One for the Rogue (Studies in Scandal) Read online

  Thus it was that they arrived at Pearson Close far less convivial than they’d been when they set out and the three men split up to find their own entertainment as soon as they stepped inside.

  Curious about the typography of the land hereabouts, Cam retired to the library, where he searched out whatever he could find about this part of the Sussex coast, and the geographical composition of the area.

  He was poring over a study of the local soil composition in a large chair near the fire, when he heard a door behind him open with a thud.

  “I’ve several studies and essays on all sorts of important finds that would be perfect for The Natural Scientist,” he heard Sir Everard say in that boastful way he had of making his every accomplishment sound like the most consequential thing anyone had done in the history of the planet.

  The other man, who was no doubt Roderick Templeton, the editor of the aforementioned journal, made an interested but noncommittal sound before he undoubtedly made his escape.

  Unable to do the same, Cam prepared himself for conversation as Sir Everard approached the fire and lowered himself into the chair beside his.

  “Lord Cameron,” said the baronet with a nod before leaning over to see what Cam was reading. “I see you’re investigating the local soil. I piqued your interest in the Beauchamp Lizard, didn’t I?”

  Rather than respond to the question, Cam asked instead, “You really thought it would be in the collection, didn’t you?”

  “I hoped,” said Sir Everard. “But I won’t give up. I am confident it’s there somewhere. Though I have another notion of where I might find it.”

  “And where is that?” Cam asked, curious despite himself.

  Sir Everard leaned forward, as if fearful of being overheard. “I think it’s on the shore.”

  Cam frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “I think she reburied it.”

  So that’s why he’d attempted to go down to the bottom of the cliff the other night. He thought Lady Celeste had put the skull back into the ground where she’d found it.

  “What makes you think that?” he asked, careful not to show his interest. The least hint of competition from him and Sir Everard would stop talking altogether. He was that sort of man.

  “It’s just a theory,” Sir Everard said, “but what better place to hide it but in plain sight? There were the rumors that it was just a horse skull. Well, what if Celeste really believed that? I think her reputation was probably exaggerated and she really did think she’d made a mistake. And what better way to hide a mistake than to put it right back where you found it?”

  “So you think that she found an important lizard skull, then convinced herself it was a horse skull and hid it to save herself from embarrassment?” Cam wasn’t sure if he thought the notion was more condescending or fantastical.

  “Ladies are very proud when it comes to their intellectual prowess,” Sir Everard assured him with the air of a man who had encountered legions of bluestockings in his time. Cam was far more convinced he’d had several discussions about bluestockings that he’d mistaken for actual social intercourse with the species.

  “They can’t bear the slightest bit of scrutiny, y’see,” Sir Everard continued. “It turns their minds when they’re questioned. So, of course if someone suggested what Lady Celeste found was a horse skull, she’d turn right around and put it back. Stands to reason. Much better to hide it than to expose herself to the examinations of actual geologists and collectors, who have educated themselves about the subject for decades. I think she got scared and hid it away.”

  It was amazing to Cam that this man could walk about with the weight of the self-importance he bore on his shoulders.

  From everything he’d heard about Lady Celeste, she was not only Sir Everard’s intellectual superior, she was the last person in the world who would fear public scrutiny of her work or her finds. She’d made a point of building her home and its collections into a one-of-a-kind place where her hand-chosen heiresses could make names for themselves in the intellectual world.

  That woman would not, at least not in Cam’s estimation, mistake a horse skull for a lizard skull, or the other way round.

  “I mean to visit the shore below the Beauchamp House cliffs,” Sir Everard continued.

  Cam was about to protest, but realized that it would be better to be with him when he made his trip than not.

  “I might have a way for you to get there without going onto Beauchamp House land,” he said aloud. He knew there was access to the little beach from a path leading from the vicarage. They could pay a call on Benedick and go down to the shore afterwards. It wouldn’t hurt to have Ben along with them just in case Sir Everard did find something.

  Cam wasn’t sure of many things, but he knew he’d be damned before he let this buffoon steal a fossil that was meant to belong to Gemma.

  Or, he reminded himself, Beauchamp House.

  Sir Everard’s round face split into a grin. “I knew making your acquaintance would come in handy, old man.”

  * * *

  The next morning, after a good night’s sleep, Gemma viewed the visit from the gentlemen the day before in a somewhat more philosophical way than she had last night. At the very least, she reasoned, she’d come to a sort of cessation of conflict with Cam. And if she’d not received the sort of acceptance of her place in the community of fossil-hunters from Sir Everard and Lord Paley, at least she had been able to hold her own in conversation with them. Which was no small thing.

  After a quick breakfast, she went back upstairs and donned one of the gowns Sophia had been so disparaging of before. Because honestly, digging in the earth was not the time to worry about fashion, Gemma thought as she tied her thick boots. Adding a wide-brimmed bonnet, to shelter her from the wind, she retrieved her bag of hand trowels and other tools for unearthing stones and bones and the like, and made her way downstairs.

  Despite the bonnet, she found the wind was strong enough to need the added protection of her cloak hood. And as she neared the sea stairs, she wondered if she shouldn’t tear a page out of Mary Anning’s book and lash herself to the railing of the stone steps.

  But now that she was out here in the brisk air, the salt and spray foam in her nostrils, she couldn’t bear to go back now.

  Carefully, she made her way down the stairs in the cliffside and saw at once that, as she’d hoped, the storm had brought forth debris from the sea, but had also eaten away some of the chalk from the cliff. She’d need to get closer, of course, but there were some promising protrusions from the sloping of the chalk into the sea.

  Using her broad walking stick to steady her against the wind, and as a means of propelling her forward, she made her way across the narrow strip of pebbled beach toward the far edge of the crescent-shaped piece of land. There, the pebbles jutted against the chalk where the cliff came out to meet the sea.

  She saw her target as soon as she got a closer look up at the upper slope. There, emerging from the chalk in a manner eerily like a headstone from this angle, she saw what was likely just a stone. But something in her gut told her that it needed to be looked at more closely.

  Though she had felt eerily as if she were being observed in the past week or so, today there was no sense of it. So without a backward glance, she began the slow, steady climb up to where the jagged object—stone or bone—awaited her.

  By the time she reached it, she was breathing heavily from the exertion of moving against the wind against the steep incline. But finally, she was there, and ignoring the hazards of dirt to her cloak, she stabbed her walking stick into the chalk like a spear and collapsed onto the ground beside her find.

  Despite the cold, she had to remove her gloves to touch it with her bare hands. And the more she felt, the more she saw, the more she knew in her heart that this was a truly important find.

  It was a fossil, not a bone. And she wouldn’t be able to tell for sure until it was unearthed completely, but it was a skull. If she didn’t miss her gues
s, a rather large one.

  Pulling her gloves back on, she retrieved a hand trowel from her tool bag and carefully removed as much chalk from around the base as she could. But she’d worked for no more than ten minutes or so before she knew she’d need help with it. It would take a great deal of time to dig it out. And it would be too large for her to carry up the sea stairs.

  It went against her every instinct to leave it here, but given that this bit of shore was on Beauchamp House property, it would be all right for the time it took her to fetch Stephens and Edward from the house.

  She rested her hand atop the fossil, which had likely been here for hundreds of thousands of years, bid it a silent adieu and made her careful way back down the cliff.

  As soon as she stepped through the French doors on the terrace, she sensed the change in the house. A laugh from the drawing room—definitely male, and belonging to the Duke of Maitland if she weren’t mistaken—had her discarding her cloak, bag and stick and setting off at a pace far too unladylike for someone of her age.

  When she burst into the drawing room she found that—as she’d hoped—the Marquess of Kerr and his Marchioness, the former Ivy Wareham, and the Duke of Maitland and his Duchess, the former Lady Daphne Forsyth, were seated around the tea tray with Lady Serena—who was the duke’s sister—and her seven-year-old son Jeremy, making up the rest of the party.

  “Gemma!” cried Ivy from the table before rising to greet her with a hug. “It’s so good to see you. I take it you were out digging, you madwoman. Are you aware of what the temperature is?”

  Daphne had risen and Gemma was astonished when the normally standoffish mathematician hugged her as well. “It’s been too long. You have no idea what sort of nonsense the people in town talk about. I’d forgotten during my time here with you all. But it’s nothing but rot and gammon all the day long.”

  Gemma grinned at her use of slang. At her look, Daphne raised her brows. “Maitland has been teaching me cant. I find it allows one to speak with the necessary vehemence some situations call for.”

  “Hullo, Gemma,” the duke said, waving from his seat at the tea table. “You must wait until she’s really in a temper. The slang becomes almost as incomprehensible as in the crowd outside a Bermondsey boxing match. It’s truly impressive.”

  “I acquired the most fascinating dictionary by Francis Grose,” Daphne said with enthusiasm. “Were you aware that boxing the Jesuit is way to describe male—”

  “I’m sure you can educate your friends on that very colorful definition when poor Kerr isn’t here to expire from embarrassment, my dear,” the duke said with a glance at the marquess, his cousin and Ivy’s husband, who did indeed appear as if his neckcloth had suddenly shrunk three sizes.

  “I’m sure he knows what it is,” Daphne said patiently. “It’s something all men do, you told me yourself that—”

  And now it was the duke’s turn to redden. “Perhaps, Kerr we’d best take young Jeremy to the nursery to see if he can beat us at soldiers.”

  Jeremy frowned, certain he was being removed from the most interesting conversation. But the prospect of soldiers with his favorite uncle and cousin was distraction enough.

  “It’s good to see you, Gemma,” said Lord Kerr, clasping her shoulder as he passed on his way out the door.

  Maitland, Jeremy on his shoulders, leaned in to kiss the top of Daphne’s head. “I’d say be good, but I know what kind of mischief you get up to away from one another. Together, you’re a menace.”

  When they were gone, Serena rose as well. “I’ll go send a note round to Sophia. She’ll be furious if I don’t let her know you’re here.”

  Alone, the three ladies moved to the tea table. Fortunately, there was still some in the pot, so Gemma found an empty cup and poured.

  “It’s good to be back,” Ivy said, sitting back in her chair with satisfaction. “I’d used different words but Daphne is right about the level of discourse in town. And everyone is so bent on showing up everyone else. It’s competition, but for silly things like who has the most invitations, or who throws the most lavish party. None of it is at all meaningful. And it’s all so—”

  “False,” Daphne finished for her. “I disliked it before I came to Beauchamp House, of course. When I was gambling for my father, to keep him in waistcoats and brandy, I was able to ignore it, but now that I’ve known friendship, the interactions with people in town seem that much more tiresome. Especially since I had the great misfortune to marry one of the most eligible peers in the country. I ask Maitland every day why he couldn’t have been a common laborer, but he hasn’t given me a satisfactory answer yet. It’s all very trying.”

  Gemma bit back a grin. It was such a relief to see them. She still had Sophia and Serena here, of course, but Ivy and Daphne were the only ones who had no guardianship role over her. Sophia would always feel like her elder because she was, well, her elder sister. And Serena was her chaperone. But these two had never been anything but her friends. And something in her relaxed at knowing they were here.

  “So, you were out digging,” Ivy asked before biting into one of cook’s lemon cakes. “Did you find anything?”

  At her word’s Gemma’s eyes widened. “Oh my goodness, I almost forgot!”

  Quickly she told them about the fossil she’d found in the chalk. She didn’t mention her hope that it was important. She didn’t want to bring bad luck on herself before she had more information about it. It never did one any good to count one’s chickens, after all.

  “Well, what are you here with us for?” Daphne asked her with a frown. “We will be here for the foreseeable future. Go gather the footmen and collect your fish head, or whatever it is.”

  Laughing, Gemma left them to do just that. Perhaps by the time she finished, Sophia would be there too and they could have a proper heiress reunion.

  * * *

  Since Paley was the only other member of the Pearson Close guests who knew about the Beauchamp Lizard, and Cam didn’t relish spending more time than he had to with Sir Everard, Cam invited the viscount to join them on their ostensible visit to the vicarage.

  He’d been afraid Lord Paley would have found something else to do but to his relief, the viscount agreed to the jaunt with some alacrity.

  “I should like to see the cliffs from another angle,” he said with a smile. “Topography, you know, the second favorite interest of the fossil hunter.”

  The three men set off in the late morning in the hopes that the sun might have warmed things up, but to no avail.

  Benedick’s welcome was warm, however, and he ushered the three men into his study with the promise of brandy, which he dispensed with the efficiency of a churchman used to handing out beverages, albeit tamer ones.

  “I hope you found the ladies at Beauchamp House well yesterday,” Ben said once the visitors had settled into his study. “I don’t mind telling you—though my wife would not like it—she was quite happy to know that a few of the collectors and scholars from the Pearson Close party had come to call on Gemma. The sisters are quite close, and Sophia felt the slight of her sister’s lack of invitation as sharply as Gemma did.”

  Sir Everard looked nonplussed. “I cannot imagine it was ever a possibility. Especially given Pearson’s abhorrence for female company.”

  Before Cam could step into the breach, Lord Paley spoke up. “I found Miss Hastings to be quite knowledgeable about natural science and especially the history of the soil and fossils recovered from this area. Your wife must be very proud of her.”

  He then went on to extol the virtues of Gemma’s beauty and fashion sense, the latter description causing a line to appear between Ben’s brow.

  “I believe she had a new gown for the occasion,” Cam responded to his brother’s questioning look. He didn’t add that the way she’d dressed her hair had drawn every male eye to the soft skin at the nape of her neck, or that despite its modest long sleeves and high neck, the gown had shown her bosom to advantage.

  “Ah
, that must be it,” Ben said, ever the diplomat. “Well, I am pleased you were able to tour Lady Celeste’s collection in any event.”

  “Speaking of Lady Celeste,” said Sir Everard, “I wonder if you can recall her ever mentioning a particularly fine fossil she found on the beach below Beauchamp House?”

  Cam fought the urge to roll his eyes. This fellow had a one-track mind.

  Ben shook his head. “I’m afraid I didn’t come to Little Seaford until after her death. And the vicar who was here before me left rather hastily after some bad business earlier in the year.

  “Speaking of the shore,” he continued, “As part of that investigation into Lady Celeste’s death, a door was discovered in the cellar of this house leading out to the shore. I’ve not had much call to use it, certainly not at this time of year, but it’s a unique feature for a vicarage, don’t you think?”

  “You’ve never told me about a secret door,” Cam complained.

  “This is the most I’ve seen you since I came to this village,” Ben responded with a raised brow. “And that includes the month you spent in Lyme this summer.”

  But Sir Everard wasn’t interested in the brothers’ conflict. “Is the door still accessible, Lord Benedick?”

  Cam and Ben both glanced at the window, which showed the skies were darker and the wind was whipping the boughs of the bare elm on the other side.

  “It is,” Benedick said with a nod, “though I don’t know that I would recommend a walk on the shore at the moment. There was a storm last evening too so there may be obstructions to an easy jaunt. Perhaps you can come back next summer when…”

  “What is a bit of weather when there may be fossils dredged up from the storm there on the shore as we speak?” Sir Everard said, getting to his feet. “I will go even if you three will not. A true collector does not allow a triviality like that stand between him and the possibility of the perfect specimen,”

  “These are new boots,” Paley said with a sigh even as he too rose from his chair.