Regency Surrender: Scandal And Deception. Marguerite Kaye

Katrina’s gloved hand in her own, Sarah leaned closer. ‘There is a caricature of you and Lyonsdale in a carriage,’ she whispered.

      Ice crept up Katrina’s spine. Their secret was out. It felt as if all the people around them were whispering about her, even though their eyes were still on the prints in the window.

      At Mrs Forrester’s suggestion they made their way directly to Katrina’s home with a stack of the scandalous prints. They had tried to acquire the printing plate, but had been told someone else had purchased it a few hours earlier.

      It wasn’t until they had entered Katrina’s drawing room that she was finally able to study the image.

      The illustration showed a carriage with the Lyonsdale crest emblazoned on the door and an American flag flying above, driving through London. Visible through the window was the head of a blonde woman wearing an Indian headdress. Her head was back and her eyes were closed. On top of her was a brown-haired man in his shirtsleeves with his hand on her bare leg, pushing up her skirt. The caption below read Minding the Savages.

      For the first time in her life Katrina truly thought she might cast up her accounts in front of other people. She dropped down on the settee and let her head fall into her hands. ‘How can I show my face in Town after this?’

      Crouching down beside her, Mrs Forrester stroked Katrina’s back. ‘Do not worry, my dear. Anyone who has encountered you thus far has seen you comport yourself as a lady. I am certain this will be forgotten when some new bit of gossip has the tongues wagging.’

      The woman was trying to reassure her, but Katrina did not miss the concern in her voice.

      ‘Katrina, I do have to ask—did you go for a carriage ride with a titled Englishman?’

      She looked into the gentle eyes of the woman who had kindly offered to chaperon her. How could she say she had been secretly seeing Lyonsdale? The woman would never look at her the same way again.

      Needing to put distance between them, Katrina jumped up and headed towards the window. It was time to confess everything.

      ‘Mother, it was all my fault,’ Sarah blurted out. She looked regretfully at Katrina. ‘Please forgive me. I never thought this would happen.’

      What was Sarah saying?

      Mrs Forrester stared at her daughter with trepidation. ‘What did you do?’

      ‘Do you recall when Katrina and I went on that picnic? Well, two gentlemen we are acquainted with happened upon us, and I asked them if they would care for refreshment. They sat with us for a time and then went on their way. It was all very innocent, but our footman or coachman must have told a tale.’

      Mrs Forrester rubbed her eyes, as if she could wipe the image of the caricature from her mind. Katrina had already tried that. It didn’t work.

      The woman took both of Sarah’s hands and looked her in the eye. ‘Who were the gentlemen?’

      ‘The Duke of Lyonsdale and the Earl of Hartwick.’

      Mrs Forrester’s loud groan filled the room. ‘Sarah, you didn’t?’

      Sarah’s hands fisted at her sides as she tried to defend her action. ‘The hour was very early. I was certain no one would see.’

      But this image clearly showed an exaggerated version of what had occurred as Katrina drove through Mayfair with Julian. This was not a depiction of the picnic.

      She began to tremble, and drops of cold sweat dusted her skin. ‘What will I tell my father?’

      Mrs Forrester quickly took her by the arm and gently lowered her to the settee. ‘Have no fear. I will talk with him first. There might be a way we can avoid a scandal. I doubt the Duke of Lyonsdale has any desire to enter into one.’

      Julian’s reputation meant everything to him. If his family name suffered because of the implications of the caricature he would hate her for ever.

      Her stomach dipped and flipped. Running to the potted palm in the corner of the room, Katrina reached it just in time.

      * * *

      Later that afternoon, in the Palace of Westminster, Julian was taken aback when he entered the Chamber of the House of Lords and a hush fell over the stately room. Appraising faces turned his way, and for the first time in his life he was confronted with critical stares from many of his peers. He had been up late last night and home all morning, finalising the speech he was about to give. What could he have possibly done to warrant such a reaction?

      The white-haired Duke of Skeffington toddled up to him. His bloodshot eyes studied Julian over his wire-framed glasses. He was the oldest duke in the chamber, and liked to remind everyone of the deferential treatment he should be given because of it.

      He rapped his cane on the floor, narrowly missing Julian’s foot. ‘Well, boy? Explain yourself.’

      They were frequently on opposing sides in this room. His eagerness to hear what Julian had to say was unusual, but it could perhaps be attributed to the man’s recent bouts of narcolepsy.

      ‘I will explain myself when it’s my turn to address the chamber,’ Julian said, ready to push past him.

      ‘I don’t give a fig about your speech. I am speaking of you and the American.’

      Julian’s blood ran cold and every muscle in his body locked. He could not possibly have heard the man correctly. ‘I beg your pardon?’

      ‘You have ancestors who were killed by their hands in their war for independence, and now you engage in behaviour such as this? It’s disgraceful,’ he spat out. ‘Your father would have been appalled by your actions.’

      He tapped the handle of his cane into Julian’s chest before he walked away, unconcerned with a reply.

      Julian broke out into a cold sweat. How did Skeffington know about Katrina? He had been so careful. His thoughts turned to their drive through Town. They had been in an unmarked carriage with the curtains drawn. Surely no one had seen them?

      More eyes were upon him, and heat crept up his neck. The Duke of Winterbourne came to stand beside him, carrying himself with his usual commanding air. It was a relief to see a friendly face.

      ‘That was quite an entrance you made,’ said Winter, casually adjusting his cuff under his robe. ‘I imagine Skeffington was gracious enough to offer his opinion on the matter?’

      ‘He was his usual charming self,’ Julian managed to say through his bewilderment.

      ‘You surely must have realised that when word got out it would be remarked upon. Both Ardsley and Brendel lost their youngest in our last skirmish with the Americans. Lockwood’s two brothers died in America’s war for independence. And those are just the men around us. Many men in this room lost family members there, and they place the blame on the colonials. But I do not need to remind you of that.’

      He motioned for them to make their way through the crowd and take their seats.

      ‘I do not understand why I am garnering such a reaction now, after dancing with the woman weeks ago,’ Julian said.

      A look of amused confusion crossed Winter’s face. ‘You do not know what this is about?’

      ‘Know what?’

      ‘There was a caricature published about you today, my friend. A rather suggestive one about you and an American. The question is, how accurate is it?’

      Their secret was out. He needed to see this print. Unfortunately, the session was about to begin.

      Bloody hell! How could he answer for something when he wasn’t quite certain what he was being accused of?

      As the room began to settle down Lord Allyn approached them and nodded a greeting. Julian was expecting his friend to wish him luck today—instead Allyn had a request.

      ‘I’m aware you’re scheduled