A Marriage of Notoriety

Phillipa had a surfeit of her mother’s over-protection. She could endure a ball with no dance partners. She could handle whatever mysterious matters led to her family’s aberrant behaviour. Just because an ugly scar marred her face did not mean she was a child.

She was not weak. She refused to be weak.

Phillipa took notice of passers-by staring at her and pulled down a piece of netting on her hat. Her mother insisted she tack netting on to all her hats so she could obscure half her face and not receive stares.

She turned off St James’s Street on to the street where Rhysdale lived. When she found the house, she only hesitated a moment before sounding the knocker.

Several moments passed. She reached for the knocker again, but the door opened. A large man with expressionless eyes perused her quickly. His brows rose.

‘Lady Phillipa to see Mr Rhysdale,’ she said.

The man stepped aside and she entered the hall. He lifted a finger, which she took to mean she should wait, and he disappeared up the staircase.

The doors to rooms off the hall were closed, and the hall itself was so nearly devoid of all decoration that it appeared impersonal. Perhaps a single gentleman preferred no decoration. How would she know?

‘Phillipa.’ A man’s voice came from the top of the stairs.

She looked up.

But it was not Rhysdale who descended the stairs.

It was Xavier.

He quickly approached her. ‘What are you doing here, Phillipa? Is something amiss?’

She forced herself not to step back. ‘I—I came to speak with Rhysdale.’

‘He is not here.’ He glanced around. ‘You are alone?’

Of course she was alone. Who would accompany her? Not her mother. Certainly her mother would never make a social call to her husband’s illegitimate son. ‘I will wait for him, then. It is a matter of some importance.’

He gestured to the stairs. ‘Come. Let us sit in the drawing room.’

They walked up one flight of stairs and Phillipa glanced into a room she presumed would be the drawing room. She glimpsed several tables and chairs.

‘What is this?’ she exclaimed.

Xavier looked dismayed. ‘I will explain.’ He gestured for her to continue up another flight of stairs.

He led her into a comfortably furnished parlour and extended his arm towards a sofa upholstered in deep-red fabric. ‘Do be seated. I will arrange for tea.’

Before she could protest, he left the room again. Her heart beat at such rapid rate that her hands trembled as she pulled off her gloves.

This was ridiculous. She refused to be made uncomfortable by him. He meant nothing to her. He’d merely been a boy who’d once been her playmate. Defiantly she swept the netting over the brim of her hat. Let him see her face.

He stepped back in the room. ‘We’ll have tea in a moment.’ Choosing a chair near her, he leaned close. ‘I do not know when—or if—Rhys will come back.’

‘Do not tell me he has disappeared as well!’ What was going on?

He touched her hand in a reassuring gesture. ‘He has not disappeared. I assure you.’

She pulled her hand away. ‘Where is he?’ she demanded.

He leaned back. ‘He spends most days with Lady Gale.’

‘Lady Gale?’ What did Lady Gale have to do with anything?

Lady Gale was the stepmother of Adele Gale, the silly young woman to whom her brother Ned was betrothed. Both Adele and Lady Gale had been guests at her mother’s ball, so Rhysdale might have met them there, but was there more to that connection?

Xavier frowned. ‘You do not know about Rhysdale and Lady Gale?’

Phillipa waved a frustrated hand. ‘I do not know anything! That is why I am here. My brothers and my father have disappeared and my mother will not tell me where they have gone or why. I came to ask Rhysdale where they were, but it seems I’ve been excluded from even more family matters.’

There was a knock on the door and a manservant entered, carrying the tea tray. As he placed the tray on a side table, he gave Phillipa a curious look.

Because of her scar, no doubt.

Xavier nodded to him. ‘Thank you, MacEvoy.’

The servant bowed and walked out, but not before tossing her another glance.

Xavier reached for the teapot. ‘How do you take your tea, Phillipa? Still with lots of sugar?’

He remembered that? She’d had a sweet tooth as a little girl. That had been a long time ago, however.

She stood. ‘I do not wish to drink tea. I came here for answers. I am quite overset, Xavier. I do not know why everything is kept secret from me. Do I look as if I cannot handle adversity?’ She jabbed at her scar. ‘I am well practised in adversity. My mother—my whole family, it seems—apparently thinks not.’ She faced him. ‘Something important has happened in my family—something more than Rhysdale’s appearance—and I am to be told nothing? I cannot bear it!’ She pressed her hands against her temples for a moment, collecting herself. She pointed towards the door. ‘What is this place, Xavier? Why does my half-brother have a room full of tables where the drawing room should be and a drawing room on a floor for bedchambers?’

* * *

Xavier stared back at Phillipa, considering how much to tell her.

He preferred this version of Phillipa to the one he’d so recently encountered at her mother’s ball. That Phillipa barely looked at him, barely conversed with him, even though he’d danced twice with her. She’d acted as if he were a loathsome stranger.

Her present upset disturbed him, however. Ever since they’d been children, he’d hated seeing her distressed. It reminded him of that summer in Brighton when the pretty little girl woke from a fall to discover the long cut on her face.

He admired Phillipa for not covering her scar now, for showing no shame of it or how she appeared to others. Besides, her colour was high, appealingly so, and her agitation piqued his empathy. He understood her distress. He would greatly dislike being left out of family matters of such consequence.

But surely she’d been told of Rhys’s arrangement with her brothers?

‘Do you not know about this place?’ He swept his arm the breadth of the room.

Her eyes flashed. ‘Do you not comprehend? I know nothing.’

‘This is a gambling establishment.’ All of society knew of it. Why not Phillipa? ‘Nominally it is a gambling club so as to adhere to legalities. Have you not heard of the Masquerade Club?’

‘No.’ Her voice still held outrage.

He explained. ‘This is the Masquerade Club. Rhys is the proprietor. Patrons may attend in masks and thus conceal their identities—as long as they pay their gambling debts, that is. If they need to write vowels, they must reveal themselves.’ He made a dismissive gesture. ‘In any event, it is meant to be a place where both gentlemen and ladies may enjoy cards or other games. Ladies’ reputations are protected, you see.’