A Scandal in Newport Page 3

  Amy hid a smile when she saw her mother blush, just a little. Sweet satisfaction, after years of semi-grudging acceptance! Never underestimate the power of having two daughters connected to the English aristocracy…

  “Talking of the rest of Newport, are the Livingstons here this summer?” Mrs. Newbold inquired with an attempt at nonchalance. “I was looking forward to seeing them. Indeed, I am surprised not to see them here tonight.”

  Mrs. Ogden’s eyes widened. “Oh, my heavens—you won’t have heard!”

  Amy felt her scalp prickle at the hushed horror in the older woman’s voice.

  “Heard what?” Mrs. Newbold asked, her expression mirroring Amy’s unease.

  Mrs. Ogden lowered her voice and leaned forward in her chair. “It happened last autumn in New York, while you were abroad. Three young ladies, just in their first season, kidnapped and held for ransom: Alice Carr, Maisie Van Allen, and Geneva Livingston!”

  Kidnapped? Amy stifled a gasp as her mother exclaimed, “How dreadful! Were they all taken together?”

  “Oh, no—one at a time,” Mrs. Ogden clarified. “Apparently, each was waylaid at night, while returning from a social engagement. Ransom notes were delivered within a day—I have no idea how much was demanded, but the families paid, of course.”

  Of course. Having some acquaintance with all three families, Amy knew there was no question but that the girls’ fathers, among the wealthiest in New York, would part with any sum to have their daughters back safe and sound.

  “But what about the police?” Mrs. Newbold asked. “Weren’t they able to help?”

  Mrs. Ogden shook her head. “The police weren’t contacted until the girls were freed—that was one of the conditions for their safe return. They were brought in, afterwards, but despite their best efforts, they haven’t yet discovered the kidnappers. And the girls had been kept bound and in the dark most of the time so they couldn’t provide much information.”

  “But they were released unharmed?”

  “Well, none of them appeared to be injured, but such an ordeal leaves its mark.” Mrs. Ogden fanned herself vigorously. “Poor Maisie fared the worst. She suffered a terrible asthma attack after being rescued and nearly died of it. Then, after… well, I’ve heard she’s still fragile, and the Van Allens thought it best for her to recover in more—peaceful surroundings.”

  A sanatorium, Amy translated with a shiver. Poor Maisie, indeed.

  “The Carrs have taken Alice abroad this summer,” Mrs. Ogden continued in hushed tones. “But the Livingstons have brought Geneva to Newport—they just aren’t accepting many invitations at present. All the same, it must be a relief for them to be away from the city!” She glanced towards her own daughter, presently conversing with Sally Vandermere and a few other young ladies. “I’d have been beside myself if something like this had happened to Mabel!”

  “Any mother who loves her daughter would be!” Mrs. Newbold agreed with a shudder. “I can’t be sorry to have missed that. Have there been other attempts since?”

  “No, thank goodness! The kidnappings stopped as suddenly as they started—” Mrs. Ogden broke off at the sound of approaching male voices. “The men are coming to join us. Let us have some more pleasant conversation now, shall we?”

  “I knew all of them,” Amy told Thomas later that evening as they sat together in the private parlor adjoining her room, her parents having retired for the night. “The Livingstons chiefly, but the other two families were just as prominent, and we were always seeing them—at dances and dinner parties, and whatnot. What a terrible thing to happen to those girls, and in their first Season too!”

  “Terrible indeed.” Setting aside his sketchbook, Thomas put a comforting arm around her. “Especially to poor Miss Van Allen.”

  Amy suppressed a shiver. “I was least acquainted with Maisie, but I’d heard that she didn’t enjoy the most robust of health, and that she suffered dreadfully from asthma.”

  His mouth flattened into a grim line. “I knew a boy at school who was similarly afflicted. And it always got worse when he was agitated or frightened. Her abductors may not have intended her harm, but beyond a doubt, they should be held accountable for her breakdown.”

  “Instead, they got away with their crime—repeatedly,” Amy observed with disgust. “Given how successful they were at this filthy business, I’m surprised they stopped after only three. Relieved but still surprised.”

  “Have they, though?” Thomas mused, frowning.

  “Mrs. Ogden said there have been no further abductions since Maisie’s, in January. The city was on edge all winter, but no one else was taken. She also said the police are still investigating the crime, but they’ve yet to find a trace of the kidnappers. Which seems to argue that they’ve run off somewhere to enjoy their ill-gotten gains.”

  “Or that they’re lying low, waiting for another opportunity to strike.”

  Amy shuddered. “What a horrifying thought!”

  “Forgive me for sounding alarmist, sweetheart, but criminals seldom stop once they find a gambit that works for them,” he pointed out. “So far, every family whom they’ve targeted has complied with their demands so far: no police and the ransoms paid in full. Easy pickings—it’s hard to imagine them giving that up. The only positive is that the police might know what to expect by now, if they do try again.”

  Amy leaned into his encircling arm. “Another reason to be glad we’re out of New York right now. Newport has its faults, but at least there’s nothing to fear here. Except perhaps the usual society dragons and an excess of social climbing.”

  His mouth quirked. “I imagine some people find those quite terrifying enough.”

  “I’d like to call on the Livingstons tomorrow,” Amy said decisively. “They were always decent to us—much nicer than some of the other families in the Four Hundred.”

  “Friendlier than the Ogdens?”

  “Well, more genuine about it,” she clarified. “I suppose it helped that Venetia was two years older than Relia and I, and she was safely engaged before we came out. And Geneva’s three years younger than us, so we’ve never been in direct competition with any of the Livingston girls. Anyway, Mrs. Livingston was among those who never looked down on my mother, so for that reason alone, I’d have appreciated her. Mrs. Ogden says the family isn’t accepting many invitations right now, but I’d still like to ask them to our engagement ball. And let Geneva know that she’ll be safe among friends.”

  His eyes warmed. “You have a generous nature, Amelia. It’s one of your finest qualities.”

  “Thank you, sir.” She smiled as she pressed closer yet to him. “Would you like me to show you just how generous I can be?”

  He stilled, as she trailed her fingers through his fine leaf-brown hair, traced the whorl of his earlobe, stroked the nape of his neck—and felt his slight shiver of response. One delicious secret she’d discovered: Thomas was ticklish, though he would deny it to his last breath.

  A game between them, and one of the most delightful Amy had ever played. Her fiancé was so determined not to consummate their love before the wedding night, at which point he promised her all manner of earthly delights. But it was rather like being told that dinner was three hours off when one was famished!

  He turned suddenly with that speed that always surprised her in him, and caught her to him, his mouth claiming hers. Exultant, Amy returned his kiss, relishing the press of his lean, angular frame flush against hers. So much better than on board the ship, and without Mama or Papa there to interrupt!

  She linked her arms about Thomas’s neck and had to suppress a triumphant exclamation when he swept her up in his arms, as though she weighed no more than a child, then rose from the sofa and crossed the room in a few swift strides.

  Nudging open the door to her chamber (and thank goodness she’d had the foresight to leave it slightly ajar!), he bore her towards the bed, draped in luxurious rose-colored silk and heaped high with plump pillows.

  “G
oodnight, my love,” he said, and deposited her on the bed—alone.

  Green eyes flashed wickedly at her just before he nipped out the door, closing it behind him with decorous finality.

  Amy gave a little wriggle of frustration. Drat the man—she’d almost had him!

  Well, she’d be craftier next time. And there would certainly be a next time: she had several weeks left of summer to wear down his resistance! After all, even Thomas wasn’t made of stone…

  Chapter Three

  “Life is mostly froth and bubble,

  Two things stand like stone,

  KINDNESS in another’s trouble,

  COURAGE in your own.”

  —Adam Lindsay Gordon, “Ye Wearie Wayfarer”

  * * *

  True to her resolve, Amelia called upon the Livingstons the following morning. Thomas accompanied her, intrigued by what she’d told him about this family: prominent and populous, with an old name but an abundance of new wealth, which made them less likely to despise those with shorter pedigrees. And this particular branch of the clan had been consistently friendly to the Newbolds. According to Amelia, they’d also been among the first to welcome Aurelia back into Society after her accident.

  Maritime, the Livingston “cottage,”—Thomas still couldn’t quite wrap his mind about using this term to describe such an abode—was a handsome, well-proportioned house, though less grandiose than the Ogdens’ new residence: more Italian villa than French château. There was an almost eerie sense of quiet here, though: Thomas noticed it the moment they were admitted, and to judge from the furrow that appeared between his fiancée’s brows, he suspected she felt it too.

  Not surprising, he supposed, given what this family was dealing with. He wondered if they would even agree to see Amelia and himself. But the butler who’d taken his fiancée’s card soon returned to escort them upstairs to the family’s private parlor. Mrs. Livingston was currently out, he informed them, but her two eldest daughters, Mrs. Reid—formerly Miss Venetia—and Miss Geneva, would be glad to receive them.

  Thomas exchanged a quick glance with Amelia: if the girl who’d been kidnapped was willing to receive callers, surely that must be a good sign.

  They were shown into an airy room decorated in soft pastels. Two young women sat side by side on a brocaded sofa; the taller of the two rose to her feet at once, smiling, as Thomas and Amelia entered.

  “Dear Amy, so happy to see you again!” she exclaimed, coming forward with outstretched hands.

  “Venetia, how lovely you look!”

  The two women exchanged a quick kiss of greeting, then Amelia turned to Thomas. “And this is my fiancé, Thomas Sheridan. Thomas, Venetia Reid and her sister, Geneva Livingston.”

  Mrs. Reid extended her hand, which Thomas bowed over. “So, you’re Amy’s young man,” she observed with a smile. “Delighted to meet you, Mr. Sheridan.”

  “The pleasure is mine, Mrs. Reid,” Thomas assured her. “And Miss Livingston,” he added, approaching the sofa with an outstretched hand.

  She accepted it tentatively, with downcast eyes and a murmured greeting. Mindful of her discomfort, Thomas stepped back, returning to Amelia’s side.

  They were lovely young women, the Livingston sisters, he mused. Exactly the sort to delight a portrait painter: tall and slim, with dark hair and porcelain-fair complexions. Mrs. Reid was perhaps a fraction taller than her sister, with striking dark eyes and the vivacity so often noted in American ladies. By contrast, Miss Geneva was almost English in her reserve, but then that could be due to her recent ordeal. Perhaps she had been more like her older sister before her abduction? He would have to ask Amelia, when they were done calling.

  Just then, a dainty King Charles spaniel emerged from beneath a chair and made straight for Geneva, sitting at her feet and gazing up at her with melting brown eyes. Geneva’s face brightened, became genuinely animated, transforming its doll-like prettiness into something more human… and far more attractive. Leaning down, she scooped the dog into her arms, clearly undeterred by the prospect of paw prints and fur upon her pristine white day gown.

  “Why, who is this?” Amelia exclaimed, smiling.

  “This is Clementine.” Geneva stroked the spaniel’s glossy coat. “Clemmie for short.”

  “She’s just darling,” Amelia said, reaching out to let the dog sniff her fingers.

  “She was a present for my eighteenth birthday, and she goes just about everywhere with me,” Geneva added, with a smile that made her deep blue eyes glow.

  Lady with a Dog, Thomas’s imagination supplied. He wondered idly if the Livingstons had considered having Miss Geneva’s portrait painted: walking her spaniel, perhaps. Unless, he remembered uncomfortably, her experience made her averse to such outings.

  “Has she taken to Newport?” Amelia asked. “There must be tons of things for her to see—and smell on your walks together!”

  Geneva’s smile dimmed just a little. “I think she likes it here. Though we don’t walk very far—just around the garden.”

  Mrs. Reid glanced anxiously at her sister before entering the conversation. “We’ve been leading rather a quiet life this summer, Amy.” She paused, then resumed with the directness Thomas found characteristic of so many Americans, “I am not sure you’ll have heard, but—”

  “If you’re referring to what happened to your sister last winter, then, yes, I have,” Amelia replied with equal frankness. “Mrs. Ogden told us about the kidnappings when we attended her dinner party last night. It wasn’t gossip,” she added hastily, “Mother wanted to know if your family had come to Newport, that’s all! And I am so sorry, Geneva, that you should have experienced such a terrible ordeal, and I hope you’re doing better now.”

  Geneva flushed, but summoned a tiny smile, for friendship’s sake if nothing else, Thomas suspected. “Thank you, Amy—that’s very kind of you. I have been doing a little better this past month or so. Getting away from the city helped.”

  “Of course it must,” Amelia said swiftly, “and I can certainly understand why you wouldn’t want to accept many invitations at present. But I do hope you and your family will consider attending my engagement ball at Shore House, in two weeks’ time.”

  “Why, how lovely!” Mrs. Reid exclaimed. “Jenny, dear, you must admit it sounds perfectly lovely,” she added to her sister, whose flush deepened. “And the Newbolds have always been such good friends to us.”

  “And we count you among our closest friends too,” Amelia chimed in. “But, truly, I don’t wish to press you for an answer just now. Please take all the time you need to decide—the invitations haven’t even been officially sent out yet.”

  “Thank you,” Geneva said again, with almost palpable gratitude. Her eyes looked a touch wistful, Thomas thought. “I appreciate your thoughtfulness, and Venetia is right: it does sound lovely. And Shore House is such a charming place. I will—let you know as soon as possible,” she finished, all in a rush. As if sensing her distress, her little spaniel licked her hand.

  Amelia smiled at her friend. “That’s all anyone can ask of you. Now, do tell us more about your delightful Clemmie.”

  “There’s something about Geneva that reminds me a little of Relia,” Amelia confessed to Thomas as they descended the stairs some minutes later. “She withdrew into herself too, after her accident. It took so long for her to try to reclaim herself. I hate seeing someone else suffer like that as well—and for something that wasn’t even her fault.”

  “Do you think she’ll attend?” Thomas asked.

  “I hope so. I think perhaps, deep down, she would like to. In any case, I’m going to suggest to Mother that we have several corners where our guests can just sit quietly without being disturbed. And perhaps,” her face took on a contemplative look, “perhaps we might even set up a pen for Geneva’s puppy. She did say Clemmie goes everywhere with her—and she seems very well behaved. Clemmie, I mean. Geneva’s deportment goes without saying.”

  Thomas shook his head, smiling
. “Only you, sweetheart, would think to include a puppy in your invitation!”

  Her eyes danced, but her reply was perfectly serious. “Well, why not? I can think of several people whose manners aren’t as good as Clemmie’s. And if having her puppy with her makes Geneva feel more comfortable…” She broke off, peering at him uncertainly. “What are you thinking, Thomas? I don’t recall seeing that expression before.”

  He took her hand, lacing their fingers together, as they stepped through the door the Livingstons’ butler held open for them. “I’m thinking that your friends are very fortunate to have you in their corner. Though not as fortunate as I am,” he added, and saw her blush delightfully.

  “Amy? Amy Newbold?” an unfamiliar male voice exclaimed.

  A young man was coming up the walk: a tall, handsome young man of perhaps twenty-five, with dark hair, wearing immaculate tennis whites. Thomas thought he detected a decided resemblance to the two ladies they’d just visited, a suspicion confirmed by Amelia’s next words.

  “Larry Livingston!” she greeted the new arrival brightly. “How nice to see you again.”

  “The pleasure is mine,” Livingston assured her, coming to a halt before them. “You’re prettier than ever, if that’s even possible.”

  She smiled. “Thank you. Larry, this is Thomas Sheridan, my fiancé. Thomas, this is Larry Livingston, Venetia and Geneva’s older brother.”

  Thomas extended his hand. “How do you do, Mr. Livingston?”

  The moment the words were out, he saw a change come over the young man’s face—a slight cooling of the sort he’d seen from several American men he’d met since coming here.

  “Mr. Sheridan.” Livingston returned a perfunctory handshake. “English, are you?”

  “Indeed,” Thomas said mildly. He was aware of the faint, puzzled frown creasing Amelia’s brow. Astute as she was, she’d doubtless picked up the nuances of this exchange, but not the reason for it.