First Comes Scandal

by Julia Quinn

  But a furious Blanche Georgie knew how to handle. Blanche would be sullen and resentful, but she was easily bribed with a nugget or two of cheese.

  Cat-Head, on the other hand . . .

  Cat-Head moaned.

  Cat-Head howled.

  Cat-Head made noises Georgie would not have thought possible outside purgatory or hell.

  And while Georgie might have been able to withstand such torture on her own, the traveling party had grown to fifteen, and she wasn’t sure how long she could inflict him on the others.

  GRAOWWW!

  Georgie peered nervously at Nicholas, sitting across from her in the carriage. He was doing an admirable job of hiding his flinches. Much better than—

  GRAOWWW!

  —Marian, Georgie’s trusted maid, who seemed to have developed a tic in her left cheek.

  GRAOWWW!

  “Cat-Head, hush,” Georgie said, patting him on the head. She didn’t know why she thought that might make a difference. It wasn’t as if she’d met with success the first one hundred and sixty-three times she’d said it.

  GRAOWWW!

  “How long have we been on the road?” Marian asked.

  Georgie attempted a cheerful tone. “I’m not carrying a timepiece.”

  “I am,” Nicholas said without looking up from his medical journal. “It’s been three hours.”

  “That long?” Georgie said weakly.

  GRAOWWW!

  Marian’s eye began to twitch.

  Georgie gave Nicholas a hard stare, the kind where one widened one’s eyes and jutted one’s chin forward. It clearly meant Do Something.

  He returned with the sort of expression where one widened one’s eyes but instead of a jutted chin one tipped one’s head to the side, as if to say a shrugful What?

  Georgie jutted her chin.

  Nicholas tipped his head.

  They both widened their eyes.

  “Is something wrong?” Marian asked.

  GRAOWWW!

  “Besides that,” she muttered.

  “Nicholas,” Georgie said pointedly, “perhaps Marian would like a sip of your whiskey.”

  He blinked, then gave Georgie an expression she was fairly certain meant—How was I to glean that from your buggy eyes and jutty chin?

  “Er, Miss—”

  GRAOWWW!

  “Miss Georgiana,” Marian croaked. “I don’t know how much longer I can—”

  “Whiskey?” Nicholas asked, thrusting a flask in her face.

  Marian nodded gratefully and took a swig.

  GRAOWWW!

  “Georgie,” Nicholas said, “is there anything to be done?”

  He probably deserved her admiration for lasting this long before saying anything, but three hours of constant cat-moaning had left her nerves well frayed. “If there were,” she said peevishly, “don’t you think I would have done it by now?”

  GRAOWWW!

  Marian drained the flask.

  “Will it continue like this the entire trip to Edinburgh?” Nicholas asked.

  “God help us,” Marian muttered.

  “I don’t know,” Georgie admitted, finally pulling her eyes off her maid, whom she’d never seen drink more than a quarter-glass of sherry. “I’ve never taken him in a carriage before. The other two are managing well enough.”

  “Are you sure about that?” Nicholas asked. “That one looks like its plotting your death.”

  Georgie peered down at Blanche. She’d been quiet for most of the trip, and Georgie had thought she’d resigned herself to the situation, but at some point during the past few hours the sun had shifted far enough to shed light on her position in the corner of the coach bench. Thus illuminated, it was now clear that Blanche’s repose was really the stiffened I-cannot-BELIEVE-you’re-doing-this-to-me stare of utter betrayal.

  Georgie silently handed Blanche a piece of cheese.

  GRAOWWW!

  “Maybe that one would like some cheese, too,” Nicholas suggested.

  Georgie shrugged. At this point she was willing to try anything. “Cat-Head?” she said sweetly, holding the creamy nugget in her hand. Cat-Head scarfed up the treasure, and they all breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn’t a particularly quiet eater; there was plenty of tongue-smacking and whisker-snuffling, but it was better than—

  GRAOWWW!

  “Can you give it more cheese?” Marian begged.

  “I might have more whiskey,” Nicholas said.

  “We’re not giving whiskey to my cat,” Georgie said.

  Nicholas and Marian exchanged a glance.

  “We’re not!”

  No one rushed to agree.

  “It can’t be that much farther to London,” Georgie said, with some desperation.

  Nicholas peered out at the road. “An hour? Maybe ninety minutes.”

  “That’s all?” Georgie said with forced brightness. “That’s nothing. We can—”

  GRAOWWW!

  “Can you put it in a basket?” Marian asked.

  Georgie looked down at Judyth, all fluffy and silver gray, still delightfully quiet in her wicker home. “I’ve only got the one basket.”

  “How is that possible?” Nicholas asked.

  Georgie thought about that for a moment. “I don’t know. We had three starting out. The other two baskets must have ended up in the other carriage. Or perhaps up top.”

  “Up top, you say?”

  Georgie felt her expression turn glacial. “We are not putting Cat-Head on the roof.”

  Marian turned to Nicholas with a shake of her head. “We’d still hear it.”

  “It wouldn’t be as bad,” he mused.

  Georgie honestly could not tell if he was being serious.

  “Well, if you’ve only got the one basket,” he said, “take the other cat out.”

  “But she’s being so good,” Georgie said, gesturing down. “She hasn’t made a peep.”

  “Perhaps she’s dead,” Nicholas said.

  “Nicholas!”

  He shrugged. “It would free up the basket.”

  Georgie fixed him with an icy stare. “I am not going to dignify that with a response.”

  He shrugged again.

  “And there’s no guarantee that Cat-Head wouldn’t howl if he was in the basket.”

  Nicholas held up a finger. “Response.”

  Georgie muttered something under her breath that would not have been considered appropriate for a lady of her station.

  GRAOWWW!

  “We’re nearly to London,” Georgie said, almost desperately. She was stroking the cat now with renewed firmness, moving to its cheeks, scratching them with just enough pressure that maybe he wouldn’t be able to actually open his jaw . . .

  But he tried.

  Grrrrrrrrr.

  “That was better, don’t you think?” Georgie said.

  Grrrrrrrrr.

  “It sounds like it might combust,” Nicholas remarked.

  Grrrrrrrrr.

  “It can’t be healthy for it to hold it all in like that,” Marian worried.

  Georgie looked at her. “You want me to let go?”

  “No!”

  Georgie nodded and kept up with the cheek and chin scratching. “There you go, Cat-Head. It’s not so bad.”

  Cat-Head did not seem to appreciate her efforts. GRRRrrrrr, he managed, and Georgie found she had to exert more pressure to keep his yawls trapped in his mouth.

  “Good kitty,” she murmured. “Good, good little kitty.”

  “Very bad kitty,” Nicholas said. “The worst, really.”

  Georgie glared. “Good kitty,” she practically growled. But Cat-Head’s little jaw was straining.

  GRRRRRrr . . .

  Marian’s brow knit with concern. “That sounds unsafe.”

  “No, I’m sure he—”

  GRAAAAAAOOOOOOOWWW!

  Cat-Head let out a shriek of such unholy proportions that Georgie’s hand popped right off his head. The noise rent the air, and the cat, clearly burs
ting with the need to let it all out, thrust its legs and head out like a stiff, fuzzy, orange pentagon, howling at the injustice of the world until . . .

  He stopped.

  The three human occupants of the carriage held their collective breaths.

  “Is it dead?” Nicholas finally asked.

  Georgie looked at him in horror. “Why do you keep assuming my cats are dead?”

  “But is it?”

  “I think he fainted,” she said, peering down with concern. The cat was sprawled on its back, belly up, one paw thrown dramatically over its face. Gingerly, Georgie put her hand against his chest. “He’s still breathing,” she said.

  Marian let out a sigh. Though not, Georgie thought, one of relief.

  “Whatever you do,” Nicholas said in a low voice, “do not move. If you wake that thing up—”

  “It’s a cat, Nicholas.”

  “If you wake that cat up,” he amended, with no discernable remorse, “our misery will know no bounds.”

  Marian peered out the window. “Are we slowing down?”

  Georgie frowned and leaned forward to look.

  “Don’t move!” Nicholas and Marian hissed.

  “Are we here?” Georgie asked, making a great show of remaining in place.

  “That depends on your definition of here,” Nicholas murmured, “but assuming you meant London, then no, we’re not.”

  The carriage came to a complete stop.

  “Stay put,” he said. “I’ll find out why we’ve stopped.”

  Georgie and Marian watched as he hopped down. After a moment, Georgie said, “We can’t be that far from our destination.”

  “No,” Marian murmured. “We’re meant to get there early evening. Lady Manston sent word ahead for the staff.”

  Georgie nodded, suddenly very aware of the flock of butterflies taking root in her stomach. The only good thing to have come from Cat-Head’s caterwauling was that she hadn’t been able to think about the night that lay ahead.

  The plan was to spend the night at Manston House, in London. It was the logical first layover on the journey north, and it meant that Georgie and Nicholas would not have to have their wedding night at an inn.

  They also would not have to spend it with their families, who were back in Kent. Georgie could not imagine spending her wedding night at Crake, knowing that Nicholas’s family were all in their own bedchambers, just down the hall. The only thing worse would be spending the night at Aubrey Hall, with her own family right there.

  “Can you see what’s happening?” she asked Marian, who was now fully out of her seat and hanging out the open door.

  “Mr. Rokesby is speaking with Jameson,” Marian said.

  “Jameson the groom?”

  Marian nodded. “He looks peaked.”

  “Jameson or Mr. Rokesby?”

  “Jameson,” Marian confirmed. “Wasn’t he meant to be riding ahead to London?”

  “He did ride ahead to London.”

  “Well, he’s back.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense,” Georgie countered.

  Marian turned back to look at Georgie. “Sense or not, he’s here and he’s talking to Mr. Rokesby, and neither one looks pleased. Oh, hold up, here come Marcy and Darcy.”

  Marcy and Darcy were Mrs. Hibbert’s twin daughters. Georgie wasn’t sure how old they were—fifteen? Sixteen? They were riding in the second coach along with their mother and Wheelock’s nephew (also called Wheelock). The traveling party was rounded out by two Aubrey Hall footmen serving as outriders, two Crake footmen (also serving as outriders), an Aubrey Hall coachman, a Crake coachman, an Aubrey Hall stableboy, and Jameson, the groom from Crake who had ridden ahead to London.

  “Do you know what’s happening?” Marian asked Marcy.

  Or Darcy, Georgie wasn’t sure which. The two girls were wholly identical in appearance.

  “Something about pestilence,” Marcy-or-Darcy said.

  “Pestilence?” Georgie echoed, instinctively starting to rise.

  “Don’t move!” Marian whisper-shrieked.

  Georgie grumbled, but she did as bid. She didn’t want Cat-Head to awaken any more than Marian did.

  “What was happening in your coach?” one of the twins asked Marian. The other wandered off, presumably in search of more interesting conversation.

  “The noise?” Marian asked. “It was the cat.”

  “There was no way they could hear him in the second coach,” Georgie protested.

  The young maid shrugged. “It sounded like the devil himself was riding up here with you.”

  “Again,” Georgie said, not that anyone was listening, “I don’t believe you could hear him.”

  Marcy-or-Darcy (Georgie was really going to have to learn how to tell the two apart) poked her head in. “Did you kill it, ma’am?”

  “No, I didn’t kill the cat,” Georgie snapped.

  Marcy-or-Darcy looked unconvinced.

  “I’m sure Mr. Rokesby didn’t say anything about pestilence,” Georgie said.

  “Not Mr. Rokesby, ma’am,” Marcy-or-Darcy said, “Jameson the groom.”

  “I hardly—I’m sorry,” Georgie said. She could not go on like this. “Are you Marcy or Darcy?”

  “Marcy, ma’am. You can tell us apart by our freckles.”

  “Your freckles?”

  Marcy leaned farther in, although the effect was somewhat comical since her chin was on level with the floor of the carriage. “I have more than she does,” she said, motioning to her cheeks. “See?”

  “Perhaps one of you could consider wearing your hair differently,” Georgie suggested.

  “We used to do,” Marcy confirmed, “but Mama said we must wear it back in proper tight buns now that we’re in service.” She bobbed a quick curtsy, as if only just then remembering that she was speaking with her new employer. Unfortunately for her, this caused her to thunk her chin on the carriage floor.

  “Ow!” she let out.

  In Georgie’s lap, Cat-Head shifted position.

  Everyone froze. Well, at least Georgie and Marian did. Marcy clutched her cheek with her hand and jumped up and down as she whimpered in pain.

  “Is she bleeding?” Georgie asked.

  “Don’t move,” Marian begged before turning back to Marcy. “Are you bleeding?”

  “I think I bit my tongue.”

  Georgie gasped when Marian moved to the side and Marcy’s head came into view. Marcy was trying to smile, but all that did was reveal blood-coated teeth.

  “Oh, dear,” Georgie said. The poor girl looked positively ghoulish. “You’d better fetch Mr. Rokesby. He will know what to do.”

  “He’s a doctor,” Marian assured her.

  “He will be a doctor,” Georgie corrected. “Soon.”

  Marcy scurried off, and Georgie continued to watch Marian as she hung out of the carriage to try to figure out what was going on.

  “You might as well just get out,” Georgie muttered. She looked down at Cat-Head, still asleep in her lap. “Since I can’t.”

  Marian gave her a look, as if to get one last verification that Georgie didn’t mind if she fled the scene.

  “Go,” Georgie said. “But see if you can find out why we’ve stopped!”

  Marian nodded, then sat on the floor, dangling her legs out before hopping down. Georgie heard her land with an oooff, but she was clearly unhurt because she dashed off.

  “Well,” Georgie said, not quite daring to direct her soft comment at Cat-Head. “It’s just you and me.”

  Blanche looked up and yawned.

  “And you and Judyth,” Georgie said, giving Blanche a little nod. “But if you can endeavor to make me forget you again, we’ll all be happier.”

  Blanche gave her a disdainful sniff but she lay back down, clearly pleased that the death-stare she’d been directing at Georgie for the past few hours had had its intended effect—that was to say, the carriage had stopped moving.

  But just as Blanche got settled, Cat-Head beg
an to stir, and after a wide yawn it became clear that he was awake and planned to stay that way.

  But again, they weren’t moving, so at least he was quiet. Georgie set him down on the seat beside her and scooted toward the open carriage door. She might as well stretch her own legs now that she no longer had to hold Cat-Head still. Everyone else seemed to be walking about.

  One of the Aubrey Hall footmen saw her in the doorway and rushed over to help her down. But before Georgie could make her way to Nicholas—still in deep conversation with Jameson—Marian came dashing over.

  “Oh, it’s terrible, Miss Georgiana,” she said, out of breath from running. “London is overrun with plague!”

  Chapter 14

  God save him from hysterical women.

  “London is not overrun with plague,” Nicholas ground out, chasing after Marian before she started a riot.

  “Not even a little bit?” the maid asked.

  “Do you want it to be?” he asked, somewhat perplexed by the hopeful tone of her question.

  “No!” She turned to Georgie. “My goodness, such a thing to say.”

  Nicholas resisted a retort, but only barely. In any case, his attention was diverted by Marian’s next outburst.

  “Brimstone and pestilence!”

  He stared at her. “What?”

  “It’s what Jameson said,” Marian explained.

  “No,” Nicholas countered, “that’s not what he said.” But technically that was almost precisely what Jameson had said. He’d just said it with a lot of swearing and not-fit-for-the-ears-of-ladies modifiers.

  God save him from hysterical men.

  He took a breath and turned to Georgie. “There are several cases of influenza at Manston House. Nothing approaching the level of brimstone. And certainly no plague.”

  “Well, that’s a relief,” she said. “Isn’t it?”

  “Inasmuch as it’s better than black death, yes,” he said dryly. “But influenza is no trivial matter. We will have to bypass London. There is no way we can stay at Manston House.”

  “Surely it cannot be so dangerous,” Georgie said. “It’s such a large building. We need not go near the affected section.”