The Lady's Guide to Scandal

by Emmanuelle de Maupassant

  As it was, he popped in every morning at eleven, and every afternoon at four. However, to Cornelia’s grudging disappointment, he sat very properly on the sofa opposite, without even so much as kissing her hand.

  Clearly, as an ‘invalid’ she no longer exerted the same allure.

  With that dismal thought, she sampled the orange fondant and a nut crackle and was contemplating the Turkish Delight when the door opened and her aunts bustled in—looking mightily pleased with themselves.

  "Oh, Fry’s Selection; my favourite.” Occupying the other end of the chaise, Blanche helped herself to a caramel centre.

  “Have you been keeping amused, darling?” Eustacia dropped a kiss on her forehead before taking a seat.

  “I see she has.” Blanche tapped the cover of the book sitting uppermost on the pile next to Cornelia. “—thanks to Desert Adventures. Do tell me when you reach the part where the sheik rescues her from the sandstorm and they take refuge in the caves. I’m longing to hear your thoughts on that delightful thing he does with his—”

  “Aunt Blanche!” Blushing, Cornelia snatched up the book and buried it under her skirts. “I’ve only read two chapters and I’m not at all sure—”

  Eustacia interrupted. “Don’t hound her, Blanche. I told you it mightn’t be to Cornelia’s taste.”

  “Twaddle! Of course she’ll like it.” Blanche’s eyes lit mischievously. “Besides which, it’s extremely educational. One can hardly embark on a fling without a little extra knowledge stored up.”

  “A fling? Is that what people are saying?” A flush of heat rose from Cornelia’s chest, flaring through to the tips of her ears.

  “Now, dear, there’s no need to be anxious.” Blanche smiled benignly. “No one is speculating that you’ve been having an affair, although such things may be overlooked in the circumstances. You’re a widow after all, dear; not a debutante, and Mr. Burnell is clearly head-over-heels. Besides which, one might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb, and I’d vouch Mr. Burnell is hung far better than a—”

  “Stop!” Cornelia covered her ears. “I can assure you that I’ve no intention to… I really don’t wish to…” She swallowed hard.

  The baron had arrived on the scene mere moments after Burnell had stepped down from the sleigh.

  Had he seen something?

  They’d both been so diverted they hadn’t heard the other sleigh’s approach until the last moment.

  “I just wouldn’t! And I can assure you there’s no formal arrangement between us.”

  “Do you want one?” Eustacia looked at her beadily.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. We’ve only just met. He knows nothing about me, and I only know what he’s willing to let me see. That’s no basis for wedlock.”

  “There are plenty who’d disagree.” Her aunt looked thoughtful. “Knowing too much about the other person isn’t always for the best.”

  “Well, it’s not my idea of marriage!” Cornelia closed her eyes, making herself count to ten. “And I won’t be having a fling, or an affair, or any sort of furtive liaison.”

  Aunt Blanche looked crestfallen. “Really, Cornelia, you’ll be much more content when you care less about what other people think. As for the rest, why not throw caution to the wind and do what makes you happy?”

  “Like my mother, you mean?” Cornelia couldn’t help her irritation. “She didn’t care, and look what happened to her.”

  “That’s not at all the same thing, dearest, as I’m sure you know. Your mother was already married, and had a duty to you and your late father. Perhaps she was in love with that artist fellow, but I’m inclined to think she acted rashly and would have come to regret it, once the money from her jewels had been spent.”

  “Blanche is right,” added Eustacia. “You mustn’t compare yourself in that way. Naturally, you needn’t marry again if you don’t wish to. Look at how contented we are darling, and with all the freedom in the world—but there are other sorts of happiness. That’s your decision to make, Cornelia dear, but please think carefully about what you want, or you may waste an awful lot of time chasing the wrong things.”

  What did she want?

  Children to love and marriage to a dependable husband?

  A man who treated her as his equal, who respected her, and whose heart was kind?

  Someone who would encourage her to pursue her own interests, and whom she could support in return.

  A union of mutual affection and regard, forged for a life-time.

  When had her list gotten so long?

  Could she say goodbye to all that and throw herself into a passionate dalliance which couldn’t possibly come to anything, with a man who’d made it clear he never intended to commit his heart?

  “You look tired dear.” Eustacia placed her hand to Cornelia’s cheek. “We’ll leave you be and send Nancy with a pot of tea.”

  Cornelia managed a smile. “There’s really no need. I’m well, truly. It’s just that there’s so much to think about and I’m not at all sure…”

  As her aunts were departing, however, Burnell appeared.

  Cornelia’s heart gave a small flip.

  “Marvellous!” declared Blanche.

  “Perfect!” beamed Eustacia.

  There were other words Cornelia wished to apply as Mrs. Bongorge and Lord Fairlea made themselves known, two steps behind.

  “My dear!” Mrs. Bongorge wafted into the room, trailing a heavily musky scent. “You must be half-dead with boredom.”

  Her eyes alighted on the chocolates. “I see we are here just in time; so easy to fall into the trap of comforting eating, but a thousand chocolates will never lighten the soul as the companionship of valued friends.”

  Gritting her teeth, Cornelia replaced the lid and moved them aside.

  “We met Mr. Burnell on the stairs and were just advising him that he mustn’t pine for you, dear, while you are incapacitated. You wouldn’t wish it, I’m sure.” Mrs. Bongorge slid onto the sofa beside the object of her speech.

  “You must urge him to partake—even while you cannot. Lord Fairlea and I are both in agreement.” She gave a conspiratorial smile.

  “It’s almost Christmas, after all.” Lord Fairlea gave a small cough. “Rather a shame not to have some fun. Jolly good game of charades this afternoon. Mrs. Bongorge is awfully clever.”

  He cast a wistful look in her direction. “The children wrote book titles on pieces of paper, all folded within a hat. Colonel Faversham pulled out Memoirs of an Old Wig, and Lady Pippsbury The Matured Enchantress. Hilarious, I tell you!”

  “And, for me, The Nunnery for Coquettes.” Mrs. Bongorge gave a tinkling laugh. “Such things children think of, those little scallywags.”

  Cornelia watched as, turning in her seat, Mrs. Bongorge’s knee pressed to Burnell’s and she rested her fingers upon his arm. “We’re planning the forfeit game after dinner, which I’ve told Mr. Burnell he must play.”

  “I’m rarely one for party games.” He moved away slightly, but Mrs. Bongorge leant forward. Cornelia was certain her bosom was resting against his arm.

  “Ah, but this you would like.” The vile woman fluttered her eyelashes. “If we cannot tell which of your three statements is the truth, you may command any forfeit you wish.” She lowered her voice to a sensual whisper. “Even…a kiss.”

  Burnell looked momentarily taken aback and cast a glance at Cornelia.

  Mrs. Bongorge laughed again. “I see you look for permission from your beloved but if she is secure in your affections, there is nothing for her to fear. Besides which, there is so much mistletoe about, every gentleman in the house must be ready to oblige the ladies.”

  Cornelia felt an unnerving sensation welling within her. How dare that vampish tease entice Burnell with her wiles. He’d as good as told everyone they were to be affianced and still she threw herself at him. For the purposes of their contract, he belonged to her.

  In fact, he ought to have sat next to her rather than allowing that Bongorge hus
sy to smother him with her outrageous breasts.

  “But there are many ways to find entertainment on these long winter nights, are there not, Mr. Burnell?” Mrs. Bongorge went on. “And you must have so many stories to tell. I could sit until the small hours listening. I assure you I am quite indefatigable.”

  The tip of her tongue flicked out to lick her lower lip. “How I should love to hear how you hardened yourself to overcome your challenges.”

  Burnell’s eyebrows rose several inches. “I’m sure you’ve heard enough from me.”

  He looked to Cornelia, as if seeking her help, but she merely folded her arms. “Mrs. Mortmain, how is your foot this afternoon? Not aching too badly, I hope.”

  “Improving daily.” Cornelia gave a tight smile.

  “I know how painful a turned ankle can be. Did it myself in the early days at Palekmul, while exploring one of the underground chambers. It still gives me the odd twinge.”

  “Oh, my poor dear!” proclaimed Mrs. Bongorge. “Such injuries can plague one for years, but massage can work wonders.” She looked speculatively at his booted foot, as if contemplating offering the service on the spot.

  Cornelia contained the impulse to scream.

  “I’m sure you were brave about it, Mr. Burnell.” Again, she smiled through gritted teeth. “It was a badge of honour among the Maya, I understand, to endure excruciating pain. I seem to recall a ritual of bloodletting from the genitals. What was it they used?”

  She tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Stingray spines wasn’t it, or obsidian blades?”

  A look of horror passed over Lord Fairlea’s face and he promptly crossed his legs.

  Burnell made a show of wincing and laughed. “I tip my hat to you, Mrs. Mortmain. You’re exceedingly well-read.”

  “But look!” Mrs. Bongorge alighted on the pile of books on the chaise. “Here is Mrs. Mortmain’s reading material beside her. Perhaps she would let me see. We are all capable of improving ourselves, with the right tuition. Perhaps I shall learn something.”

  Before Cornelia could intervene, Mrs. Bongorge picked up The Lady’s Guide to All Things Useful and turned the pages with the tips of her fingers.

  “My goodness. What a strange little volume.” She wrinkled her nose. “Treatments for warts and chilblains? Surely you have no need of those remedies, Mrs. Mortmain?”

  She perused some more, then tilted the book towards Burnell. “Look! A chapter on how to make a man fall in love! You must read it, sir, and let us know if the advice is apt.”

  She cast an exultant leer at Cornelia. “We shall be learning all your secrets, lambkin.”

  Taking the book, Burnell turned a few pages, then shot Cornelia a grin. “Now here’s something more interesting. Advice on achieving satisfaction from the marital bed.”

  He scanned a few lines. “It says here that ‘any union without true love may result in sour and spiritless offspring’. Well, how about that. I call that good advice right there.”

  Lord Fairlea turned a sudden shade of pink and adjusted his cravat. “Rather near the bone, old chap. Not really a subject for discussing in front of ladies, even if it is in Mrs. Mortmain’s book.”

  “Give me that!” Cornelia snatched the volume from Burnell, giving him a death-by-daggers glare.

  Burnell held up his hands in surrender. “I’m judging nothing, sweet one. All brides like to prepare for what awaits them on their wedding night. It’s only right and natural.”

  “So true.” Cornelia tossed the book to one side, making poor Minnie jump. “And you’ve no need to be anxious about your little problem.”

  She smiled sweetly. “There’s a whole chapter dedicated to that very thing, and several remedies that may serve in time for the nuptials.”

  “Well I never!” Lord Fairlea’s mouth opened and closed several times.

  Mrs. Bongorge’s expression veered from shock to dismay.

  She laughed nervously. “I’d no idea…that is to say, no idea you’d set a date…that the engagement was formalized.”

  She rose from her seat. “A spring wedding, I assume? Even when it isn’t one’s first, there’s so much to organize.”

  Lord Fairlea also found his feet and, offering hasty felicitations, took Mrs. Bongorge’s arm.

  Only as the door closed behind them did Cornelia realize the mess she was in.

  Cornelia contemplated throwing her books at him—all of them, Desert Adventure included—but it wouldn’t change what had just happened.

  “Look what you’ve done!”

  “What I’ve done?” Burnell looked taken aback. “It wasn’t me who passed intimate comments on my lovemaking ability.”

  “You goaded me into it! Besides which, it wasn’t me who started talking about preparing for the wedding night.”

  Minnie sat up and whimpered, looking between the two of them.

  “Calm yourself, Cornelia.” Burnell frowned. “You’re frightening that little dog of yours.”

  “Don’t tell me to calm down! And leave Minnie out of this.” However, she dropped her voice several tones and gave the terrier a kiss between the ears.

  “That horrible woman will be spreading gossip to the first person she meets, telling them I’ve lured you into a proposal by beguiling you. They’ll say I’ve tempted you with my body—like Eve with Adam, offering what he couldn’t resist. They’ll say I’m wicked, a siren of the worst sort, a harlot who couldn’t wait to get you into bed.”

  “Whoa there!” Burnell smothered a chuckle. “That’s a lot of seduction, and I don’t remember any of it. Leastways, not as much as you’re describing.” He looked about for the bell pull. “I’ll order tea. That’s what everyone says you should drink when you’re overwrought.”

  “I don’t want tea! I just don’t want to be judged! That’s the trouble with High Society. Everyone knows everyone and nothing remains a secret.”

  “They aren’t judging you.” Burnell rested his elbows onto his knees.

  “Yes, they are.” Was it so impossible for him to understand? “They judge everyone.”

  “I don’t feel judged.” He shrugged.

  “That’s because they’re too busy admiring your…your….” Cornelia dropped her head into her hands. Did she really have to spell it out for him?

  “My assets.” He added helpfully.

  Cornelia nodded wearily. She’d been going to say ‘arse’ but his word choice was adequate.

  “We are supposed to be convincing everyone,” Burnell went on. “That flighty piece Mrs. Bongorge shouldn’t give you more bother, at any rate—not now she thinks we’re actually planning the ceremony.”

  Cornelia fought a wave of sickness. Goodness knew how she’d recover from this. In truth, there was only one outcome that would prevent her from becoming a pariah, and it was the one option that wasn’t on the table.

  It was her own fault, of course, getting into this situation, but it didn’t mean she wasn’t entitled to feel angry with him.

  She gave him her sternest expression. “Don’t you realize what’s going to happen? Once this reaches London, no one will come near me. Whatever hope I might have had of finding a husband will evaporate. People already say awful things about me, and they’ll be saying worse now. I’ll be a walking scandal.”

  Burnell’s face softened. “I can see you’re upset, but it’s like I always said. Those rumours have been following you round the whole time, Cornelia. It’s time to own them and turn them to your advantage. Let them see the firecracker, remember?”

  “Remind me, what sort of man I’m likely to attract from association with you, Mr. Burnell?”

  “That depends; what sort of man do you want running after you?”

  “I don’t wish for anyone to run,” Cornelia said. “If the right candidate came along, a sedate walk would do just fine.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong. Any man worth his salt should be sprinting in your direction, not merely walking, and I’d lay bets that none who’ve crossed your pat
h so far are worthy.”

  Cornelia narrowed her eyes. He made these sorts of comments far too readily, but she’d learnt not to take them at face value.

  He picked at some fluff on his trouser leg. “And, you’re a widow, Cornelia. I hear there are different rules. You could take a lover if you wanted, or more than one. Have a ball; forget all about marriage.”

  And there it was.

  No mention of him caring for her. No hint that he might step up and whisk her away from all this chaos by actually making a real proposal. She knew this was only a game to him, but didn’t he realize she had feelings?

  “It may surprise you but I’m not looking for casual affairs. I want a life partner; a soul mate. Someone whose kisses mean something.”

  She willed herself not to cry, to remain expressionless. “If bedding women like Mrs. Bongorge makes you happy, don’t let me detain you, but my guess is that you’re hollow inside, Burnell—that you’re dying little by little, and it’s because you’re afraid!”

  That made him sit up, and he was no longer giving her that condescending smile—as if he knew everything and she was a simpleton unable to work out how to fit together the pieces of the puzzle.

  Her pounding heart was making her ankle throb but she wasn’t going to hold back now. “That’s why you’ve been burying yourself in your work and why you’re going to run back to the wilderness. But digging into the ghosts of the ancients won’t expel that sadness. You’ll only escape it by creating something new; something that’s only yours.”

  A shadow passed over Burnell’s face. “You’re doing a mighty fine job of preaching Nellie, but I don’t see you following your own advice, embracing a brave new future.”

  “If you’d known my first husband…” Cornelia thought of a hundred things she might say, but she didn’t see why she should explain herself. Her problems were not Burnell’s. “I don’t wish to talk about him but the experience was sufficient to leave me with an unpleasant taste in my mouth.”

  “And you thought kissing me would take that away for a while?” Burnell slapped his knee but there was no light-heartedness behind the gesture. “Well, I’m glad to have been of service. Perhaps you don’t need advice on that front after all.”