Janice Preston - Regency Surrender - Scandalous Return - Return of Scandal's Son / Saved by Scandal's Heir

The two halted and bowed.

‘Good afternoon, Lady Rothley. It is entirely too long since you have graced us with your presence for the Season,’ Lord Derham said.

‘It is indeed. I am here to chaperon my niece, Lady Ashby. Are you acquainted with his lordship and Mr Damerel, Eleanor, my dear?’

Eleanor smiled at them and dipped a curtsy. ‘We have met, Aunt, but—like you—it is some years since I have been in London. I cannot be so bold as to hope the gentlemen might remember me.’

There was an immediate flurry of protest from the two men, with no hint that either recalled her mother’s scandal.

‘Do you go to the Barringtons’ ball tonight?’ Mr Damerel asked.

Upon being told they would be there, each gentleman immediately engaged Eleanor’s hand for two dances. They parted company and Eleanor and Aunt Lucy continued towards home.

‘I am pleased Mr Damerel has engaged me for the first,’ Eleanor said. ‘It will save me from the lowering prospect of sitting with the chaperons and attempting to look happy.’

The memories of her come-out still had the power to make her shudder. This time, surely, was going to be very different. She had even conversed with the two gentlemen without blushing. But...her surge of confidence dwindled as her self-doubts threatened to overwhelm her again. Mr Damerel and Lord Derham had been pleasant and polite, but they didn’t know the real her—her mother had abandoned her; neither her father, before his death, nor Aunt Phyllis seemed to notice her unless it was to criticise; James had completely withdrawn from her; and, as for Donald and any other would-be suitors, they were only ever interested in her fortune.

‘Have you heard from Hugo?’ she asked, in an attempt to distract her thoughts from her own shortcomings.

‘I sent one of the footmen to his lodgings. Evidently he is out of town and no one knows when he is likely to return,’ Aunt Lucy replied. ‘Really, it is too bad of him...’

Aunt Lucy happily grumbled about her younger son all the way to their front door, distracting Eleanor from her newly resurrected worries about the ball that evening.

* * *

Knowing Stephen was in town was one thing, tracking him down quite another. No good revealing himself in a public place—who knew how his brother might react? Matthew pulled the collar of his greatcoat around his ears and settled down to wait outside the house in Jermyn Street, where Stephen had bachelor rooms.

He had called at the house several times since he had seen his brother on South Audley Street, only to be informed Mr Damerel was not home. A coin pressed into the porter’s palm had elicited the information that Stephen was expected to return home before going out again that evening.

It was two days since he had first seen Stephen. Two days in which he had not spoken to Eleanor, although he had watched over her from a discreet distance, alert to anyone behaving suspiciously.

He had already decided to revert to his family name even if Stephen rejected him. He had nothing to be ashamed of, but he did not want to reveal his true identity to Eleanor until he knew Stephen’s reaction. He wanted to be prepared. If Eleanor rejected him...if she believed he would ruin her efforts to be accepted by the ton ...then he must continue to protect her from afar, as best he could. He was more determined than ever to roust out whoever had put her in such danger, cousin or not.

The wind gusted, battering his hat and fingering his coat, looking for gaps.

Splat.

Hell, that’s all I need.

Splat, splat . Huge raindrops burst on to the pavement, scattering the dust and tapping on the brim of his beaver hat.

Why am I skulking outside in the rain instead of waiting in Stephen’s rooms?

He knew why, though. If Stephen had the same valet—Pring—he would recognise Matthew in a flash. He would forewarn Stephen and the news he was back in the country would wing its way to Rushock, the family’s estate, and to his father and that he most definitely did not want. When he faced his father again, it would be on his terms.

The clip-clop of hooves on the cobbles grabbed his attention. A curricle drew up outside the house opposite. The gentleman driver leapt down and hurried to the front door whilst his tiger scurried round to climb into the vehicle and drive the horses away.

‘Nine o’clock on the nose, Col.’

Stephen’s voice. No mistaking it, even after all these years.

‘Nine of the clock it is, guv.’ The voice floated back as the curricle and pair clattered away.

Stomach on a mission to climb into his throat, Matthew strode across the road.

‘Stephen.’

His brother froze on the threshold. He turned. Older, of course, but otherwise unchanged. Tall, rangy build, hawk-like nose—he got that from Father—keen grey eyes.

Ignoring the now-persistent rain, Matthew removed his hat. His brother’s only reaction was a blink and the firming of his lips.

‘You’d better come in,’ he said and opened the door. ‘First floor.’

Matthew led the way upstairs, thrusting down the nervous questions crowding his mind. Stephen would do what he would do. The die was now cast. On the landing, Stephen indicated a door.

‘Sitting room,’ he said. ‘I’ll tell Pring to bring some wine.’

Matthew shrugged out of his greatcoat and, after a second’s hesitation, draped it over a ladderback chair set before a writing desk. The room was masculine—to be expected in this popular area for bachelor lodgings—all dark-green damask, polished wood panelling and leather seats. The fire was lit, as were the candles, dispersing the gloom of the murky late afternoon and Matthew used the poker to stir the coals. At the sound of the door closing, he turned.

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