Page 1 of A Scandal at Stonecliffe

CHAPTER ONE

NATHAN LOOKED AROUND the crowded ballroom. Lady Arden’s yearly ball was a must for anyone with any pretensions to the ton. Frankly, he couldn’t understand why; he had always found the affair deadly dull. But its size was precisely why he’d chosen it for his first foray back into London Society, hoping that among such a large group of people, his own presence would be hardly noticed.

He’d known that there was bound to be gossip about him and Annabeth. Even though their engagement had been known only to the families, everyone was aware that Nathan had been head over heels about Annabeth for years. Her wedding to Sloane Rutherford and Nathan’s subsequent departure to the Continent had doubtlessly set tongues clacking.

Nathan had spent six months touring Europe, most of it visiting a friend who had moved to Italy. When he had returned three months ago, he had avoided London, going straight to Dunbridge Manor, his home in the country. Unfortunately, his mother and aunt had left Bath and moved into the manor during his absence, and fond as he was of them—even Aunt Jocelyn—there was really only so much cosseting, sweetness, and concern a man could bear. He loved his mother dearly, but they fared better if he didn’t actually have to live with her.

So a few weeks ago, he had returned to his flat in London, with its blessed silence and a complete lack of maternal worry. He had stayed away from parties, however, going only to his club or joining friends at horse races, or contests of pugilism, or nights of drinking.

Those activities had grown boring, as well. He hadn’t felt any need to drown his sorrows in months—absence, he’d found, didn’t make the heart grow fonder; it eased the pain—and he didn’t enjoy waking up the next morning with a pounding head. Moreover, it seemed as if nearly all his closest friends, like Carlisle, were now married or engaged or pursuing a lady. Life had become rather lifeless, somehow, so he had decided to return to the ton.

His hope that he could escape gossip at a large ball was clearly unfounded. As soon as he stepped into the ballroom, seemingly every eye in the place turned in his direction. There was nothing to do now but face the whispers and sly glances.

As he started forward, Lady Arden swept up to him, smiling. “Mr. Dunbridge! I was hoping you would attend my little party. It’s been ages since I have seen you.” Her last statement rose questioningly.

“Yes, I have been out of the country for some months now,” Nathan replied with a polite bow.

The small woman looked up at him with sympathy. “I am so sorry. I fear Miss Winfield will regret her decision.”

“Mrs. Rutherford is quite happy,” he replied, putting an emphasis on Annabeth’s new name. “And I am very happy for both of them. As you probably know, we all grew up together.” No need to mention that being near Sloane while he was still engaged to Annabeth hadn’t meant warming up to him.

“Well, I have just the thing to brighten your day.” Lady Arden ignored Nathan’s statement. “You must allow me to introduce you to Mrs. Billingham. Such a charming woman.” Her eyes lit up with a matchmaking zeal that Nathan was all too familiar with. From the moment he left university, half the matrons in the ton had been trying to find him a wife.

He knew it was useless to attempt to escape a matchmaker, so he let her lead him across the floor toward a knot of people. The group, mostly men, were clustered around a woman with dark red hair. She was dressed in a black ball gown with a wide neckline that showed off her lovely white shoulders, and though her back was turned toward him, Nathan suspected that she was equally attractive from the front, given the looks on the men’s faces.

“Mrs. Billingham.” Lady Arden determinedly moved into the group, forcing a few of the men to step aside. “Please allow me to introduce you to—”

The woman turned, and Nathan saw her face. It was a fox-shaped face dominated by expressive golden-brown eyes. A familiar face, more intriguing than beautiful, and one he had expected never to see again. What the devil was Verity Cole doing here?

He stopped abruptly, jaw dropping. “Good Gad. Veri—” Nathan broke off and cleared his throat. “That is, um, very pleased to, um—”

“Oh,” Lady Arden said in disappointment. “You already know each other.”

“Yes. I, well,” Nathan floundered. He could hardly deny recognizing Verity, given his reaction, but what was he to say? God only knew what sort of masquerade she was carrying on now. “Mrs.—ah—” What had Lady Arden said Verity’s “name” was at the present moment?

Fortunately, Verity spoke up to save him. “Mr. Dunbridge and I are acquainted. Not well, of course—it was my dear Hubert who was his friend. They went to school together.” Her eyes twinkled.

Naturally Verity would find it amusing to cast him unknowingly into her sea of lies.

Well, I can play at that game, too. “Yes, indeed. Splendid chap, Hubert. Where is he? I must chat with him.” Nathan made a show of surveying the room.

Verity made a choked noise and whipped out a handkerchief, raising it to cover her mouth. To Nathan’s amazement, tears welled in her eyes. “Oh, my poor Hubert.”

The other men scowled at him, and Lady Arden told him quietly, “Mr. Billingham passed on a year ago.”

“Oh. Beg your pardon, ma’am.” It was a struggle to keep his face sober as Nathan met Verity’s gaze above her handkerchief. He wondered if anyone else noticed the mischief in her gaze.

She dabbed artistically at the corners of her eyes. “Of course. How could you have known? Dear Hubert and I have been living in Russia for some years now.”

“Russia?” Where did she come up with these things?

“Yes. You know how it was with poor Hubert.”

“Mmm,” Nathan said gravely. “Indeed.” Clearly, my school chum had been obsessed with tragic literature, ballet, or, perhaps, snow. At least the party was not as dull as it usually was.

“I knew you would understand.”

Nathan still wasn’t certain what relation Hubert was supposed to be to her. Husband seemed likely, given the show of tears, but then one would cry over the death of a brother, too, wouldn’t one? Although Verity apparently could cry over anything...or nothing at all.