Page 59 of Married to a Scandalous Spinster
“Oh I cannot take any credit for this evening,” Gemma said hurriedly. “It was all Mrs. Walsh and the rest of the staff. They've been working ever so hard.”
The Dowager Duchess grinned. “I was not talking about the ball, my dear.” She winked at Gemma's grandmother. “I was talking about becoming the fine Duchess we both knew you would be.” She looked across the ballroom, where Wyatt was laughing heartily with his friends. It seemed he had successfully disentangled Lord Anderson from the grip of Henrietta's mother. “I have never seen him this happy. We truly are geniuses, are we not?”
Gemma allowed herself a faint smile.
“We truly are,” said the Dowager Marchioness, though her smile did not reach her eyes.
“The Duchess was not even angry when I told her about your meddling,” said the Dowager Duchess, patting Gemma's arm with a distinct look of self-satisfaction.
“Is that so?”
“Grandmother, please,” Gemma murmured. “I need to know what is going on with Father.”
The Dowager Marchioness nodded. She met the Dowager Duchess's eyes, wordlessly conveying a message; a skill Gemmaassumed came from many years of friendship. Then she looked back at her granddaughter. “Is there somewhere we can speak in private?”
“Yes, of course.” Gemma led her grandmother out of the ballroom, instructing one of the footmen in the entrance hall to unlock the parlor for the two of them. He pulled a key from his pocket and slid it into the lock, holding the door open for the two ladies. He lit the lamp on the mantel. “Refreshments, Your Grace? Lady Hilt?”
“No,” Gemma said tautly. “That will be all. Thank you.”
“Yes ma'am.” The servant vanished like a shadow, leaving Gemma and her grandmother alone.
The Dowager Marchioness sank onto the settle, pulling Gemma down beside her. She folded her thin fingers together and placed them in her lap. “Your father had a turn this evening,” she began, “after hearing some rather… distressing news.”
Gemma's heart began to thunder, her body flooding with hot fear. “What kind of news?” she pressed. “And what kind of turn? Is he going to be all right?”
“The physician is with him now,” the Dowager Marchioness told her. “And Jane is refusing to leave his bedside. He is being taken good care of.” Her voice was without the usual scathing tone it carried whenever she spoke of the Earl, and this scared Gemma more than anything.
“What kind of news?” she dared to ask.
Her grandmother sighed. “Veronica tells me you heard about the…altercation at White's the other week.”
Gemma nodded.
“The fellow your father struck made a complaint to the management of the club. Your father received word the next day that he was banned from showing his face at White's again. When he tried to attend the other gentleman's clubs he has been known to frequent, he found they had done the same.” She lowered her eyes, looking into her clasped hands. “It seems word has spread amongst the club owners and he has been banned from all gentlemen's clubs in London.”
Gemma raised her eyebrows. Despite the shame that came with such a ban, she could not help but think such a thing might be a blessing. Surely to be prevented from visiting the gambling halls by a measure as drastic as this was exactly what her father needed to clean himself up. Pull himself back into line. “Perhaps this is a good thing,” she ventured.
“I am afraid that is not the worst of it,” the Dowager Marchioness said sadly. “It was not just the fight your father got in that saw him banned from the clubs.”
Gemma frowned. “What do you mean?”
Her grandmother sighed heavily. “I do not know if you remember your father's former business partner, Lord Tarver?”
Gemma nodded. “Yes, of course.” Back when her mother was alive, her father and the Marquess of Tarver had run a highly profitable import and export business. Gemma remembered spending many nights with Lord Tarver around their dinner table, he and her father chatting away, while her mother scolded them for talking business during the family meal. After the Countess's death, the Earl's drinking had intensified, and Lord Tarver had put an end to the partnership. Gemma had not heard his name spoken in years.
“A few days ago, a sum of money was stolen from a safe in Lord Tarver's office on Fleet Street,” said the Dowager Marchioness. “Rumor has it, it was your father's doing.”
“What?” Gemma demanded. The pounding of her heart intensified. “What do you meanrumor has it?”
“Exactly that, my dear.” The Dowager Marchioness pressed a hand to Gemma's wrist in an attempt to calm her. “There is no proof that your father was involved. But somehow, the press got wind of Lord Tarver's belief that the Earl was responsible. Word of his involvement made it into the afternoon papers.”
“No,” Gemma murmured. She buried her face in her hands. In the chaos of the impending ball, she and Wyatt had not so much as glanced at the papers this afternoon. And certainly, the Duchess had not either. If she had caught word of this, she would have hauled Gemma in for a verbal thrashing.
Tomorrow, these rumors will be all over the papers. As if my family has not faced enough shame…
“Why does the Marquess believe Father was involved?” Gemma pushed, anger and frustration simmering under her skin. “Why would he think that? Father has not seen Lord Tarver in years!”
“I know.” Her grandmother sighed. “I went to see the Marquess today. Initially, he refused to see me. But I finally wore him down.” She began to fiddle with the embroidery on the sleeve of her dress. “I asked him why he suspected your father, given they had not seen each other in so many years. He told me he and your father ran into each other on the Strand one evening this week. The Earl suggested they catch up over a drink for old time's sake.”
