know how she exag…oh, my!”

Gillian heaved a deep sigh and turned to smile ruefully as her cousin, and dearest friend, caught sight of the damp smoke-stained wall.

“I’m afraid it’s true, Charlotte, although I wasn’t trying to burn down the house. It was just another of my Unfortunate Accidents.”

Charlotte gave the formerly gilt-paneled wall a considering look, pursed her lips, then turned her gaze on her cousin. “Mmm. Well, you have certainly made sure everyone will be talking about your debut. Just look at you! You’ve got soot all over — your gloves are a complete loss, but I think you can brush the worst off your bodice.”

Gillian gave in to the urge and snorted while Charlotte affected repairs to the sooty green muslin gown. “My debut — as if I wanted one. The only reason I’m here is because your mother insisted it would look odd if I remained at home while you had your Season. I’m five and twenty, Charlotte, not a young girl like you. And as for setting the ton talking — I’m sure they are, but it will no doubt be to label me a clumsy colonial who can’t even be a wallflower without wreaking havoc.”

Charlotte rolled her eyes as she clasped her hand around her cousin’s wrist and dragged her past the excited groups of people and out the door. “You’re only half American and not clumsy. You’re…well, you’re just enthusiastic. And slightly prone to Unfortunate Accidents. But all’s well that ends happily, as Mama always says. The curtains can be replaced, and I’m sure the duchess will realize the fire was simply one of those unavoidable events. Come, you must return to the ballroom. The most exciting thing has happened — the Black Earl is here.”

“The black who?”

“The Black Earl. Lord Weston. It’s rumored he’s going to take a bride again.”

“No, truly? And this is an event we must not fail to witness? Is he going to take her right there in the ballroom?”

“Gillian!” Charlotte stopped dead in the hallway, blocking people from either direction. Her china-blue eyes were round and sparkling with faux horror. “You really cannot say such things in polite company! It’s shocking, simply shocking, and I cannot allow you to sully my delicate, maidenly ears in such a manner!”

Gillian grinned at her cousin and gave her a little push to get her moving again. “Honestly, Charlotte, I don’t see how you can tell such awful whoppers without being struck down with shame.”

“Practice, Gilly, it’s because I pay the proper attention to perfecting a shy, demure look for an hour each morning. If you would do the same, it would do wonders for your personality. You might even catch a husband, which you certainly won’t do if you continue to be so…so…”

“Honest?”

“No.”

“Forthright?”

“No.”

Gillian chewed on her lip for a moment. “Unassuming? Unpretentious? Veracious?”

“No, no, no. Green, that’s what you are. Utterly green and without any sense of ton whatsoever. You simply cannot continue to say what you think. It’s just not done in polite circles.”

“Some people like honesty.”

“Not in Society, they don’t. Now stop dawdling and fix a pleasant expression on your face.”

Gillian heaved a little sigh and tried to adopt the demure look that spinsters of her age were expected to wear.

“Now you’re looking mulish,” Charlotte pointed out with a frown, then gave in to a sudden impish grin. She linked her arm through her cousin’s and tugged her along the hall. “Never mind, your face doesn’t matter in the least. Come, we don’t want to miss Lord Weston. Mama says he is a terrible rake and isn’t welcomed into polite circles anymore. I can’t wait to see how depraved he looks.”

“What has he done to make him unacceptable to the jades, rakes, and rogues that populate the ton?”

Charlotte’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “Lady Dell says he murdered his first wife after he found her in the arms of her true love. He is said to have shot her in the head, but missed when he tried to murder her lover.”

“Truly? How fascinating! He must be a terribly emotional and uncontrolled man if he didn’t tolerate his wife having an inamorato . I thought that sort of behavior was de rigueur in the ton.”

Gillian and Charlotte slipped past small groups of elegantly clad people and paused before the double doors leading to the ballroom. The heat generated by so many people inhabiting the confined space left the room stifling and airless.

Charlotte fanned herself vigorously as she continued to tell Gillian what she knew of the infamous earl. “He doesn’t wear anything but black—’tis said to be a sign of his guilt that he’s never been out of mourning even though he killed his wife more than five years ago. She cursed him, you know, and that’s another reason he wears black. And then there are rumors of a child…”

Charlotte’s voice dropped to an intimate whisper that Gillian had a hard time hearing above the noise of several chattering matrons standing nearby. “…and was born on the wrong side of the blanket.”

“Someone is a bastard?” Gillian asked, confused.

“Gillian!” Charlotte shrieked and, with an appalled look toward the matrons, pulled her cousin closer to the ballroom doors. “God’s teeth, you’re as uncivilized as a Red Indian. It must be living among them as you did that makes you so unconventional. Do try to curb your tongue!”

Gillian muttered an insincere apology and prodded her cousin. “Who is illegitimate? The earl?”

“Gilly, really! Don’t be such an idiot. How can he be illegitimate and an earl? Make an effort to pay attention, do — I was just telling you how Lord Weston murdered his first wife because she refused to bear him a son and turned to her lover for comfort. Isn’t that thrilling? It’s said she pleaded with him to give her a divorce so she could marry her lover, but he told her that if he could not have her, no man would. Then he shot her while her lover looked on.” She sighed. “It’s so romantic.”

“Your idea of romantic and mine are most definitely not the same,” Gillian said, looking around at the dandies, macaronis, fops, elderly gentlemen in silk breeches, and other assorted members of that small, elite group who possessed the combination of fortune, rank, and reputation to admit them as members of the ton. “And this man is here tonight? Which one is he? Does he look evil? Does he have a hump on his back and a squint and walk with a limp? Will he ogle the ladies?”