It Takes a Scandal

by Caroline Linden

  “I think the orange trees concealed it.” The pamphlet was now safely hidden between the pages of Abigail’s book. “I’d better run upstairs and hide this. Tell Mama I’ve gone to fix my hair.”

  Penelope nodded and hurried off to the drawing room. Abigail went to her bedchamber, heart still thumping from almost being caught. She couldn’t resist taking a peek at the story, and ended up reading it all. It was even more shocking than the previous tales; Lady Constance met two friendly gentlemen, and—­unable to decide which suited her more—­took them both to her bed. Abigail had already accepted that the stories were the most improbable fiction, but this surely went too far. Constance seemed to regard her lovers with warmth and respect, if not love, but at least she gave each of them her full attention. How could she embrace two men, figuratively and literally, at once? Abigail reread one page, to be certain. Yes, Constance most definitely managed new ways of finding pleasure and giving it.

  The blush still lingered on her cheeks as she went to the drawing room, having hidden the story in the bottom of her sewing basket. She took a moment to compose herself, and opened the door.

  Sitting beside Penelope on the settee was Lady Samantha Lennox. She had called before with her sister, Lady Turley, but this time she was accompanied by someone else. He sat with his back to the door, but leapt to his feet at once and turned as Abigail came in.

  “Here is my eldest daughter, Abigail,” said Mama warmly. “Abigail, come meet our guest, Viscount Atherton. He is Lady Samantha’s brother.”

  “How do you do, sir?” She curtsied.

  “Very well, Miss Weston.” Benedict Lennox, Lord Atherton was tall and handsome, with black hair that lay in thick waves at his temples. He wore the crisp uniform of the King’s Guard, which beautifully displayed his athletic figure. His bright blue eyes brightened in frank appreciation as he bowed to her. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

  For no good reason, Abigail blushed again. She murmured something polite and went to take a seat, only realizing a moment later that the only seat left was next to Lord Atherton. She greeted Lady Samantha and accepted a cup of tea from her mother, all the while vividly conscious of the gentleman beside her.

  “It’s so very kind of you to call with Lady Samantha, sir.” Mama hardly needed to express her pleasure aloud; Abigail could almost see it radiating off her mother. She stole a glance at Penelope, who was sipping her tea without taking her eyes off Lord Atherton. Well. Perhaps her sister would find Richmond more interesting now that there was an inarguably splendid viscount sitting in their drawing room. She wondered if her father would be lying in wait outside the door to encourage the man to start courting one of them.

  “The kindness was yours, in receiving me,” replied Lord Atherton. “My sister has told me so much about the new tenants of Hart House, I implored her to bring me to call. She’s had no peace from me.”

  “It’s true,” said Lady Samantha with a fond smile. “It’s impossible to resist him once he begins imploring.”

  “But our door is always open,” declared Mama, stroking Milo’s fur. The puppy was curled up next to her on the sofa. He must have made friends with the visitors, to have ceased his yapping already. “Particularly to any friend of Lady Samantha’s.”

  “I’d like that very much. I’m on leave from my regiment for a month, and would be honored to help show you the delights of Richmond while I’m here.”

  Penelope made a noise like a muffled snort.

  He turned to her. “I sense doubt, Miss Penelope. On which score, I wonder: my desires, or the delights of Richmond?” From the gleam in his eye, Abigail thought he knew which one it was.

  Penelope smiled brightly, avoiding her mother’s gaze. “Who could doubt either?”

  “Which is no sort of answer at all!” He turned to Abigail. “Have I intimidated your sister? Please tell me I haven’t, Miss Weston. I would hate to have begun so badly with my new neighbors.”

  She had to laugh. “When you know my sister better, my lord, you’ll know how impossible that is! I believe she meant to say, we would be pleased to learn the delights of Richmond; thank you very much for offering to show us.”

  “It will be my pleasure.” His eyes were so very blue, and the little lines at the corners suggested his good humor was perpetual. Even his voice was attractive, rich and well pitched. “What have you seen so far?”

  It took Abigail a moment to register the question as he gazed at her with such interest. “Oh!” She blushed, unaccountably flustered. “Not much, I’m afraid.”

  “Have you been to the crest of Richmond Hill? The botanical gardens at Kew? The palace at Hampton Court?” His voice grew more anguished with each shake of her head. After the third, he laid one hand on his breast and turned to Penelope in mock humility. “Miss Penelope, I humbly beg your pardon. Who would not be bored, with only the village for amusement?”

  Now that she had been publicly supported in her disdain for all of Richmond, Penelope smiled modestly. “I’ve greatly enjoyed the shops in the village.”

  “And you, Miss Weston?” Lord Atherton turned to her again, his eyes shining with mirth.

  “The village is charming,” she agreed. “But I enjoy simpler pleasures: a jaunt in the boat, a walk in the woods.”

  “Ah, the woods.” Now real feeling warmed his voice. “I remember these woods well. They are almost more familiar than Stratford Court to me. When I was a boy, Lady Burton was gracious enough to grant me leave to explore at will. I spent hours there.” He shook his head ruefully. “My sister would summon me home with a light in a particular window, lest I be punished for being out too late.”

  “Can you see Stratford Court from our woods?” Penelope raised her eyebrows. “I didn’t realize that.”

  He cleared his throat. “You must go a little higher on the hill.”

  “Oh, you mean Montrose Hill?” Penelope nodded, not noticing the way both guests seemed to freeze in place for a moment. “Did you ever discover the grotto in the woods?”

  Abigail almost choked. How could Penelope—­and in front of Mama, too? She would never forgive her sister if Mama banned her from walking in the woods.

  “No,” said Lord Atherton after an almost imperceptible hesitation. “I don’t believe it still exists. It was filled in years ago.”

  “Right,” said Penelope, finally catching Abigail’s eye for a moment. “Such a pity. It would have been fascinating to see.”

  “Where was there a grotto?” asked Mama. She was idly stroking Milo, but Abigail knew her ease was an illusion. She had the attention of a hawk.

  “It was rumored to be somewhere in the woods, Mrs. Weston,” answered Lord Atherton. “A bygone curiosity from the days of the Stuarts. But like all rumor, it was founded on nothing reliable. No one’s seen it in living memory.”

  Except me, thought Abigail, thinking of a cut-­glass mermaid pining for her love, and the secluded intimacy of the chamber. And Sebastian.

  “I never heard of it.” Mama’s keen gaze touched Abigail for just a moment. “Abigail, you must be careful when you walk in the woods. I wouldn’t want you to fall down an old grotto.”

  “I am,” she quickly assured her mother.

  “There’s little cause for worry, Mrs. Weston. Lady Burton always believed it had been filled in even before she owned Hart House.” Atherton gave a penitent grin. “If it were still in existence, I would surely know, for I scoured those woods for years. She indulged an eager boy in allowing me to hunt for it, but alas; it must have been buried decades ago. I never found any trace of it—­and I really looked. I longed to prove everyone wrong by discovering it.”

  “I suspect that was the grotto’s greatest allure,” Lady Samantha added.

  Her brother laughed. “So it was! Not even pirate treasure would have been more appealing—­although I must confess, when I was a boy I hoped to
find the grotto filled with pirate treasure!”

  Everyone laughed. Abigail caught her sister watching her, though, and she tried to deliver a stern message with only her eyes. Penelope gave her a tiny nod and sipped her tea.

  The conversation took a more mundane turn, and after a while the guests took their leave. Mama invited Lord Atherton to join them on the barge party in a few days’ time, which he promptly accepted. Everyone rising to their feet roused Milo from his puppy nap, and he leapt off the sofa and began racing around the room, yipping excitedly. When someone opened the door, the dog took advantage and ran into the hall, then right out of the house.

  “Oh dear,” sighed Mama. “Not again.” By now Milo’s escapes had taken their toll even on her. Her attempts to train him to come when called hadn’t been as successful as Sebastian’s had been.

  “We’ll catch him,” Lord Atherton promised immediately, his eyes dancing. “Come, Samantha! A chase!” Briskly he strode off after the dog.

  “I can’t run in these shoes!” his sister protested, looking at Penelope in chagrin.

  “I wouldn’t bother,” muttered Penelope. As usual, she made no effort to chase Milo.

  From outside came the whinny of a horse. Mama gasped, jolted out of her resignation. “Oh my! He’ll be trampled.” She rushed out of the room, and Abigail went with her.

  Outside, the dog really was tempting death this time. A tall black stallion was tossing his head and dancing skittishly from side to side while Milo ran laps around the gravel, darting under his hooves, then under the carriage, then circling in front of the carriage horses as he evaded Lord Atherton’s and the groom’s attempts to catch him. The more Milo barked, the more restive the horses grew, snorting and stamping their feet. Any one of their hooves could crush the puppy.

  Mama gave Abigail a worried look. “I will never forgive your father,” she said in despair.

  “I’ll get him,” Abigail promised. She watched the chase for a moment, waiting for a good opportunity. Lord Atherton was obviously enjoying himself, waving at the harried groom to go around the carriage while he stalked the dog on the near side. But Milo was too wriggly; just as the viscount was about to grab him, Milo twisted and turned and went right under the carriage, between the groom’s boots, and toward the trees along the drive . . .

  Where Abigail had run to wait for him. “Milo,” she called, crouching on her knees. “Come, Milo, I have cheese for you.” She held out her hand as if she had a something in it. It worked on Boris, who was admittedly far better trained. She held her breath, hoping against hope it would fool Milo.

  The puppy stopped a few feet away from her, his tail wagging. “Milo, come,” Abigail repeated firmly. She waited, not moving. After a moment, the little dog gave himself a shake, then trotted forward. As he licked her fingers in search of the cheese, Abigail seized him by the scruff of his neck. “You don’t deserve a treat, wicked creature,” she told him. The puppy barked at her, then accepted disappointment philosophically, and began thumping his short tail against her arm.

  “Well done, Miss Weston!” Lord Atherton strode up, regarding her with respect. “He’s a wily creature.”

  She laughed. “And slippery! We’re all well versed in chasing Milo by now.” The puppy licked her chin at the sound of his name. Abigail grimaced. It was just her luck to be chasing the dog every time she met a gentleman.

  “At least he’s an appreciative captive.” Atherton grinned, scratching Milo’s head. The puppy struggled to lick his hand, too.

  “He made it into the woods once and got caught in a bramble bush. If he’s so appreciative, he could stop running away at all.”

  He laughed. “Perhaps it’s not in the nature of puppies.” He fell in step beside her as she walked back toward her mother, now joined by Lady Samantha and Penelope. “May I ask a very presumptuous question?”

  “I suppose,” she said in surprise.

  He glanced toward the woods. “Talking of these woods and the grotto has made me long for one more walk. Might I have permission?”

  “Of course!” Properly he ought to ask Papa or Mama, but there was no chance that either of her parents would deny the request. Papa would probably invite Lord Atherton to walk anywhere on Hart House grounds he liked, including inside the house.

  “Thank you.” He tilted his head to see her better. Her face felt warm. There was no mistaking the admiration in his eyes. Gentlemen had admired her before, but she wasn’t used to seeing it so unabashed and overt. “Would tomorrow be acceptable? I don’t wish to intrude on any plans your family might have made.”

  “Oh no,” she assured him. “We haven’t any engagements tomorrow.”

  His smile grew wider. “Excellent.”

  They had reached the others. Lady Samantha expressed her relief that Milo wasn’t hurt, and patted his head. Lord Atherton helped his sister into the carriage, and swung into the tall black stallion’s saddle; the horse had calmed down now that Milo no longer yipped at him. Mama waited until they were halfway down the drive before turning to her daughters.

  “What a charming gentleman!”

  “Which of us do you think he’ll marry?” asked Penelope gravely. “Oh, how happy Papa will be that he was proven right about buying this house!”

  Mama raised her eyes to the heavens. “If Lord Atherton—­or anyone!—­asked for you, miss, I’d force your father to agree! Good riddance, I’d say!”

  “I don’t think you’d have to push Papa very hard.”

  Mama just gave her a dark look as she took the puppy from Abigail. “Thank you for saving him yet again, Abby.” She snuggled her pet into her arms. “Are you hurt, little Milo? You must stop running outside like that. Let’s make sure you haven’t got anything caught in your fur.” She went back inside the house, still cooing over the dog.

  “Thank you for saving my precious darling, Abby,” Penelope mimicked their mother’s voice. “I adore him more than either of you!”

  Abigail choked on a laugh. “Not true! Although he doesn’t have your impertinence.”

  Her sister’s eyes gleamed. “Speaking of that . . . You were very deep in conversation with Lord Atherton when I came out with Lady Samantha. What were you speaking of?”

  “The dog.” Abigail kept her smile fixed on her face as she watched the guests depart. “And you thought Richmond would be dull.”

  “Lord Atherton will have to provide a great deal more excitement to cancel out the rest of Richmond,” her sister retorted. “Still, he’s a far more attractive diversion than I expected to find here.”

  At the end of the drive, Lord Atherton looked back, right at her, and tipped his hat. Lord, Penelope was right, Abigail thought in a bit of a daze. He was blind­ingly handsome.

  “He asked to come walk in the woods tomorrow,” she confided in a low voice. “I said he could, of course; won’t Papa be so pleased?”

  Penelope raised one eyebrow. “Did he really? Well, well.”

  “What?” She frowned at her sister’s expression.

  “Perhaps he won’t want to walk alone.” Penelope assumed a very prim and proper expression. “If you don’t feel like making the sacrifice, I might find it in my heart to escort him—­safely away from your grotto, of course.”

  Abigail snorted with laughter. “A truly loving sister!”

  Penelope just continued looking pleased. “I trust we shall see much, much more of the handsome Lord Atherton.”

  Chapter 15

  True to his word, Lord Atherton came the next morning.

  Mama’s eyebrows rose when he was announced. Penelope shot Abigail a look of delight. The man himself gave them all a blinding smile when the butler showed him in. Warm greetings were exchanged, and then he turned to Mama. “If it’s not an imposition, I hoped to take a stroll in your woods, ma’am.”

  “Of course, sir!” She smiled at Abigail. “My
daughter mentioned you might. You’re very welcome to walk there anytime you like.”

  “Thank you. Miss Weston told me much the same thing, but I didn’t want to presume upon your kindness by just roaming all over your property,” he explained with an apologetic air.

  “Nonsense! Papa would be perfectly content if you did so,” Abigail said with a smile. Her father had been as pleased as punch when she told him of Lord Atherton’s request. “He said you may walk in these woods as often as you like, since they’re so familiar to you.”

  “That’s very kind of him.” He grinned, his eyes twinkling. Today he wore regular clothing, and his gray coat made his eyes seem even bluer. “Although I fear he’s too generous; it’s been at least a decade since I roamed these woods. I may become hopelessly lost!”

  Mama smiled. “Abigail could direct you to the best paths. She’s very fond of walking in the woods, and knows them quite well.”

  “Indeed?” He turned to Abigail. “Miss Weston, would you walk with me?”

  There was a moment of ringing silence. Penelope’s face was blank with surprise; Mama’s was bright with delight. Abigail felt her cheeks grow warm. “Penelope has walked with me many times,” she tried to say.

  “But her ankle is still tender from the injury she received the last time she walked out,” said her mother. “She was favoring it just this morning.”

  Penelope gave a faint shrug and pretended absorption in her embroidery floss. Abigail took a deep breath. “Of course. I’d be happy to walk with you, my lord.”

  Lord Atherton’s smile deepened. “How wonderfully kind of you. I worried it would be too great an imposition.”

  “Not at all,” she said, blushing harder.

  “No, Abigail never turns down a chance of a walk in the woods.” Penelope’s smile was a little barbed. “She knows every path, my lord; you couldn’t become lost if you wanted to.”

  Their guest laughed. “The ideal guide! I couldn’t ask for better.”

  Abigail, wishing her sister had never invented a twisted ankle—­and betting that Penelope regretted it as well now—­went to get her bonnet.