The Road to Scandal is Paved with Wicked Intentions (The May Flowers Book 6)

by Merry Farmer

  She didn’t hear a peep from the flat’s main room as she threw off her soiled clothes, bathed with her washbasin and sponge, and dressed as swiftly as she could in clean clothes. That meant that either Danny had left or her mother was refusing to speak to him.

  The latter proved to be true, as she discovered when she flew back into the main room to find Danny standing in the exact same spot with his arms crossed and her mother nibbling on toast and perusing one of her ladies’ journals—thankfully not Nocturne.

  Phoebe wanted to make it out of the flat before her mother started up another conversation, but she didn’t quite make it.

  “I have a few things I want to discuss with you when you return,” she said, dragging her eyes away from her journal to stare at Phoebe. “Important things.”

  Phoebe hesitated with her hand on the door handle. “I have things I need to discuss with you as well, Mama,” she said, sending a quick look Danny’s way. “But we’re needed elsewhere.”

  “Very well, then,” her mother sighed.

  Phoebe wrenched open the door and flew into the hall, Danny following her. As soon as the door was shut behind her, she breathed a sigh of relief. At the same time, she felt like an utter coward.

  “I should face her rather than avoiding the issue,” she said as they headed down the hall. “She’s going to find out eventually.”

  “I’ll be there when you tell her about us,” Danny said with a nod. He broke into a grin. “If only to see the explosion when she learns who her son-in-law will be.”

  Phoebe giggled as they started down the stairs. “Oh.” She glanced over her shoulder at Danny as they crossed the downstairs hallway and stepped outside. “What was it that you wanted to tell me about Mr. Dandie and Mr. Mercer?”

  Danny’s expression took on a sudden, vaguely anxious look. “I wanted to tell you that—”

  “Lady Darlington. What a pleasant coincidence.” As they stepped out into the street, they nearly ran headlong into Miss Lenore Garrett. “I was told this was where you lived.”

  Phoebe flinched at the sudden appearance of her new American friend but managed a smile for her all the same. Danny’s face pinched, and he rolled his eyes slightly, likely over being interrupted.

  “Miss Garrett,” Phoebe said, reminding herself to try again at some point to ask Danny about Dandie and Mercer. “How lovely and surprising to see you this morning.” She stopped herself from explaining that she should be addressed as Lady Phoebe, not Lady Darlington. Miss Garrett was American and couldn’t be expected to keep track of titles, and soon it wouldn’t matter anyhow. Soon she would just be Mrs. Long.

  “I came because I was struck by the most brilliant way to wheedle a confession about the fire out of Lord Cosgrove overnight,” Miss Garrett said, a devilish light in her eyes. She lost her impishness for a moment as she glanced across the street at the frightening hulk of the burned-out pub. “I’m so very sorry for your loss, Mr. Long,” she went on. “Hearing about it is one thing, but I’ve been standing here with a broken heart, surveying the damage, for a good five minutes now.” She sighed. “It’s made me more determined than ever to bring Lord Cosgrove to justice.”

  “Thank you, Miss Garrett,” Danny said, seeming not to have a clue what else he could say.

  “We were just on our way to the offices of Dandie & Wirth in The City, seeing as Danny has an idea about how we could enlist their help to accomplish the same end,” Phoebe said.

  “What a lovely coincidence,” Miss Garrett beamed broadly, hooking her arm through Phoebe’s and starting down the street with her. “I can accompany you and tell you all about this plan I’ve conceived as we walk.”

  Phoebe felt as though Miss Garrett were sweeping her away into a whirlwind of mischief as she escorted her down the street. Danny followed behind, watching the two of them with a look of pure amusement. If it weren’t for the fact that she felt completely swept up and carried away by Miss Garrett, she would have marveled at how many outspoken people she suddenly had in her life.

  “This is the plan,” Miss Garrett said as they headed south along the major thoroughfares. “We invite Lord Cosgrove to tea. Just when he’s feeling content and comfortable, we lead him on, asking leading questions, pretending as though we already have proof of his guilt, and implying that his reputation is already damaged and coming clean with the full details of what happened is the only way to redeem himself.”

  Behind them, Danny barked a laugh as though the idea were the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard.

  Phoebe didn’t disagree with him. “Are you certain that would work?” she asked, not wanting to insult her new friend.

  Miss Garrett only seemed to brighten. “It worked for my father,” she said as they turned a corner onto a less crowded street and marched on. “Daddy was a poker player in his younger days, you see. Before heading west and setting up his ranch in Wyoming. He always said that the best way to win a high-stakes game was to bluff better than your opponents and to learn their tells. He used that many a time when solving disputes on his ranch. There are a pair of sisters in Haskell who are just dreadful—Vivian and Melinda Bonneville. Vivian is an absolute pill, but she’s as ruthless as they come. She had some of her ranch hands swipe my father’s prize bull in the middle of the night so that he could get amorous with some of her cows and save her the cost of buying a bull of her own. She thought she could call the whole thing an accident and say that the bull got out on its own.”

  “Oh.” Phoebe blinked rapidly, feeling as though she were getting a glimpse into some sort of fantastical, fairy tale world that was far from real.

  “It backfired on her, of course,” Miss Garrett went on. “But the way Daddy proved to everyone that Vivian stole that bull on purpose was by hosting a party and acting like everyone already knew. By the end of the evening, Vivian had confessed her plot to anyone who would listen. She tried to make it sound like she was the victim, but Vivian isn’t particularly bright.”

  “And you think that Cosgrove and your Miss Vivian are cut from the same cloth, do you?” Danny asked behind them, barely able to keep the amusement out of his voice.

  “I do,” Miss Garrett said. “There’s no one as stupid as someone who thinks too highly of themselves but who has done something underhanded.”

  Phoebe didn’t know what to say to that line of logic. There might have been some truth to it, particularly in the details Miss Garrett laid out as they wound their way through London to Dandie & Wirth’s offices. Danny managed to steer them in the right direction, even though Phoebe and Miss Garret walked ahead of him. Miss Garrett was just finishing the last details of the story of her father’s plan as they stepped into a nondescript office building and on to a modest-sized office that looked as though it was in the process of being redecorated.

  “Mr. Long. How lovely to see you again.” They were greeted by an elegant young man in a fashionable grey suit with the most arresting blue eyes and perfect, pale complexion that Phoebe had ever seen.

  He wasn’t the man who truly caught her attention, though. Standing beside him with what looked like a book of swatches was a slightly taller man who bore a striking resemblance to him, only he wore a pair of neat spectacles. Phoebe knew him all too well.

  “Mr. Mercer,” she said dropping into a curtsy on instinct. She’d had no idea that the Mr. Mercer Danny had mentioned—and that could only be who the well-dressed man in front of her was—was in any way connected to Mr. Phineas Mercer, one of many gentlemen her mother had attempted to throw her at over the years. Though as far as she knew, Phineas Mercer was little more than the son of a baronet whose family money had run out.

  “Lady Phoebe.” Mr. Phineas Mercer set aside the swatch book he was holding to greet her. “What a pleasure to see you again.” He took her hand and greeted her with perfect elegance.

  “You two know each other?” the other Mr. Mercer asked, a spark of delight and calculation in his eyes.

  “Lady Phoebe and I are both o
n the fringes of the same circles,” Mr. Phineas Mercer said, shifting his attention to Miss Garrett. “And Miss Garrett and I met at Lady O’Shea’s ball last week.”

  “I remember,” Miss Garrett said, taking Mr. Mercer’s hand and inching closer to him as he bent over it. “I seem to recall you asking me quite a few impertinent questions as we danced.”

  “Impertinent questions are the very best sort,” Mr. Mercer replied, smiling at her.

  Phoebe’s eyes went wide, and she stole a quick look at Danny. In all the time she’d known him, Mr. Phineas Mercer had only ever been a dull, reclusive man that stood at the edges of social gatherings, watching without participating. Not once had she seen him look as warmly at anyone as he did at Miss Garrett. If he’d looked half as fetching at any of the events where Phoebe had encountered him, she might have considered her mother’s insistence that she make herself biddable to him. Though the thought seemed ridiculous to her now, newly engaged to Danny as she was.

  The entire, intriguing situation was interrupted as two men, one of them Mr. John Dandie, entered the office in the middle of a conversation. That conversation stopped abruptly once they saw how full the office was.

  “It appears we have guests,” the man with Mr. Dandie said, stepping forward to greet Danny with a smile. He had dark hair and eyes and had a businesslike air of competence about him.

  “Danny. Good to see you again,” Mr. Dandie said, moving to shake Danny’s hand when the other man stepped back. “And Lady Phoebe.” He moved to greet Phoebe. “This is my partner, Mr. David Wirth,” he introduced the dark-haired man.

  Phoebe noted the slight flinch and what she could have sworn was a hint of jealousy from the other Mr. Mercer.

  “And our newly-hired office manager, Mr. Lionel Mercer,” Mr. Dandie said, formally introducing the man.

  “It’s a pleasure.” Phoebe smiled at him. “And this is my friend, Miss Lenore Garrett.”

  Short though they were, the necessary round of introductions felt like an interminable delay to Phoebe. She was grateful when Danny burst out with, “These two lovely ladies think they have a plan to corner Cosgrove into admitting he’s behind the fire that destroyed The Watchman. I remain unconvinced that Cosgrove would fall for anything so quaint and simple, though,” he finished, sending Phoebe a guilty look.

  She was stung that he would more or less call Miss Garrett’s plan silly, even if she half agreed.

  “What is the plan, then?” Mr. Wirth said, crossing his arms and tapping his lips with one finger as he prepared to listen.

  “The plan is a brilliant one,” Miss Garrett said with absolute confidence. “In a nutshell, we invite Lord Cosgrove to tea, converse as though we already know he was responsible, convince him everyone knows he was responsible and that the only way for him to redeem his reputation is to come clean about the whole thing.”

  Danny failed to hide his snort as Miss Garrett finished her explanation. Phoebe glanced warily at him. Charmingly, he looked duly chastised under her scolding look.

  “It’s a sweet plan,” he said with a wince. “I’m just not convinced a man like Cosgrove would fall for schoolroom tactics.”

  Mr. Dandie and Mr. Wirth looked as though they were inclined to agree.

  “It’s a brilliant plan,” Miss Garrett defended herself. “Don’t you think so, Mr. Mercer?”

  Mr. Phineas Mercer looked as though he were suddenly on the spot. But it was Mr. Lionel Mercer who answered, “That is a brilliant plan.”

  Everyone glanced to him with varying degrees of incredulity and doubt, but Lionel’s gaze remained unfocused, as though he were thinking through the plan.

  “It is simplistic and juvenile,” he went on, tapping his lips in what was perhaps an unconscious imitation of Mr. Wirth. “But so is Lord Cosgrove. Any man of his age who adds color to his hair to appear younger and wears those ridiculous clothes he puts on is vain to the point of idiocy. Men like that will scramble to protect their reputations before they stop to think about what they say. And Cosgrove has more than the average man to defend himself against.”

  “So you actually think the plan would work?” Mr. Wirth asked, seeming both impressed and reticent as he studied Lionel.

  Lionel shrugged. “Yes, I think it might. The nobility can be painfully obtuse about matters of reputation sometimes.”

  Phoebe agreed with the comment and nearly laughed when Mr. Dandie and Mr. Phineas Mercer glanced anxiously in her direction, as though Lionel’s words might offend her. “I happen to agree,” she said with a shrug.

  “It’s settled, then,” Miss Garrett said with a satisfied nod. “I’ll make arrangements for Lord Cosgrove to be invited to tea, either at Hopewell House, where I’m staying with my fiancé’s sister, or elsewhere.”

  “You’re betrothed to Lord Frederick Harrington,” Lionel said, not as a question, but sounding as though he were filing away a particularly odd piece of information for later use.

  “I am,” Miss Garrett answered, then sent a coy look to Mr. Phineas Mercer. “We have a special arrangement, Freddy and I.”

  Phoebe couldn’t begin to understand what the trio must have been thinking, only that all three of them suddenly looked as though they were speaking in a code that the rest of them didn’t understand. Mr. Wirth appeared too lost in thought to care about the conversation, but Mr. Dandie grinned and rolled his eyes.

  “I’m glad you stopped by the office this morning, Danny,” he said, stepping into the middle of their group and gesturing for Danny to break off to the side with him. Phoebe went with them. “I’ve just heard word that the parliamentary committee charged with deciding on the Earl’s Court development deal is close to making their decision.”

  “Are they?” Danny’s expression lit with an entirely different light of hope. Phoebe marveled as his entire countenance shifted to that of the astute businessman taking care of his investments. “Have you heard anything about which proposal they’re favoring?”

  “From what I’ve been able to find out, it’s down to you and Cosgrove,” Mr. Dandie said with a slight shrug. “We’ll know more in the coming days. I think you have a solid shot at it.”

  Danny smiled, though there was a hint of ruthlessness to his look. “Good,” he said. “I would love nothing more than to beat Cosgrove at his game once and for all and show him and the rest of the aristocracy where the future of this country really lies.”

  Chapter 16

  In the past, Danny had taken a certain amount of enjoyment in dressing up in fancy clothes. Society was nothing if not laughably strict about how people from different classes dressed, and wearing clothes that were considered finer than a man of his status should have was one of his favorite ways to tweak the noses of those who still felt that he should know his place and stick to it.

  The next afternoon, however, as he paced the main room of Phoebe’s flat, waiting for her to finish last-minute preparations for the mad tea party they were about to embark on at Hopewell House, all he felt was that his collar was too tight and itchy, his new shoes pinched, and he looked like a trussed-up fool instead of the man he knew himself to be.

  “Good heavens, Mr. Long,” Phoebe’s mother groaned, staring daggers at him from the small writing desk to one side of the room, where she was busy spewing out a wealth of what was likely gossip to who knew who in letter form. “You fidget like a child. If you’re going to parade around pretending you are your betters, you mustn’t squirm.”

  “I am very sorry, madam,” Danny fired back, too loud and irritated to sound polite.

  Phoebe’s mother flinched at his harsh tone, her eyes going wide. Danny felt bad for offending her for all of two seconds before she sniffed and said, “If you were my son, I would turn you over my knee and smack you until you knew how to speak to your betters.”

  The vehemence of her reply, giving as good as she’d gotten, and the image her words raised in Danny’s mind nearly had him sputtering with surprise laughter. Phoebe’s mother was an absolute p
ill and a harpy, but deep in the back of Danny’s mind, he began to wonder what kind of magnificent, sturdy woman she would have made if she’d been born low and had to fight her way up. He had a feeling she could have mastered that fight.

  “I’m almost ready, I promise,” Phoebe said breathlessly as she hurried out of her bedroom, fastening some sort of pretty bauble into her hair.

  Danny’s heart dropped to his gut and spread a decidedly carnal sort of warmth through him as he studied her. She was far and away the most beautiful woman he’d ever known. She wore her pink ball gown again, though she’d done something to it to make it more suitable for daytime hours. Her blond hair was caught up in an attractive style at the back of her head, and the hairpin she’d stuck in it was the perfect touch to make her look fresh and inviting. But it was the flash of excitement in her blue eyes, the determination that radiated from her, and, of course, her rosy lips—which he’d kissed into oblivion not more than a few hours before, in spite of Phoebe’s insistence that they needed to be careful lest her mother discover their indiscretions at any moment—that captivated him most.

  “You look lovely,” he said, well aware that the way he spoke made him seem like a lovesick schoolboy.

  Phoebe blushed under the compliment, smiling in that delicious, coy way of hers. “Thank you,” she said as she headed to a small table by the window to fetch her purse. “You look quite handsome yourself.”

  Danny wanted to say more. Words didn’t seem to be enough to describe how perfect Phoebe was to him. But before he could catch her in her flight around the room to gather her things and sweep her into his arms for a kiss that would likely make her mother pass out, there was a knock on the flat’s open door.

  “Message just arrived for you, Danny,” Umbridge said, holding up a small, folded piece of paper.

  “I don’t know why you insisted on keeping that door open while you wait,” Phoebe’s mother said with a long-suffering sigh. “I detest being interrupted when I am in the middle of an exceedingly private correspondence.”