Page 34 of Scandal’s Daughter

For a moment she just stared at him, before anger bloomed. Whoever this charming creature maybe he had no right to be going around and pretending he was someone he was not.

“Oh really?” she said, her tone obviously scathing. “You’re Beau Beaumont?”

The look on his face was one of deep consternation as he answered. “Yes, I am. Is that a problem?”

Returning a look of disgust, she simply replied, “I imagine it might be, for the real marquess.” Not wanting to pursue a conversation with someone who was at best a loose screw and at worst, quite possibly mad she bid him a cool, “Good day,” and turned on her heel.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t about to be shaken free so easily and set off after her.

“Am I to understand,” he asked, keeping stride with her quite easily. “That you do not believe I am who I purport to be?”

“You have it in a nutshell, sir,” she replied with a haughty sniff.

To her surprise he gave a bark of laughter. “How intriguing,” he said, showing no inclination to leave her alone.

“Please sir,” she replied, stopping in her tracks. “It is most improper that you follow me about town in such a manner when I have no idea who you are. If you know of my circumstances, then you must know I have the utmost need for propriety and so I must bid you good day!”

To her annoyance he ignored this piece of good sense and carried on walking beside her.

“I do see,” he said, with obvious sympathy. “Probably more than you realise, but the difficulty is this.” He stopped, and by gently grasping her wrist forced her to stop as well. “I really am the Marquess of Beaumont.”

To her horror he reached into a pocket and removed a silver case and withdrew a calling card which he presented to her.

Georgiana looked at the elegantly engraved card and the name of the Marquess of Beaumont stared back at her, mocking her and her own foolish naivety. For the man she had fallen for could have been anyone. He had clearly only meant to toy with her affections and had given her a false name so she would never be able to trace him. And of course, who better to blame than Beau Beaumont, the most notorious rakehell in all of England.

She blinked back tears and willed herself not to cry as she heard his concerned voice filter through the shock.

“My poor dear, you look quite pale. Look at this, fortuitously we are right outside Gunter’s. Won’t you come in and have a cup of chocolate until you feel more the thing. Come now, it can be quite unexceptionable with your footman to chaperone us.”

Blindly she allowed him to lead her from the street and for Thomas to take care of Conrad who was behaving like a meek little lamb now the devil was full of scotch eggs. She gave a little hiccupping laugh, somewhere between amusement and the depths of sorrow but could do nothing to protest as Lord Beaumont guided her to a seat and ordered her chocolate.

It was with acceptance that she heard his order replied to with a brisk, “Right away, Lord Beaumont.” Just in case she’d been in any doubt.

Indeed, by the time she was half way through her chocolate she felt a little more able to meet the man’s eyes. Lifting her own she looked up and found him watching her with concern.

“Ah, there you are,” he said, his voice quiet. “Feeling a little better?”

She nodded and tried to smile at him, though this seemed a tremendous effort. Her heart and mind were full of all the memories and dreams that had sprung up since the autumn, and now to find even her memories were constructed upon lies was almost more than she could bear.

“I can’t imagine what you think of me,” she murmured, looking down into her cup once more.

“Don’t be foolish, child,” he said, scolding her with a mild tone. “I think perhaps you have been ill used, but I strongly doubt you have anything to reproach yourself for.”

She gave an unsteady huff of laughter and then covered her eyes with her hand as tears threatened again.

“You know, I am most terribly discreet when the need arises,” he said, and looking up into those blue eyes, she believed him. But then she had believed another man too, she had believed every word he’d said. He sighed at her continued silence. “Am I to take it you have encountered a man who told you he was the Marquess of Beaumont?”

She nodded, she owed him some kind of explanation for her extraordinary behaviour after all.

“And I think perhaps ... you were ... fond of this gentleman?”

She looked up at him but could say nothing, but it appeared he could read the answer in her eyes clearly enough.

“Oh, my poor child,” he said, his eyes full of warmth and such sympathy that she felt she would dissolve into tears and tell him all. It took a great deal of effort not to do just that as she pushed what remained of her chocolate aside.

“Can you tell me anything about him?” he asked, his expression intense. “As I feel the urgent desire to have a rather short conversation with the bas-- fellow.”

She bit her lip and shrugged, shaking her head. She didn’t want to speak about it anymore and for whatever ridiculous motive, she didn’t want to get him into trouble. Whoever he was. Though why she owed him a shred of loyalty she couldn’t fathom.