The Lady's Guide to Scandal

by Emmanuelle de Maupassant

  With any luck, a warmer day was coming.

  Burnell was still asleep, one arm cast behind his head, his broad shoulders visible above the quilt.

  In the dark hours, Minnie must have jumped on the bed, for she was there now; on Ethan’s side rather than on Cornelia’s, her snout resting on his foot.

  All these years, Cornelia had told herself she wasn’t the sort to inspire grand passion. She was not made for romantic nonsense; was too sensible to fall in love. She’d only sought someone dependable, someone who would consider her feelings.

  But, last night, her body had told her what it wanted.

  Last night.

  Nothing had seemed real, yet she’d never felt more alive.

  Ethan’s warmth and strength, and his voice—that low growl, deep and caressing; words uttered from soft lips, carrying to her in the dark, touching her skin, making her tremble.

  Ethan’s hands were not like Mortmain’s. They were large and strong and coarsened by manual labour, with palms roughened by stone and the tools he’d worked with. Calloused against her softness, but gently masterful, hands roving her body, powerful and demanding and intensely male.

  It had been wonderful.

  Breathtakingly, miraculously, overwhelmingly wonderful.

  She’d never dreamed… No one had ever told her…

  Every exquisite inch of his manhood had been hers, velvet smooth in her palm. Then thrusting, feverishly faster, until everything around her had been engulfed, and she was pure sensation.

  Melting, molten, breathless and burning.

  He’d been inside as Mortmain never had. Not just his fingers and his tongue, and his hardness. Inside her in another way—seeing inside her.

  With Mortmain, the act had felt like an invasion—something unwanted she’d had to endure. With Burnell, she wanted all of it.

  It was as if he understood the years wasted, and what she’d dreamt of without being fully aware.

  Slipping back into the bed, she curled on her side, nestling to the heat of his body. Shamelessly, she pressed her bottom to his groin. She wanted him to wake up feeling her right there—to know that she didn’t regret anything.

  Pulling his arm over, she rested his hand to her cheek, then moved it to where her heart was beating.

  He mumbled and one heavy leg laid claim to her, moving over her thigh.

  “Ethan, are you awake?”

  In response, the hand squeezed gently and the rod nestled against her behind gave a small leap.

  He nuzzled her ear. “There’s a storm coming, Nellie. You can’t indulge in this much sin without there being an almighty scandal.”

  Cornelia twisted about to face him. “No one need find out. We could carry on pretending.”

  At a pinch, they could brazen it out—proclaim they’d only been jesting the day before, when Mrs. Bongorge and Lord Fairlea had been treated to that barrage of audaciousness.

  “Is that what you want?” He pulled her closer.

  “I don’t see another way. Unless…”

  “Unless you become Mrs. Burnell.” The lips so close to hers smiled.

  “But, you don’t want that.” Her voice was very small. “You want to be free.”

  In answer, he rolled onto his back and pulled her atop. His eyes, half-closed, regarded her appreciatively. “I might be changing my mind. A man has to know when he’s beat. I’ll never be free—not now I’ve met you.”

  One warm hand moved up her leg, coming to rest on her hip. “Could you do it, Nellie? Saddle up beside me, and take your chances with what comes next?”

  Wrapping her fingers around his girth, she drew the pad of her thumb across the head. Rising above him, wriggling a little, angling herself, she gave her own smile of satisfaction at Burnell’s sharp intake of breath.

  She was ready to ride.

  Lady Studborne was not in the morning room, nor in any of the reception rooms on the ground floor of the abbey. At last, Ethan tracked her down in the duchess’s bed chamber, sitting on the rug before the hearth.

  “What a clever dog you are, Binky. Five beautiful puppies!” Lady Studborne was bending over a large basket, containing a heap of variously-hued fur.

  As Cornelia and Burnell stepped forward, there was a distinct growl from somewhere close by.

  “Oh, hello both of you!” Looking up, the duchess gave a beaming smile, then turned sternly to the proud father standing guard.

  “You’re wonderfully brave, Hercules, but no growling please.” She stroked the Jack Russell under the chin and he responded with a respectful lick.

  “You’ve been busy, I see, but you shouldn’t be crawling around the floor, Rosie.” Offering both his hands, Burnell carefully brought her to her feet.

  The duchess sighed. “Binky started having her babies soon after dawn. Thankfully, all passed off pretty easily, and the pups are doing well. Aren’t they charming?”

  “I take it your hunch about Hercules was right.” Burnell surveyed the contents of the basket. “Same shades of cream and tan.”

  The duchess nodded. “Lord Fairlea will be disappointed, but I’m not. Benedict has agreed to me keeping them all.”

  “Please do sit down, Lady Studborne, and let me order some tea.” Cornelia couldn’t help but notice how tired the duchess looked.

  “You’re very kind.” Rosamund allowed herself to be helped into an upright armchair. “There are a hundred things for me to do today. The children want to give their little nativity performance this afternoon, and the staff are joining us for carols around the tree afterwards; not to mention herding everyone into the kitchen for the stirring of the Christmas pudding. Benedict has promised to help but he’s dreadful at sneaking off. Some nonsense about a new system of classification for his fossils.” She rolled her eyes. “I ask you!”

  “Don’t worry about Studborne.” Burnell went to stand by the fireplace, leaving the other seat for Cornelia. “I’ll rally him into helping. Between us, we’ll get the hordes organized.”

  He glanced at Cornelia, then back to his sister. “We’ve come to quiz you on something, Rosie.”

  From his pocket, he pulled the necklace, dangling it for her to see. Twisting on its chain, the facets of the ruby caught the light, making it sparkle.

  Lady Studborne’s hands flew to her face. “Dear God! Ethan! Where did you—what have you been doing? I haven’t seen that since—”

  He came to kneel in front of her, placing the pendant in her lap. “I knew it was hers, Rosie—or yours, I should say. Our mother gave it to you, didn’t she?”

  With shaking hands, the duchess picked up the necklace, holding it in her palm. “The night of my turning twenty-one. This was the only thing of value left, but she wanted me to have it.”

  Lady Studborne sniffed. “Goodness! What must you think of me, Mrs. Mortmain. Truly, I’m a most sensible person, but it’s such a long time—”

  Finding her handkerchief, she blew her nose and started again. “You deserve to hear something of it, both of you, now that you’re to be part of the family Cornelia.”

  Rosamund looked reproachfully at Burnell. “I know you haven’t set a date yet, or made a formal announcement to the papers, but it’s plain to see you’re desperately in love.”

  She smiled weakly. “It doesn’t happen often, but when it does, there’s no hiding it—and I’m so very happy for you both.”

  Cornelia found her cheek growing hot but the warmth glowed in her chest, too. Despite all that had passed between them, Ethan hadn’t actually told her he loved her. In fact, they hadn’t discussed much at all. The past few hours had been spent in activities that didn’t require a great deal of conference.

  “Go on, Rosie. We’re all ears.” Burnell came to sit on the arm of Cornelia’s chair, placing his hand on her shoulder. “Cornelia is discreet. You can trust us.”

  The duchess squared her shoulders. “It’s far too long a story to tell everything right now, and Studborne knows more than I about that horrible pla
ce, but I was trapped down there for a while, years ago, when the old duke was still alive.”

  She bit her lip. “He was suffering from terrible grief over the death of his wife, and he wasn’t himself. In honour of that fact, and him being Benedict’s uncle, I won’t disparage him. It was a tragic time, with tragic consequences, and is best left in the past. It was I who asked Benedict to close up the entranceway to the crypt.”

  She looked to Cornelia. “Yours was the room I slept in when I first visited the abbey. I should have ordered that chamber locked up, too, and never allowed anyone to use it again—but it has such a pretty aspect, and I told myself it was unlikely anyone would find the passageway as I had.”

  “The necklace, Rosie.” Burnell leaned forward. “You know where we found it?”

  The duchess nodded. “I decided it should be left there. The old duke had some strange beliefs and thought the gemstone held symbolic power. He placed it around the neck of the last duchess upon the night of his own death.” She paled, and Cornelia noticed how she was trembling.

  Cornelia had pulled the bell for tea some minutes ago. She hoped it wouldn’t be long in coming.

  “Benedict wanted to take the necklace from her but that didn’t feel right, and I knew I'd never want to wear it again, after all that happened…” Lady Studborne’s voice trailed off and she turned the ruby over, rubbing it between her fingers. “Mother would be happy, of course, that it was returned to me. I’ll keep it for Melinda. One day, she may like to place it around her own neck, and she needn’t know from where you recovered it.”

  “Of course.” Burnell spoke gravely. “I can see this pains you, Rosie, so I won’t push you to say more, but there is something else I want to ask—about the crypt itself.”

  The duchess shuddered. “You’ve heard about the friar who founded this place, Vasco de Benevente? Those peculiar snakes engraved everywhere are his work, I understand. He travelled to Mexico early in the sixteenth century and, though he was a Christian missionary, he took up with some strange ideas while he was there. The old duke made a study of it, you see.”

  She shivered again. “Awful things happened, Ethan. I know you’ll forgive me for not wanting to talk about it. Speak to Benedict if you like. I really don’t know much more, and I don’t wish to.” She made to rise from the chair but swayed on her feet and sank down again with a cry of dismay.

  “Rosie!” Burnell leapt up. “You’re not well. It was thoughtless of me to press you. Here, take my arm. You need to lie down.”

  Helped by Cornelia, one upon each side of the duchess, they guided her to the bed.

  “I’ll find Studborne and send him up. Meanwhile, you must close your eyes. Don’t worry about anything else. Binky may have had her babies today, but it’s not yet time for yours.”

  Lady Studborne laid back upon the pillow and squeezed her brother’s hand. “You’re going to be a marvellous husband, Ethan. Cornelia is very lucky.”

  “Will she be alright, do you think?” Cornelia spoke softly as they closed the door.

  Ethan rubbed at his eyes. “She’s stronger than she looks, but my brother-in-law needs to step in and make her rest. She’s far too good at pretending to have everything under control, but I’m afraid she’s been overdoing it and she’s emotionally overwrought.”

  He cursed quietly. “Part of it’s my fault, of course—not just this business of what we found last night but this whole carousel of Rosamund inviting a bunch of guests for my benefit.”

  Ethan pulled Cornelia into his arms, resting his cheek against her head. “With any luck, we’ll get some sun to melt this snow, and Studborne can send them packing as soon as tomorrow is done with.”

  Cornelia winced. Christmas was a time of joyful celebration, and hope, and goodwill, but Ethan didn’t seem to be embracing any of those things. It hadn’t escaped her notice, either, that he hadn't told his sister he loved Cornelia. She didn’t expect effusions of adoration, but hearing him say the words would have been welcome.

  She pulled back, looking him in the eye. “You’re sounding rather Scrooge-like, Mr. Burnell.”

  “I used to look forward to it when I was very young, I guess; that changed after my father brought me back to Texas.”

  He glanced down the passageway. “I need to hunt down Studborne and fill him in where Rosie’s concerned, then we need to talk properly, Nellie. Can you make it to your sitting room and I’ll join you there as soon as I can?”

  Cornelia held on to him for a moment.

  He needed to talk?

  Of course, they had plans to make. There would be a great deal to talk about, but the way he said it felt rather ominous. What hadn’t he told her?

  Her ankle was still sore, particularly from tackling the steps the night before, but she made herself answer as brightly as she could.

  “Yes. I’ll be fine. Find his Grace and make sure Lady Studborne stays in her room, at least for a few hours. I’ll be waiting for you.”

  Burnell kissed her forehead. “That’s my girl. Sit tight and I won’t be long.”

  Chapter 17

  “Explain to me again.” Cornelia pressed her fingertips to her temples. “You want us to marry by special license, as soon as possible, but then you plan to board your passage to Cancun alone, returning to Palekmul to continue the second stage of excavations.”

  “We’ll write, Nellie, and I’ll see you when I’m next in London. We’ll be together, but not all the time.”

  Sitting beside her on the sofa, Burnell had the decency to look sheepish, but it didn’t stop Cornelia wanting to punch him on the nose. “What sort of marriage is that?”

  One in which you get to do whatever the damn you want to, while I sit at home pining for your next letter.

  “It’s not ideal, I know, but what choice do we have? My work is too dangerous, and you’re not used to living like that.”

  Burnell had already given her a host of reasons why the plan was sensible, but listening to him calmly explaining only made Cornelia angrier.

  “Don’t I get a say, and where does my happiness fit into this, Ethan?” Cornelia hated how shrill she sounded, but she couldn’t sit quietly and agree.

  “I’ve had enough of other people deciding what’s good for me—” Like my father marrying me off to Mortmain when it was clear that gentleman didn’t give two figs.

  “And enough of them leaving me behind to pursue their own happiness.” Like my Mother, who thought her indulgence of a reckless whim more important than safeguarding my well-being.

  Burnell took her hands in his. “You must believe me when I say I’ve thought it through, Nellie. You can keep working at the British Museum. I’ll tell them you’re to be put on the curating team for the Palekmul gallery. Anything I send back, you’ll have first eyes when they open the crates.”

  “Well that’s mighty decent of you.” Cornelia gritted her teeth. “I get to dust off your finds while you’re living a true adventure on the other side of the world.”

  “I can see you’re mad, Nellie, but when you’ve had a chance to think about this, you’ll see I’m right.” A crease appeared between Burnell’s brows. He was clearly uncomfortable with the way their little chat was going but Cornelia refused to let him off the hook.

  “I haven’t told you much about my mother, have I? When she bolted, I didn’t believe it at first. I was barely at the start of my first Season. I hadn’t a clue what was happening, nor what the consequences would be—although I soon found out.” Cornelia withdrew her hands from Burnell’s and crossed her arms.

  “She took with her every scrap of jewellery and several portable items of silverware, then disappeared with no more farewell-taking than the leaving of a note, explaining she’d never loved my father and was snatching this ‘one chance at happiness’.” Cornelia gave a hollow laugh.

  “Did you know, the man she pinned her hopes on had been employed to paint a trompe l'oeil in the music room of our townhouse—a charming scene of Lake Como, as viewe
d from a window of the Villa Balbianello. My father ordered it papered over, of course, and never again mentioned my mother’s name.”

  Cornelia was aware of the bitterness in her voice. She’d always considered herself resigned to the fact of her mother’s abandonment, and her death soon afterward. The lovers had headed to the Italian lakes in earnest, and met their end on Como itself, following the overturning of a hired pleasure boat. An ironic end to the debacle.

  Oh yes, she’d shed plenty of tears, and then stoically endured what came next—including that miserable marriage to Mortmain—but she’d never admitted aloud how humiliating the whole thing had been, nor how furious she was.

  With her mother, naturally, but with her father as well.

  If he’d shown more affection, shown her mother that he loved her, that he needed her, that he wanted to share his life with her, she wouldn’t have sought comfort elsewhere.

  But her father had placed the blame firmly on others.

  As for Cornelia, she’d had the sense that he couldn’t wait to get rid of her; as if having her under the same roof was distasteful to him.

  He’d deigned to have her back after Mortmain died, but he’d gone to great efforts to avoid spending time with her. Between his work and his club, he’d hardly been at home.

  Seeing how unhappy she was, drifting without purpose, he’d put her forward for volunteering at the museum, but she’d seen that for what it was.

  A sop to his conscience.

  All these years, she’d let other people dictate the sequence of her life, but no more!

  If Burnell truly cared for her, he ought to want her with him all the time, through whatever challenges came their way. She’d rather have a single year of being together like that than decades of a half-love brought out for high days and holidays.

  “Don’t you see, I’d rather live a wild, dangerous life with you than stay here, wrapped in cotton wool. What happened with my mother wasn’t just thoughtless or imprudent. She was unhappy because my father never let her into his heart. Their lives were too separate. I want us to hold on to each other, Ethan. Just hold on, and love one another, and do the best we can.”