Scandals of an Innocent. Nicola Cornick

or sympathy for Lydia at Cole Court. Her fall from virtue would have been roundly condemned.

      “Laura offered her a home with us,” Dexter continued, “but she has found her own pregnancy difficult this time, and Lydia did not wish to be an added burden, nor to add to our financial problems.”

      He looked at Nat. “I believe that Lady Elizabeth also offered Miss Cole a home at Fortune Hall, did she not?”

      “She did,” Nat confirmed, “but Sir Monty refused to countenance it. He said that since Miss Cole had not seen fit to give herself and her dowry in respectable wedlock, she must live with the consequences of her immoral actions.”

      “Monty is a narrow-minded fool,” Miles said dispassionately. “It was his brother who seduced an innocent girl in the first place.”

      “True,” Nat said, “but there are always plenty of hypocrites in situations like this.”

      “Poor girl,” Dexter said. “It is hardly as though she flaunts herself! No one has seen or heard a word from her since she went to stay with Miss Lister.”

      “Miss Lister?” Miles said, startled. He put his glass down with a jerk. “Lydia Cole is staying with Alice Lister?”

      “Both Miss Cole and Lady Elizabeth are staying with Miss Lister at Spring House,” Nat said. “Monty is up in London at present, so Mrs. Lister chaperones both the girls around.”

      “It was brave of Miss Lister to give Miss Cole shelter when there are people who already cut her dead because of her own background,” Miles said. He had noticed the previous autumn the way in which snobs like Faye Cole had drawn aside to avoid speaking to Alice because of her humble origins. No doubt her daily life was full of these little pinpricks of spite and disapproval. “We should speak to Miss Cole,” he added. “She may be the only one who can lead us to Tom Fortune.”

      Nat shook his head. “I doubt she would agree to see any of us. She refuses all company.”

      “Then we need to speak with Miss Lister instead,” Miles said. “Apart from anything else, Miss Cole might be in danger.”

      Dexter gave him a searching look. “Does that trouble you, Miles?” he said dryly. “You are not known for your sympathetic qualities.”

      “No, it doesn’t trouble me personally,” Miles said, “but it is likely to be influential in persuading Miss Lister to convince her friend to speak with us. If we impress upon her that Tom might be a threat to Lydia—”

      “We can frighten both girls and use them to get to Tom Fortune,” Nat finished. “Nice work, Miles.”

      “We cannot afford to be scrupulous,” Miles pointed out.

      “Miles is right,” Dexter said, “much as I deplore his methods, he is, as usual, correct.”

      “Thank you, Dexter,” Miles said acerbically. “Nat, will you prepare the ground with Lady Elizabeth? I will speak to Miss Lister. I think we need to make a few discreet enquiries first before we tell them that Fortune has escaped.”

      “Agreed,” Nat said. “The perfect opportunity for you, Miles.”

      Miles raised a sardonic eyebrow. “Construe?”

      “To renew your attentions to Miss Lister,” Nat said, with a mocking smile. “Now that you are so utterly sunk in debt, you will be needing a rich heiress more than ever.”

      “That,” Miles said, “is exactly what I thought, too.”

      Dexter almost choked on his brandy. “I’m sorry,” he said, when he had recovered his breath, “but which part of Miss Lister’s scathing rejection of your suit did you not understand, Miles?”

      Miles shrugged. “It is unfortunate that I was obliged to abandon my previous pursuit of Miss Lister—”

      “Unfortunate?” Dexter’s brows almost disappeared into his fair hair. “You dropped her for a richer heiress!”

      “And even more inopportune that my courtship of Miss Bell did not come to fruition—”

      “She threw you over for an earl.”

      “And likewise extremely annoying that Sir Montague chose to tell Miss Lister of my ill-advised wager on her virtue,” Miles continued smoothly, “but I am certain that I can persuade her to accept me all the same.”

      “If I were a betting man,” Nat said, lips twitching, “which I am not, as I have seen the predicament it has got you into, Miles, I would make a wager that you have not a hope in hell of pulling this off. Miss Lister is no fool and she knows now that she cannot trust you an inch.”

      Miles shrugged again. He drained his glass and picked up the wedding dress. It felt cool and silky soft against his fingers. The perfume of honey and roses seemed to cling to it, reminding him of Alice and the softness of her hair against his fingers and the scent of her skin. It raised an echo of primitive arousal in him. He wanted Alice Lister. It was a simple matter of physical attraction. And he wanted her money. That was a simple matter of economics.

      “We shall see,” he said. “I have an ace or two up my sleeve.”

      Chapter Three

      “THERE IS A GENTLEMAN to see you, ma’am.” Marigold, the youthful housemaid, dropped Alice a respectful curtsy. “Shall I show him in, ma’am?”

      “Who is it, Marigold?” Alice asked. Having once been a servant herself, she absolutely hated employing other people to wait on her and would frequently do their work herself. If she was near the front door when a caller arrived, she would answer it. If she saw dust on the mantelpiece, she would clean it. Her mother was forever chiding her that she did not behave as a lady should.

      “I don’t know, ma’am.” Marigold looked suddenly apprehensive, caught out failing in the execution of her duty. “He did not say.”

      “Always ask a caller to give their name,” Alice said, smiling reassuringly at the girl at the same time so that Marigold would know she was not angry with her. “You may show him in anyway, but please remember for next time.”

      “I do wish you would permit me to change that girl’s name,” Mrs. Lister said as the maid sped away. “Marigold is a wildly unsuitable appellation for a housemaid. It is far too pretty and will give the girl ideas above her station. Mary would be more acceptable.”

      “Mama!” Alice said sharply. “We have had this discussion before. Marigold’s name is Marigold and that is how it stays. It is not our place to change someone’s given name and call them something entirely different.”

      “Why not?” Mrs. Lister countered. “Lady Membury called you Rose when you were in service.”

      “Precisely,” Alice said. “I hated it. My name is Alice.”

      “Rose is a delightful name,” Mrs. Lister said.

      Her mama was missing the point as usual, Alice thought. It seemed strange to her that the unexpected inheritance of a large fortune had changed her character not at all—at least, she thought it had not—but that it had changed her mother almost out of recognition. Margaret Lister had once been a tenant farmer’s widow who struggled to make ends meet and feed her family. Alice’s legacy from her employer Lady Membury had changed all that. Alice’s younger brother, Lowell, now ran the tenant farm whilst Mrs. Lister lived in this smart villa in Fortune’s Folly. There had been elocution lessons that had almost succeeded in smoothing out Mrs. Lister’s broad Yorkshire vowels; there had been visits to the dressmaker and the purchase of gowns with copious frills and furbelows, so different from the plain, serviceable work clothes Mrs. Lister had worn before. Most of all there had been the endless nagging of Alice to ensure that she made a marriage to a titled gentleman. Mrs. Lister had been cock-a-hoop that so many aristocratic fortune hunters had courted her daughter and furious when Alice had rejected each and every one of them. And then she had been desolated