A Knightsbridge Scandal Read online

  ‘Um, yes, he was most - helpful.’ Flora’s breath left her at his unexpected exuberance, which also helped dispel some of her nerves.

  She had forgotten how handsome he was, with his thick, conker-red hair brushed straight back from a strong brow revealing silver wings at his temples that were thicker than at their last meeting; the only sign that he was in his early forties. His permanently tanned skin set off intelligent green eyes that sparkled with some private amusement, though just then they seemed troubled. A tiny crease sat at the bridge of his nose as he guided her through the glazed doors into a lobby which resembled one of the city’s most elaborate hotels. Marbled floors that stretched to a curved and thickly carpeted staircase that wound to the floors above, each with a gallery that looked down onto the central lobby.

  ‘Thank you, Dunne.’ William nodded to a barrel-chested porter, who held open the door. ‘If you would collect Mrs Harrington’s luggage from the taxi. Oh, and pay the man would you? I’ll settle up with you later.’

  ‘With pleasure, Mr Osborne.’ He saluted them both with a hand raised to his peaked cap.

  ‘Excellent fellow, he’ll obtain anything you need,’ William said as the porter scurried outside. ‘My apartment is on this floor and to the left. Do hope you like it. Bought the place without even seeing it, but when the agent said it was near the Park, I couldn’t resist.’ He chattered on as he led her to a shiny black door set in an alcove off to the left of the lobby.

  Flora watched him covertly from the corner of her eye, surprised by his nervousness, evident by his rapid, clipped speech and the way he seemed unable to meet her eye; something she did too when anxious.

  ‘This is a beautiful building.’ Her voice shook, knowing they shared something so personal stirred sharp emotion. Perhaps they were connected by more than words after all. She had always regarded him as her employer’s younger brother, a handsome, elusive figure who came into her life, or rather the Vaughn’s lives for an entertaining few weeks, then left again on his travels with barely a word.

  This familiar, more human side of him made her think she could see him as a parent after all, not simply the man who had dismantled what she had thought was her life.

  ‘It is rather grand, isn’t it?’ He gave the high ceilings and marbled floor and walls a sweeping glance. ‘So glad you like it, so far that is. Now, do come inside and see the rest of my domain. I hope you find everything to your taste.’

  ‘My taste? Surely you didn’t buy this apartment purely with me in mind?’ she asked, only half-joking.

  ‘Would that worry you?’ He halted at a black door that stood invitingly ajar, his boyish grin accentuating tiny white lines in his deep tan beside his eyes.

  She shook her head, unsure quite what to say with Sally present and the porter due back any second with her bags.

  ‘I was happy to live as a gypsy up until this point, however now I have settled into regular employment, it seemed the right time to have a home of my own. This is Randall.’ William indicated the spare, wiry man with sparse grey hair who took her coat at the apartment door. Of a similar height to Flora, and several inches shorter than William, that he addressed his shoes while murmuring a brief greeting made Flora think her late father could have shown him a thing or two about how to greet visitors. This thought accompanied a sharp pang below her ribcage that reminded her William was her father and that Riordan Maguire, the man who had raised her, had died more than a year before.

  The manservant melted into the shadows with their coats as William led her into a brightly lit hallway with doors at intervals on either side, each room beyond filled with pristine furniture in pale woods and pastel painted walls, polished gilt mirrors, crystal chandeliers and the sculptures and artwork William had brought back from his travels abroad.

  The space smelled of beeswax polish overlaid with a floral scent which must have been artificially introduced, for the season was too late for flowers and too early for festive wreaths. Idly, she wondered if William would decorate the apartment with holly and laurel, or ignore Christmas altogether and spend it at Cleeve Abbey?

  ‘Come into the sitting room.’ He ushered her through a door on their left, following behind into a large, but comfortable room with three primrose and gold sofas set in a horseshoe shaped arrangement around a faux Adam fireplace.

  Flora couldn’t help smiling as having selected one of the brocade-covered sofas, he fussed around her with cushions and moved a table closer to accommodate her bag. Instead of taking a chair opposite, he slid onto the upholstery beside her, from where the musk and sandalwood fragrance of his cologne filled her senses. For the first time since she had left Richmond, she stopped worrying that their first encounter would be formal and difficult. He took her hand in his once more, his warm grip reassuring her he too had been looking forward to her visit but was at the same time apprehensive.

  ‘You didn’t answer my question,’ Flora said. ‘About buying this place for me.’

  He shrugged. ‘Perhaps I did, in a way. I wanted somewhere for you to come and visit, although thus far you have refused all my invitations.’

  ‘We saw each other when Bunny and I came to Cleeve Abbey for Lady Vaughn’s house party last Christmas.’

  ‘That was almost a year ago and the house was so full of guests, I barely managed to get five minutes with you alone.’

  ‘I suppose so.’ That she had contrived to be surrounded by others on that occasion filled her with hot shame. A few weeks before the house party, Riordan had been killed, and since then, her emotions had fluctuated between rage at him for having lied to her all her life, and grief at his loss which meant she could never demand he explain.

  The disappearance of her mother when she was small had been tragedy enough, but to discover she was the result of a liaison between Lady Vaughn’s younger brother and her lady’s maid had left her confused; untethered to the life she had always believed in, resulting in Flora’s resistance to a meaningful relationship with him.

  She searched his face, seeing in his expression a need to make amends, so decided not to mention that if it were not for her husband’s persistence, she would not be there at all.

  ‘After all, Flora,’ Bunny had said. ‘He has his own side of the story to tell, which might surprise you.’

  Flora had doubted that, but seeing William looking so boyish and eager to please, made her re-think that statement.

  ‘I hope you understand why I kept away,’ she began, experiencing a need to justify herself. ‘I needed time to mourn for Riordan. He was the only father I knew.’

  ‘Of course.’ William’s smile did not falter, but he released her hand and moved slightly along the squab, raw hurt in his eyes.

  ‘What made you choose an apartment in the city? I thought you regarded Cleeve Abbey as your home.’ Flora forced brightness into her voice as she acknowledged the fact she might have misjudged him. He wasn’t simply paying lip service to the fact she was his daughter, he really wanted her here.

  ‘I have rooms there, true, but purely as a guest,’ William explained, giving the room a slow, possessive sweep with his eyes. ‘This is my home now and although the country is perfect for relaxation, the comfort and ease of living here suits me.’

  ‘Like these lights?’ Flora blinked beneath the glare of the stark yellow of the glass fitments on the walls that were over bright and unnervingly silent without the perpetual hiss of gas jets.

  ‘You’ll get used to them. We have every modern convenience here. The boiler room provides hot water on demand for the whole building, and on Randall’s night off, I can even order something from the kitchens for supper if I wish. I have twelve rooms here altogether, two of which are occupied by Randall.’ He slapped his thighs and rose. ‘Speaking of Randall, I expect he’s helped your maid unpack by now, or if not, she’s aware of the layout of your room. What say I show you where you will stay this week before we have tea?’

  ‘I cannot wait.’ She rested her hand in his outstret
ched one and allowed him to lead her into the hall again, where they retraced their steps past the front door and along another corridor.

  ‘For future reference,’ William said. ‘Turn right at the front door to reach your room, while mine is on the left at the other end. The drawing room, sitting room, dining room, and study are in between.’

  ‘Here we are.’ He paused at the last door and pushed it open with a flourish. ‘Well, what do you think?’

  Flora preceded him into a room decorated in cream, gold and palest grey that sported a floor-to-ceiling window onto the front drive giving a view of St George’s Place with Hyde Park beyond. A gilded arch separated the vast bed from a sitting area made up of a small sofa and an armchair beneath the window. A door to one side of the bed led to a dressing room lined with shelves and a long hanging rail, while another opened into a private bathroom complete with a cast-iron claw-footed bath.

  William hovered on the threshold, his eyes wary, almost as if he expected her to be disappointed.

  ‘It’s – unbelievable.’ Flora gasped, her hands clasped in front of her. ‘I have never seen anything so beautiful. Marie Antoinette would have been jealous.’

  ‘Oh, I’m so glad.’ William exhaled in a rush. ‘I didn’t know if you would like the colour scheme, or if the bed was too ornate.’ He indicated the vast, high bed with a gilt-edged headboard upholstered in creamy silk. ‘If the mattress is too soft, I could-’

  ‘I’m sure it’s the most comfortable bed I have ever slept in. It’s certainly the most beautiful.’

  The house on the Thames at Richmond, though elegant and comfortable, was not hers. Despite Bunny and his mother being equal owners, somehow her mother-in-law’s influence dominated each room. Sometimes Flora wondered if she would ever feel truly at home there.

  ‘I hope you won’t tell Bunny that, or he might not let you come again.’ He laughed with what was evident relief, but broke off as Sally emerged from the dressing room, her bold stride halted when she saw them.

  ‘Sorry, Missus, that Randall says I’m to finish the unpacking before I can have me tea. He’s a bit of a stickler by the looks of it.’ She smoothed her hands down her skirt, her cheekbones tinged with red beneath William’s scrutiny.

  ‘He’ll have to adjust to having a female in the house.’ William cleared his throat as if unsure how to address her. ‘I’ve had the room next door set out as a bedroom for you, er, Sally is it? It’s quite small, but I hope will be adequate.’

  ‘Aw don’t you worry ‘bout me, Mister William.’ Sally waved him away. ‘I’ve slept on a washing line slung between the walls afore now. Didn’t know what a real bed felt like ‘till I came to live at Miss Flora’s.’ She flung open the lid of Flora’s trunk and hefted a pile of petticoats in her arms. ‘I’ll be off presently and out of your way. Could do with a cuppa.’

  ‘Thank you, Sally, and I’ll see you later.’ Flora gently guided a bemused William back out into the hall and pulled the door closed.

  ‘Did she mean that? About the washing line?’ William asked a hand lifted to indicate the closed door.’

  ‘I believe she used it more as a euphemism.’ Flora smiled.

  ‘Ah, yes I see. She’s quite er-adequate is she, as a personal maid?’ William sounded sceptical.

  ‘Sally’s brighter than she appears, although she tends to speak as she finds.’

  ‘Hmmm. In my experience, that’s merely an excuse to be unspeakably rude.’

  ‘You could be right, but in Sally’s case, I don’t mind it.’ Flora had always regarded her maid’s straightforward manner as more interesting than the ‘yes ma’am’, ‘no ma’am’ blandness Beatrice Harrington demanded from her servants. It was her mother-in-law’s open disapproval of Sally that made Flora determined to keep her. ‘She might be somewhat unconventional, but she suits me very well,’ Flora said as William continued to stare at the bedroom door as if he was trying to see through it.

  ‘I see, well.’ He rubbed his hands together. ‘Randall is nearby if you need anything, and a maid of all work comes in the mornings to do the housework. She lives here as well.’ At her enquiring look he rushed on. ‘Not in the apartment, but in quarters on the lower floor. This building was constructed with bachelors like me in mind and some lone occupants share domestic staff.’

  ‘That sounds very practical.’

  The rattle of crockery from along the hall made William smile and extend one hand. ‘Ah, our afternoon tea is ready. Shall we?’

  Chapter 3

  Flora stepped from the warmth of the lobby into the chill night air outside the apartment building, her breath forming droplets of moisture on her fur collar. Fog shrouded the darkened street and turned moving pedestrians into shadows, her breath billowing in a white cloud as William handed her into a horse-drawn hansom. The greenish glow of the street lights were no more than disembodied balls of light that seemed to float in the mist.

  ‘Blast.’ William halted with his foot on the step and slapped each of his overcoat pockets in turn. ‘Forgotten my opera glasses. Make yourself comfortable, Flora, I won’t be a moment.’ With a brief, backward wave, he turned and sped back into the building.

  Settling into the seat, Flora availed herself of the blanket provided and tugged the rough wool across her knees, her attention to her right, where Hyde Park stretched away towards the Serpentine lake, the tops of the trees poking through the layer of grey fog.

  The seconds stretched and she drummed her heels against the floor, unable to keep still. A motor taxi chuntered by, but apart from a cough from the driver above her head and the solitary clop of a shifted hoof, the street was quiet.

  The entrance doors to the apartment building opened at last, bringing Flora upright in her seat, only for her to slump back again when she saw neither of the two figures who emerged from the building onto the top step was William.

  Backlit by the stark electric lights of the lobby, a man in his early thirties led a woman by the elbow. He sported a moustache and had wayward light brown hair that could do with the attentions of a barber. Despite the bitter cold, he was clad only in trousers and shirtsleeves, as if he did not intend to stay outside long.

  In contrast, the young woman was dressed for the street, the heaviness of her coat evident by the way it swayed in slow motion around her ankles as he propelled her into a brisk walk down the steps and out through the wrought iron gates. He halted on the pavement a few feet from the hansom and swung her around to face him, their features thrown into sharp relief by the streetlight overhead.

  Flora sneaked a look at them from the side of the canopy, though all that was visible of the woman’s face was a delicate chin beneath a wide-brimmed hat. Underneath the streetlight, her coat was a leaf green with black frogging down the front. A brooch pinned to the lapel that winked in the light caught Flora’s eye. A circle of stones in two colours, too dark to distinguish, with a white flash across the centre.

  ‘I don’t know what you hope to gain by this harassment, Miss Lange,’ the man snapped. ‘Suffice it to say, this discussion is over. I don’t expect to hear from you again.’

  He must have assumed the cab was empty, for he made no attempt to lower his voice.

  ‘In which case, I might well surprise you,’ the woman replied, apparently immune to his anger. ‘Until I get what I want, you may indeed see me again.’ She inclined her head in a feminine, teasing gesture, then turned on her heel and strode away.

  The man lingered on the street for a minute more; hands on his hips as he stared after the woman before hurrying back inside, almost colliding with William on his way out.

  William moved to one side, his hat raised in greeting as the man nodded in acknowledgement and then disappeared into the apartment building.

  ‘Sorry to keep you waiting, Flora. I hope you aren’t too cold.’ He scrambled into the seat beside her and closed the flaps over their knees.

  ‘Not at all.’ Flora flexed her numb fingers inside her gloves. ‘Although that’s
the second time you’ve apologized to me within the hour. Are you sure my visit won’t be an inconvenience?’ She eased further away from him on the seat, aware she did not know him well enough for any physical contact, even accidental.

  ‘Certainly not.’ He rapped on the roof hatch. ‘Theatre Royal, Haymarket please, driver.’

  The hansom did a stomach-churning u-turn in the middle of the road, giving Flora a view of the young woman as she strode confidently along St George’s Place away from the apartments, her head high and her bag swinging at her side. Whatever had taken place inside the apartment had not troubled her at all. Unlike the man she had seen, whose brooding expression as he stared after her told a different story.

  ‘I hope you’ll like the play,’ William said, interrupting her thoughts. ‘There’s a fantasy in one act called Shades of Night on first, though the performance I really brought you to see is Cousin Kate, which begins at nine.’

  ‘I’m looking forward to it.’ She sneaked a look at his face, thrown into relief by the lamps that hung from the side of the cab.

  He slanted her a sudden, enquiring, sideways look, and embarrassed to be caught staring, Flora tugged her coat collar against the sharp night air that flowed round the open cab.

  Their driver plunged the cab into the heavier traffic circling Hyde Park Corner, ignoring a shouted curse from a tradesman’s cart forced to a sharp halt to avoid a collision.

  Flora returned William’s smile and sent up a silent prayer that not every London cab journey would be quite so exhilarating.

  *

  Flora linked her arm through William’s and joined the crowd disgorged onto the pavement by a constant stream of hansoms and motor taxis in front of a canopy supported by six Doric columns over the theatre entrance.