“Oh no, I know that very well,” replied Frances earnestly. “I’ve turned away Mr. Whittington and Sir Thomas Philpot and even Lord Dartmond, although my mama was not very pleased by the last one. Only when I explained to her that you had turned him down as the very lowest of fortune hunters did she relent.”
The Earl of Dartmond was at least forty, with a pernicious gambling habit. Mrs. Lockwood was a fool if she even considered him for her daughter, earl or not. “I’m sure you’ll be very happy you did, when you meet a kinder gentleman who cares for you.”
The younger girl nodded, her face brightening again. “I know! I know, because I have met him! Oh, Miss Weston, he’s the handsomest man you ever saw. Always so smartly attired, and the very best horseman I’ve ever seen, and a music lover—he listened to me play for almost an hour the last time he called, and said I was a marvel on the pianoforte.” Frances looked quite rapturous; she was very fond of the pianoforte and practiced for an hour each day, something Penelope couldn’t fathom surviving, let alone enjoying. “And what’s more, he’s heir to an earl and has no need of my fortune. Mama is so pleased, and Papa, too. He’s been calling on me for at least a fortnight now, always with a small gift or posy, and he’s the most charming, delightful gentleman I could imagine!”
Penelope nodded, hoping it was all true. “How wonderful. I told you there were true gentlemen out there. They just require some hunting.”
Frances laughed almost giddily. “There are! My other friends were so very scandalized when I refused to receive Mr. Whittington, because he’s the most graceful dancer even if he is horribly in debt, but you were entirely correct. I credit your wise advice for the happiness I now feel—indeed, for the very great match I’m about to make! May I present you to him? He’s to attend tonight.”
For a moment Penelope felt like saying no. It was bad enough that she had to feel old and unwanted next to Frances. Her friend was sweet and kind, but also somewhat silly and naïve. It was bad enough to see Joan and Abigail marry deliciously handsome men; Penelope loved them and wanted them to be happy. She also wanted Frances to be happy, but tonight it just felt a bit hard to see Frances find her ideal man and be swept off her feet in her very first year in London, while Penelope had been overlooked for three years now by all but the most calculating fortune hunters.
But that was petty. She mustered another smile. “Of course. You know I always like to meet handsome men.” Frances’s eyes widened at the last, and Penelope hastily added, “I’m especially pleased to meet one who adores you.”
Frances’s smile returned. “He does, Miss Weston, I really believe he does! He’s even hinted that he means to speak to my papa soon.” A very pretty blush colored her cheeks. “How should I respond, if he asks me about that?”
“If you want to marry him, you should tell your father that he’s the man for you. And stand by your conviction,” she added. “Parents may not always understand your heart, so you must be sure to tell them emphatically.”
“Yes, of course.” Frances nodded. “I hope you approve of him, Miss Weston.”
“Your approval is what matters.” Penelope wondered if she had ever been so anxious for someone else’s validation of her opinion. She would have to ask Abigail, the next time she saw her sister.
“I see him,” said Frances with a little cry of nervous delight. “Oh my, he’s so handsome! And his uniform is very dashing! Don’t you think so?”
Penelope followed her companion’s gaze and saw a group of the King’s Life Guards, making their entrance with some swagger. Instinctively her mouth flattened. She’d met a few of them last summer, when one of their number, Benedict Lennox, Lord Atherton, had courted her sister. Penelope was sure he’d never been in love with Abigail, and when Abigail confessed her love for another man, Lord Atherton reacted like a thwarted child. Penelope hoped he wasn’t in the crowd, but then she caught sight of his dark head.
She repressed the urge to walk the other way. She hadn’t seen him since they last parted, when he’d reluctantly helped solve a years-old mystery that had tarred the name of the man Abigail loved. Sebastian Vane had stood accused of stealing a large sum of money from Lord Atherton’s father, and Atherton himself had done nothing to disprove it—even though he’d once been Sebastian’s dearest friend. Penelope grudgingly admitted that Atherton had been fairly decent after that, but she still thought he was insincere and always had an eye out for his own interest, whatever truth or justice demanded.
It wasn’t until Atherton turned and looked toward them that Penelope realized she was staring at him. She quickly averted her gaze and turned her body slightly, hoping he hadn’t actually noticed her. However, that only gave her a good view of Frances’s face, which was glowing with joy.
Because . . . Penelope closed her eyes, praying she was wrong. Because her brain was fitting together details, just moments too late, and they were adding up to one dreadful conclusion. Atherton was heir to the Earl of Stratford, who was a very wealthy man. He was appallingly handsome, which Penelope only acknowledged with deep disgust. And when she stole a quick glance under her eyelashes, she saw that he was heading directly for the pair of them.
Oh Lord. What could she say now?
“Miss Lockwood.” Penelope gritted her teeth as he bowed. His voice was smooth and rich, the sort of voice a woman wanted to hear whispering naughty things in her ear. “How delightful to see you this evening.”
“I am the one delighted, my lord.” Blushing and beaming, Frances dipped a curtsy. “May I present to you my good friend, Miss Penelope Weston?”
His gaze moved to her without a flicker of surprise. He’d seen her, and was obviously more prepared for the meeting than she was. “Of course. But Miss Weston and I are already acquainted.”
Penelope curtsied as Frances gaped. “Indeed, my lord.”
“I—I didn’t know that,” stammered Frances, looking anxious again. “Are you very good friends? Oh dear, I wish I had known!”
“No, we hardly know each other,” said Penelope before he could answer. “It was a passing acquaintance, really.”
Atherton’s brilliant blue eyes lingered on her a moment before returning to Frances. “The Westons own property near Stratford Court.”
“Then you’re merely neighbors?” asked Frances hopefully. “In Richmond?”
“A river divides us,” Penelope assured her. “A very wide river.”
Atherton glanced at her sharply, but thankfully didn’t argue. “Yes, in Richmond. Unfortunately I’m kept here in London most of the year. I believe my sister Samantha is better acquainted with Miss Weston.”
“Indeed,” said Penelope with a pointed smile. “I hope Lady Samantha is well.”
“Yes,” said Lord Atherton after a moment’s pause. “She is.”
Too late Penelope remembered about Sam-
antha. In their zeal to clear Sebastian Vane’s name so Abigail could marry him, the Weston girls had inadvertently resurrected a dark secret of Samantha’s, one her brother had claimed would lead to dire consequences for her. Penelope hadn’t wanted to cause trouble for Samantha, but Sebastian had been accused of murder and thievery; Abigail’s happiness depended on exonerating him, and Samantha was the only person who could help. Penelope cringed to have brought it up, but Atherton did say she was well, so the consequences must not have been as bad as he’d predicted. Still, she did truly like Samantha—far more than the lady’s brother—and she was sorry to have been so cavalier with her name.
For a tense moment they seemed frozen there, Penelope biting her tongue, Frances looking troubled, and Atherton staring at her with a strange intensity. He shook it off first. “Miss Lockwood, I hope you’ve saved me a dance.”
Frances’s smile returned, although a little less brilliantly than before. “Of course, my lord. I am free the next two.”
“Excellent.” He gazed warmly at her, and Fra
nces seemed to sway on her feet.
Penelope had to work hard to keep from rolling her eyes. How could she escape this? Thankfully she caught sight of a familiar face across the room, causing her to smile widely in relief. “You must excuse me, I see a dear friend just arriving. Miss Lockwood, Lord Atherton.” She bobbed a quick farewell and all but ran across the room.
Olivia Townsend was one of Penelope’s favorite people in the world. She was only a few years older than Abigail, and had been like an older sister to the two Weston girls for as long as Penelope could remember. Olivia’s family had lived near the Westons and all four children had been fast friends. But while Penelope’s family had prospered—greatly—since then, Olivia’s had not. At a fairly young age, she’d made a hasty marriage of dubious happiness to a charming but feckless fellow, Henry Townsend, who managed to run through his modest fortune with shocking speed before his death a few years ago. Since then, Olivia had lived very modestly. It was a surprise to see her here tonight, in fact, as she didn’t often attend balls.
“Olivia!”
Her friend was scanning the room and didn’t seem to have noticed her approach; she jumped at Penelope’s exclamation. “Oh,” she said in a constricted voice. “You startled me.”
She blinked. “I can see that. Whom were you expecting, an ogre?”
For a moment Olivia’s face froze, as if she had in fact been on guard, but then she smiled ruefully. With a shake of her head, she turned her back to the room and squeezed Penelope’s hand. “Forgive me; I was woolgathering. Are you enjoying the ball?”
“Well enough.” Penelope peered closely at her. “What’s wrong? You looked worried.”
Olivia waved one hand. “It was nothing. How kind of you to leave your friends and join me.”
Penelope barely kept back her snort. “I don’t know how I could have stayed. You’ll never guess who Miss Lockwood’s new suitor is.”
“Who?”
“Lord Atherton,” whispered Penelope, after a cautious glance backward. She’d already let her temper get the better of her once tonight, and wouldn’t put it past him to overhear every slighting word she spoke about him.
Olivia looked surprised. “Atherton? The gentleman who courted—?”
“The same,” said Penelope grimly. “And my sister felt so cruel to turn him down! I shall have to write to her at once and assure her that, far from suffering a malaise, he’s found a younger, sillier girl to marry.”
“Now, Pen, you don’t know that. He may be deeply attached to her.”
She couldn’t stop the snort this time. “She is certainly attached to him. He’s the perfect man, in her telling. I don’t know how I could have held my composure if I’d known who she was talking about. He sits and listens to her practice the pianoforte—can you imagine?”
“Perhaps he enjoys it.” Penelope widened her eyes in patent disbelief. “Perhaps he’s so smitten with her, he would be content just to sit and gaze at her,” Olivia added. “It could happen.”
“Huh.” Penelope made a face. Just the thought of Lord Atherton sitting and staring at her was enough to make her skin prickle.
“Well, it’s Miss Lockwood’s cross to bear,” said Olivia practically.
“But if he marries her, I’ll have to see him from time to time.” Frances might be young and naïve, but she was endearing all the same, and Penelope did like her.
Olivia laughed and tucked Penelope’s arm through hers. “Perhaps she’ll become disenchanted and change her mind about him.”
She caught sight of Lord Atherton, leading Frances about the floor in a quadrille. Frances was fairly radiating adoration as she gazed up at him. It took Penelope some effort to quell the urge to run over and warn Frances not to fall for his very handsome smile, or athletic figure, or disgustingly perfect face. “For her sake as well as mine,” she grumbled, “I hope so.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
CAROLINE LINDEN was born a reader, not a writer. She earned a math degree from Harvard University and wrote computer software before turning to writing fiction. Twelve years, sixteen books, three Red Sox championships, and one dog later, she has never been happier with her decision. Her books have won the NEC Reader’s Choice Beanpot Award, the Daphne du Maurier Award, the NJRW Golden Leaf Award, and RWA’s RITA® Award. Since she never won any prizes in math, she takes this as a sign that her decision was also a smart one. Visit her online at www.CarolineLinden.com.
Discover great authors, exclusive offers, and more at hc.com.
By Caroline Linden
Love in the Time of Scandal
All’s Fair in Love and Scandal
It Takes a Scandal
Love and Other Scandals
The Way to a Duke’s Heart
Blame it on Bath
One Night in London
I Love the Earl
You Only Love Once
For Your Arms Only
A View to a Kiss
A Rake’s Guide to Seduction
What a Rogue Desires
What a Gentleman Wants
What a Woman Needs
COPYRIGHT
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Excerpt from Love in the Time of Scandal copyright © 2015 by P.F. Belsley.
ALL’S FAIR IN LOVE AND SCANDAL. Copyright © 2015 by P.F. Belsley. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
EPub Edition APRIL 2015 ISBN: 9780062419071
Print Edition ISBN: 9780062419088
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