A Proper Scandal

by Charis Michaels

  “I muck around in the gutter to keep you out of it, m’lady.”

  Elisabeth sighed. “You are loyal to a fault, Stoker. I would not have bothered with your education if you had not been so loyal or so bright.” She raised her eyebrows, waiting. The boy spun his hat on his finger.

  Elisabeth tried again, “Look, Lady Banning and I have gone great pains to have the school consider you. You are sorely mistaken if you think I will simply let it go. You must come to terms with it. This is your future. You will go.”

  “I won’t.”

  “You will go, even if I have to drag you to Yorkshire myself!”

  “Think of the girls we save, Lady E. Think of them.”

  She wanted to stomp her foot in frustration. “I will take on more help. Paid muscle is readily available in the London streets, but only a few, choice young men—and literally no one with your history—have the opportunity to attend to a real university.”

  “Paid muscle?” The boy looked as if he would cry.

  She shook her head vigorously. “Stop. No one can fully replace your instincts or courage, but you may assist when school is not in session. In the interim, I will hire off-duty policemen. Or soldiers on leave.”

  “Less money for the girls.”

  “So be it. We can only do so much. Or I will raise more money. You have gifts, Stoker, and you cannot—”

  A knock sounded on the door behind her, and Elisabeth jumped, dropping the letter. She lunged for it in the same moment as Stoker. They both came up with a corner, ripping it in two. Elisabeth exclaimed in frustration, half sigh, half shout.

  Another knock, more insistent this time. Elisabeth whirled around, irritated. “Who could—”

  The door opened, just a crack.

  “I beg your pardon, but are you quite all right?”

  Oh, God. Elisabeth shut her eyes.

  “I thought I heard . . . conflict.”

  She opened one eye, but he was still there.

  Bryson Courtland, Viscount Rainsleigh. Inexplicably, mortifyingly. Standing in the hall outside the now-open door.

  She opened her mouth; closed it.

  The viscount prompted. “Miss? I heard shouting. Is the boy causing a bother?” He leaned to one side, studying Stoker on the stairwell. Stoker dropped his gaze and slouched down to steps, the embodiment of supplication.

  Miss?

  Elisabeth’s mind raced. Miss? Was it possible that he did not remember?

  She shook her head. “There is no trouble,” she said to the half sheet of parchment in her hand.

  He waited.

  Elisabeth stifled a shout of frustration and then elaborated. “This boy is in my employ, and we have disagreed about an errand. Our voices were raised but not in anger. There is no bother. I apologize for disrupting your evening.”

  “ ’Tis no disruption,” said the viscount carefully. “I am inconveniently attuned to raised voices.” A pause. “I apologize for the intrusion.”

  “ ’Tis no intrusion,” she said quickly. She glanced at Stoker in time to see him quietly retreating down the stairs. Traitor.

  She was forced to look at the viscount. “You are kind to inquire.”

  He nodded but remained in the doorway.

  She ventured, “If you’ll excuse me.”

  He didn’t move.

  She tried again, “Good night to you, sir.”

  Nothing.

  Right, she thought. Fine. I will go.

  He blocked the door to the hall, so she had no choice but to follow Stoker down the stairs. She turned, collected her skirts, and began to descend.

  “Forgive my boldness, miss,” he called after her, “but are you . . . ”

  She paused, her foot hovering above the fifth step. Her heart hammered. She squeezed the handrail.

  He finished, “Are you the countess’s niece? Lady . . . Elisabeth?”

  Her lungs tightened and the knots in her stomach cinched into a tight pit. For a horrifying second, she thought he would call her out, right there and then. She averted her face and nodded to the wall.

  “Forgive me again, but . . . won’t you attend the dinner?”

  She forgot herself and looked up.

  His stare did not waver, and before she could stop herself, she scanned him, head to boot. His height and breadth filled the doorway. He’d worn buckskins and shirt sleeves that night, so long ago, but tonight his evening attire was solid black wool, leather boots, a creamy white cravat. The fit was precision, despite his considerable size. His face had grown to accommodate his strong features—wide jaw, aristocratic nose, ice-blue eyes, now creased at the edges by tiny lines. Surely he would have been freshly shaven before the party, but now his jaw was smudged with the shadow of a beard.

  He cocked his head, just a little, aware of her scrutiny.

  She cleared her throat. “I’m afraid the party is out of the question.” She gave a dismissive smile and turned to go.

  “Why is that?”

  She stopped. “I beg your pardon?”

  “I wonder why the party would be out of the question.”

  His persistence was rude, even by her standards, and she almost laughed. She was about to venture an outright lie—a headache, another engagement, an allergy to the fish—when Aunt Lillian swept through the doorway behind him.

  “Aha, so you’ve found her,” trilled the countess. She shot her niece a heavy look. “But what an unfortunate corner of the house. Elisabeth, darling, what are you doing in the footman’s stairwell? Please, come out at once, so I may introduce you.”

  Elisabeth gritted her teeth. “Actually, I was just—”

  Lillian continued, “After that, you may run upstairs. I will hold dinner while you dress.”

  Oh, no you will not. Elisabeth looked at her aunt, then the viscount, then back to her aunt.

  The viscount coughed. “I beg your pardon, my lady. I made the acquaintance of your niece—outside the bounds of the party, I’m afraid, with no formal introduction. But I heard shouting in this stairwell. I was alarmed and feared the worst. I did not mean to—”

  “Shouting?” Lillian chuckled, feigning shock. “Oh, horrors, what you must think. Yes, well, we reside in a very spirited household, I’m afraid. Thank you for your chivalry, but do not allow the odd ruckus to alarm you. Elisabeth,” she continued, her voice tight, “please. Come into the hall so you may be properly introduced.” She looked over her shoulder. “Lady Beecham would not speak to me if she knew the guest of honor had been lured away by a ruckus in the stairwell.”

  Elisabeth shook her head slightly and stepped down one step. She could feel the color burning in her cheeks. If he had not recognized her, it was only a matter of time. If he had recognized her, he was feigning ignorance for the purpose of . . . She had no idea why he would lie about it, but she could guess a myriad of humiliating revelations, each worse than the last.

  She would not give him the opportunity. The life she’d built since her parents were shot had been carefully, painstakingly rebuilt. It included her aunt and Quincy, her charity, and the girls she saved. It did not include him.

  “Something has come up,” she told her aunt firmly. “With Stoker. I was just managing it. He and I had not yet finished speaking; in fact, I believe that I mentioned to you that I am otherwise engaged tonight, Aunt. For the party. I would prefer—”

  “Ah, but the viscount would prefer the pleasure of your company, and he is my honored guest. If you come to dinner, you may tell him all about dear Stoker and the shouting match that so alarmed—

  “It was hardly a shouting match. We were merely—”

  The viscount interjected, “Truly, my lady, if she does not wish to attend . . . ” His voice was cutting and flat.

  The countess interrupted, “Nonsense. Of course she wishes to attend. Come, darling, up, up.” She extended her gloved hand and gave an urgent flick, flick with her pointer finger and thumb.

  Rainsleigh tried again, his voice now a sharp grind. “If
the lady does not wish to make my—”

  Elisabeth shook her head and said, “It’s nothing to do with you, my lord. ’Tis merely—”

  “ ’Tis everything to do with you, my lord,” cut in Aunt Lillian. “She wishes to approach you about your charity prize, but she does not wish to compete with my cause.” To Elisabeth, she said, “I will not tell you again; the viscount has seen quite enough.”

  In the end, Elisabeth was given no choice. She nodded. She took up her skirt and raised her chin to hold her head high. It felt momentarily better—at least she no longer spoke to the wall—but she refused to go so far as to look Rainsleigh in the eye. Not that it mattered. If he recognized her, he gave no indication.

  She glanced at him quickly—one swift look and then away. His expression had gone stony, almost grim. He nodded curtly, watching her ascend.

  “It would seem that I shall attend the dinner after all,” she said primly, looking straight ahead.

  “Indeed.” He blocked half the door. The polite thing would be to step back, but he did not budge. She was forced to maneuver around him.

  “Aunt?” she called over her shoulder, sailing briskly to the stairs. “A word? It will only take a moment. While I change?”

  “But of course, darling,” came the answer, as she knew it would.

  Elisabeth clipped up the marble steps to her chambers, ready to do battle.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “You are cross.” It was a statement, not a question, said on a sigh. Aunt Lillian opened Elisabeth’s wardrobe and began yanking gowns from the rod and tossing them on the bed.

  “Yes,” said Elisabeth, watching colorful silks arc through the air. “I am cross. ‘Cross’ states very mildly how I feel, I’d say. Lilly, how could you? Without even consulting me? This man? This man? You have no idea what you’ve done.”

  “Oh, I think I have some notion, and”—the countess pulled a turquoise gown from the wardrobe—“I would do it again.” She held the gown high, considered it, and then added it to the pile.

  “Of this I have no doubt.” Elisabeth began to pace. “Of all the machinations, the manipulations, of all the chance meetings that were not so chance—this is, by far, the worst. And to think. If I had consented to attend the dinner from the start, I would have been taken completely by surprise.”

  Lillian tsked. “Quincy predicted you would react this way.”

  “Well, Quincy was right. Where is he? He’ll be the only one on my side, as usual.”

  “Whatever do you mean?” asked the countess, watching her pace. “He insists upon watching over me during these affairs; you know this. He’s with the footmen, serving drinks.”

  Elisabeth considered this—considered the entire conversation they could have about it. The abject strangeness of her aunt’s secret love affair with the gardener was a rare but explosive topic. If ever she wished to change the subject, dear Quincy was a sure bet. But not tonight. Her aunt’s audacity could not be let go. Elisabeth had her own secrets to detonate.

  While she paced, Lillian circled the bed, considering the dresses. “Would it have been so bad to be taken by surprise by the viscount? Rainsleigh has pursued you himself. Of all the young women the baroness has invited tonight, it was you he sought out. I watched the whole thing from my place by the door. To be honest, I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “How gratifying for you—to witness your ambush play out before your very eyes.”

  “Ambush—please, Elisabeth. It’s not like you to resort to dramatics.”

  “Perhaps, but it is exactly like you, and now I’m meant to reckon with it? This goes beyond the bounds of reason. How could you invite him here and not tell me?”

  “Oh,” she mused, fingering the hem of each dress, “you know the answer to that. If I had told you he was coming, you would have refused. You refused anyway. You always refuse. Honestly, I hardly see what could be so harrowing after fifteen years.”

  “That’s because you have no idea about that which you speak. The passing time makes no difference. It only matters that I am not ready.”

  “But what if you’re never ready? This is my fear.” Lillian held up the ivory silk, and Elisabeth made a face. The countess nodded and moved on to the next.

  “How can I make you understand?” asked Elisabeth. “The . . . ordeal we suffered together does not translate into the direct need to meet again. Ever. Despite your years of asking, suggesting, wheedling—and now delivering the man to our dining table. And he doesn’t even recognize me—thank God. My one saving grace.”

  Lillian opened her mouth to counter this, but Elisabeth forged on. “Surely you know that most reasonable people would say my history with this man calls for the opposite of a reunion, surprise or otherwise. It has been prudent and self-preserving to stay away from him.”

  “True, perhaps, but lucky for you, I am not most reasonable people. Certainly I am not prudent.” She pulled the lavender gown from the bed and held it high. “The lavender, I think, don’t you? Come, let us try it.”

  Reluctantly, Elisabeth crossed to her aunt and turned, allowing her to unfasten her perfectly pleasant, exceedingly comfortable blue muslin.

  “I would never have pressed,” continued Lillian, “if I had not seen your reaction to him.”

  “What reaction?” Elisabeth craned around. “He cornered me! In the stairwell! Whilst I harangued Stoker. I hardly looked at the man at all.”

  “Not tonight, Elisabeth. Before.” She jostled Elisabeth this way and that, working the gown from her shoulders.

  “When before? Before what? I’ve not seen the man in fifteen years, and you’ve never met him in your life. It’s his first time to dinner; you’ve said so yourself. You’re making no sense.”

  “Am I not?”

  Elisabeth let out a noise of frustration and dropped her face into her hands. Her stomach churned with frustration and anger, and the sickening, nervous stew of it almost outweighed the anxiety of seeing him again. Almost.

  The countess filled the silence. “I’ve said nothing about it, mind you. I do try to honor your privacy, darling. But that doesn’t mean I have not seen it, all these years. The blushes and the bright-eyed interest. If anyone even utters his name, in any stray piece of inane gossip . . . ”

  “This is ridiculous,” Elisabeth said reflexively.

  “Ridiculous, is it? What of the newspaper clippings? For years you have followed him in the papers.” Elisabeth stepped out of the blue dress and hugged her shoulders against the coolness of the room. Her aunt had seen the brand on her shoulder many times, but Elisabeth hated the scar to be exposed, even in private.

  “I can read about the man and wish him well without making his acquaintance,” Elisabeth said lamely.

  “Or you could meet him again on your own terms. As the beautiful young woman you have become.”

  Elisabeth shook her head. “You misconstrue my interest.”

  “Do I? I do not misconstrue your gratefulness to him for his rescue.” Her aunt leaned over the bed and picked up the lavender dress, giving it a gentle shake. “How much have we heard about this young man? You would speak of little else over the years. We know virtually nothing about what happened the night your parents were attacked. We have respected your privacy. But forgive me if I have clung to the few details you are able to share. The rescue. This man. And now, he’s waiting to have dinner with you.”

  Elisabeth was shaking her head. “But I—I cannot bear to meet him,” she said softly. “I am not ready. I think it is my fate never to be ready.”

  “Fate?’ But what is fate?” Lillian lowered the lavender dress, and Elisabeth hesitated only a moment before stepping into it. “Resistance is all you’ve ever known, so of course it seems like the only path. What have I always said? There. Is. More.”

  “More may be a risk I am not willing to take,” she whispered. “I have the inheritance. I have my work at the foundation. With or without a . . . man in my life, these mean freedom. Not everyo
ne has the opportunity to fall in love, like you.”

  “Well, certainly no one who refuses to try.”

  Elisabeth scoffed, “I’ll consent to try to fall in love when you consent to tell the world that you are in love.”

  She knew it was wrong the moment she said it. Behind her, Lilly went still and then her diligent hands fell away from the back of the gown. Silence settled in the room. It was not unfair to invoke her aunt’s relationship with Quincy, the coward’s way out. Hastily, she added, “When you are ready.”

  The countess was quiet a long moment, and then she said, “Now ’tis you, my dear, who speak of things that you do not know.” She turned away.

  Elisabeth was unaccustomed to motherly rebuke. Her aunt chided her and teased her, but rarely, if ever, did she scold.

  “That was exceedingly rude of me,” Elisabeth said softly. “I’m sorry, Lilly. I . . . I know you have your reasons. Aunt Lillian?”

  She would not respond.

  Elisabeth tried again. “We all have secrets.”

  The countess turned to her. “Yes, but only you bear yours alone. Come.” She returned to Elisabeth and took up the loose sides of her dress and pulled the bodice together. “And this is why I am forcing you to dine with the viscount.”

  “So I will no longer have secrets?”

  “So you will no longer be alone!” She attached the tightest hook with a yank, causing Elisabeth to gasp at the constriction of the gown.

  “You are too ambitious,” said Elisabeth. “A surprise meeting? How could this possibly work?”

  Lillian sighed impatiently, smoothing the closed bodice over Elisabeth’s spine. “We will not know until we try.”

  “Even better, we could never kno—”

  “Ah, ah, ah,” interrupted the countess coming around to smile at Elisabeth’s appearance in the lavender gown. “Too late for that, darling. It’s finally too late for that.”

  CHAPTER SIX