Three Times the Scandal

www.ai-press.net

Three Times the Scandal

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

Copyright © 2011 Madelynne Ellis

Edited by Allison Jacobson

Photography and cover art by Les Byerley

Electronic book Publication THREE TIMES THE SCANDAL April 2011

This book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ai Press, 10435 Green Trail Drive N, Boynton Beach, FL 33436

Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/)

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously
.

Three Times the Scandal

Madelynne Ellis

Dedication

To all at Romance Divas—for supporting me through the lows and highs of the publishing world.

Author Note

Giles & Fortuna first appear in
Phantasmagoria
.

Chapter One

31st January 1801 – Darleston House, Knightsbridge, London.

“
Isn’t it marvellous?”

Fortuna Allenthorpe forced a benign smile for her younger sibling, and wished she felt half her sister’s delight. “It’s grand,” she remarked. “Truly, grand.” Indeed, the ballroom was a fantastical paradise, dressed with vast swathes of silken fabrics of emerald and gold, and enormous potted ferns. Their hostess, the Countess of Onnerley, wore a turquoise silken turban, decorated with a single star-like jewel and six enormous ostrich plumes. With a little imagination Fortuna could easily imagine the ballroom as part of a vast Persian palace. The moon outside blazing over a desert city in a cloudless sky, instead of inadequately lighting the churned up slush they’d driven through to get here.

“
Shall we go in?” Alicia, the closest of her seven sisters to her in age, gently squeezed her hand.

Fortuna nodded, though she felt sick to her stomach. “I rather suppose we must.”

Alicia gripped her hand a little tighter. “You know you do look awfully pale, perhaps you oughtn’t to have come out.”

“
Nonsense, Alicia.” Their mother, a short stout woman, bustled between them, breaking them apart. “It’s merely anticipatory nerves, and well her stomach might flutter. It’s not every day a girl can expect to be engaged, nor a mother so delighted. I’m quite aflutter myself.”

Fortuna flicked open her fan and tried to waft away her misgivings along with the colour in her rapidly heating cheeks. Beneath her rigidly laced stays and narrow petticoats, perspiration slicked her skin. Why had nobody listened to her protests? Even Aunt Beatrice, their chaperone, had approved the match before she took her annual Christmas visit to her family in Norfolk. Why couldn’t they see that it would be a terrible marriage?

If only there were a way to flee into the night, avoid the proposal altogether.

“
It won’t be long now, darling. I expect we’ll hear him announced.”

Fortuna peered at her mother over the flounced edge of her fan. She hoped Sir Hector’s carriage got stuck in snowdrift and never arrived.

Was it wrong to wish for a husband who excited her, whose very presence made her tingle with excitement? She pursed her lips. Sir Hector Macleane was not, and never would be that man. Twice her age, over large and a dreadful bore, the only reaction he provoked in her was disgust.

His title and impressive estate had swayed her parents’ hearts far more than her protests, which they dismissed as natural maidenly reservations, but then, as she’d repeatedly said to herself in the mirror, they didn’t have to live with him.

“
Ah! Girls.” Mrs. Allenthorpe nudged her five attending daughters to attention, before swirling gracefully on the spot. “Good evening, Sir Hector.” She extended her hand for him to take, and dropped into a low curtsey. A formality quickly replicated by her four younger daughters. Fortuna remained rigidly upright, a wave of nausea almost choking her as Sir Hector diligently turned towards her.

“
Miss Allenthorpe, I’m enchanted as always.”

Gracious, but the man was huge. Built like a wild boar. Her nose barely reached his chest, which put her on the same level as his collection of gaudy brooches, each an exquisite example of what not to do with an array of precious gems.

The heat drained from Fortuna’s skin as Sir Hector brushed his dry lips across her knuckles. She tried to smile, but it was no use, the thought of him heaving himself over her in bed, touching her with his club-like hands filled her with horror. Aghast, she cast her gaze downwards, hoping he would mistakenly think her demure.

Sir Hector coughed to clear his throat. “Miss Allenthorpe, I’ve a gift. If you’ll forgive the impudence.”

No, not here, not now.
It would be a deal more difficult to refuse him in front of her expectant family. Luckily, when she squinted at her palm, the object was a delicate mother-of-pearl comb and not a betrothal ring. Fortuna stared at the shiny waves of pearlescent pink and felt relief wash through her limbs like a drug.

“
Sir, it’s exquisite, but I can’t possibly accept this.”

“
Nonsense.” Mrs. Allenthorpe snatched the comb from Fortuna’s hand and with a sharp stab pushed it into her daughter’s elaborate hair arrangement. “My daughter is extremely flattered by your generosity, Sir Hector.”

“
Oh, Tunie, it’s lovely,” Mercy, the plainest of the five girls, announced. “The very palest pink and a perfect match for your sash. How clever of you, Sir Hector.”

“
Very pretty,” said Mae, the youngest, her lips jealously pursed and her arms folded across her ample breasts. Her huff lasted no more than a second.

Fortuna gently eased the comb away from her scalp as her sisters continued to twitter. As beautiful as the gift was, she wished she could pass it on to one of them and Sir Hector with it. Mercy at least found his lapidary monologues interesting. They’d have suited far more as a couple.

Sir Hector gave another of his intrusive coughs. “Perhaps you’d oblige me with a turn about the room, Miss Allenthorpe.”

“
Of course.” Given the extravagant present and her mother’s expectations, she could hardly refuse.

Sir Hector laid her hand upon his sleeve, and with her tucked against his side, plunged them into the crowd.

* * * * *

“
Remind me why I’m here.”

Giles Dovecote prowled the line of wallflowers sitting along the edge of the ballroom with his head bowed and a snarl upon his lips. Fashionable London might like these assemblies, but he was done with them. He had no intention of finding himself a wife; in fact the very thought was abhorrent.

“
You’re here,” remarked his flame-haired companion, allowing a smile to slide across his expressive lips, “because the Countess insisted upon it, and it’s not done to refuse my mother.”

“
Step-mother, please.” Giles turned his blistering glare upon his companion in time to see Robert, Lord Darleston hide his smile. They were all still getting used to the new arrangement. The previous Countess of Onnerley had sadly passed away three years ago, allowing for three blissful years of masculine pursuits. Alas, no more.

“
She’s determined to make an impression, Giles. So you’d best gird yourself for several more evenings of being inconvenienced.”

“
Hmph!” Giles reached the end of the row of maidens and intercepted the drinks tray. Having relieved the footman of two glasses and knocked back the contents of both, he found a perch on the arm of a vacant chaise. “I have to say, I preferred your ‘mother’ when her parties involved masks and naught much else. All this simpering frippery sets my stomach off.”

“
Likely it’s the drink causing that upset. Slow down, my friend.” Darleston patted him on the back. “Else I may have to roll you down the steps later, and I’m in the mood for some sport, not a night in the gutter.”

“
Buttonhole lane?” Giles quirked an eyebrow.

“
Aye, if nothing finer presents. I need to get away from here. It’s not easy sitting down to dinner every night knowing that both you and your brother have split mutton with your new mama. I swear I almost had an apoplexy when the old roué brought her home.”

“
A shock all round, I imagine.” A memory came to Giles of the Darleston twins entwined around the body of the nude and sultry countess in her former domain on Great Russell Street, at Mrs. Hutchins House of Beguilement. Hell, it wasn’t as if he hadn’t been there too, along with just about every other young blood in London.

“
Actually, I’m not sure what the old goat’s done to her, but forcing us to watch them merry-make is damned outrageous.”

Giles dropped onto his feet and they began to stroll again, ignoring the crowd, which now pressed in around them. ‘How is your brother taking it?’

“
You know Neddy. He couldn’t give a rat’s arse, and she’s persuaded my father to increase his allowance.”

The remark provoked a laugh, and several scandalized tuts from those around them. Darleston muttered a hasty apology to one of society’s famous old harridans, and tugged Giles away from the ladies and towards a group of younger men.

“
You can’t fault her tactics,” Giles remarked. They passed the footman again, and he helped himself to another glass. Neddy had always been the knave of their little group, but since the Marquis of Pennerley’s departure from London at the start of October, Neddy had been determinedly trying to succeed him as society’s most eminent rakehell, an altogether costly enterprise. Alas, the young fool hadn’t grasped that Pennerley’s personal magnetism and wit had assured his position, as much as any reputation for vice or misdeed.

“
And how is Lucy taking it?” Giles asked. He couldn’t imagine Lady Darleston responding at all well to being ousted from her position of power in the household.

Darleston’s expression remained studiously fixed, although Giles detected a slight tightening of his friend’s brows.

“
I’ve hardly thought to enquire. I’ve been doing my damnedest to avoid her. You know there’s no love lost between us, Giles.”

“
Aye. I know it.” It never ceased to amaze him how cruel fate had been in bringing the pair together.

“
Oh, piss!” Darleston clamped a hand to his face. Startled by the outburst, Giles looked about, expecting to find Neddy compromising some girl, or Lady Darleston almost upon them, only to discover a far worse reality bearing towards them. Clemencè Morton, skin like porcelain, hair a glorious shade of burnished chestnut, and a pretty little nose that completed her doll-like perfection, was tacking determinedly through the crowd.