A Lady’s First Scandal
Merry Farmer
A LADY’S FIRST SCANDAL
Copyright ©2019 by Merry Farmer
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your digital retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Cover design by Erin Dameron-Hill (the miracle-worker)
ASIN: B07RFHH36J
Paperback ISBN: 9781074002732
Click here for a complete list of other works by Merry Farmer.
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Created with Vellum
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Epilogue
About the Author
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
London – May, 1885
Lady Cecelia Campbell couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so excited. She could barely stand still as she and her family waited at the edge of Regent’s Park for the doors of the barracks to open. Every small movement from the barracks caused her heart to leap into her throat. Her head swam with anticipation. Tears even stung the back of her eyes when she thought about how long she’d waited for this day to come. But at last, it was here. Rupert was home.
“Calm down, my dear,” Lady Katya Campbell, Rupert’s mother and Cece’s father’s wife, said, resting a hand on Cece’s arm. “If you don’t remember to breathe, you’ll swoon.”
“I think she’s going to swoon anyhow,” Natalia Marlowe, Rupert’s younger sister, giggled, stepping closer and holding out her arms as if she would catch Cece mid-faint.
“Swooning is so antiquated,” Bianca Marlowe said in a lofty voice. She couldn't hide her own enthusiasm, though. Rupert was her brother, after all, and she loved him almost as dearly as Cece did.
“I think swooning is lovely,” Natalia said with a romantic sigh. In a more practical voice, she added, “I just wish I had someone to swoon over.”
“You will soon enough,” Katya told her. “Too soon, if you’re like your sister.” She eyed Bianca disapprovingly.
Bianca merely grinned up at the brilliant sunlight. The entire family was well aware of her attachment to a certain Chief Inspector of Scotland Yard, a Mr. Jack Craig, who was not only miles below Bianca in social standing, he was also older and far more experienced than was good for her.
Cece’s thoughts about the Bianca and Mr. Craig situation vanished in a heartbeat as the barracks door opened. Her heart sank a moment later when a single man in civilian dress walked out, shutting the door behind him.
“Oh, when are they going to let them out?” Natalia fretted, biting her lip with a frown. The expression emphasized the distinct resemblance she bore to Cece’s father, Lord Malcolm Campbell, who stood with them, frequently glancing at his watch.
“The army has any number of procedures and ceremonies before releasing soldiers from active duty,” he grumbled. “It took all day when they let us go after the Crimean Campaign, and most of us were injured.”
There was a good reason Natalia looked more like Cece’s father than anyone in society was willing to ask about. Cece’s father had married Rupert, Bianca, and Natalia’s mother four years earlier, but they had secretly been lovers for decades. When the truth about Natalia’s paternity had come out, Cece had been shocked, but not particularly surprised. And since the entire muddle of sharing a half-sister with the man she intended to marry made Cece’s and everyone else’s head hurt, they rarely spoke of it.
Because Cece did intend to marry Rupert Marlowe. The understanding had been in place for years, since before Rupert joined the army and ran off to practically the other side of the world without her consent. And part of her was still furious that he’d enlisted without consulting her. The conversation four years ago still rang in her head. She’d been expecting a formal proposal. She’d gotten a typically male speech about duty and country. And a week later, Rupert was gone.
She’d worried about him journeying so far south. She’d fretted over every report coming out of Cape Colony. She’d been in agony when war had broken out in 1881 and she’d heard nothing from Rupert for six months. She’d sent prayers and money and linens for bandages when she’d heard he’d been wounded in action by the Boers, then wept in relief for days when he finally wrote to tell her he would make a full recover. Then she’d been so angry she’d thrown a vase across the room and shattered it when he wrote to say he was staying on in South Africa, even though the war had ended.
But all of that was behind her now. At last, Rupert was home.
Once again, the door to the barracks opened. Once again, Cece’s heart lifted. She clutched her chest in anticipation only to be disappointed yet again. Another civilian stepped out into the street and went about his business.
“It’s positively aggravating, isn’t it?”
Cece started, her back snapping so straight that she was dizzy for a moment as Lady Tavistock spoke beside her. She hadn’t noticed the regal young woman approach, and she certainly never would have imagined someone as admirable and powerful as Lady Tavistock would even speak to her.
“It is, my lady,” Cece said, hoping her voice didn’t squeak.
Lady Tavistock smiled at her with a look of friendship that warmed Cece down to her toes. She wore a fashionable walking dress in a shade of purple that indicated she was at the end of the prescribed mourning period for her husband. Lord Richard Tavistock’s death two years earlier had been the talk of the town. He’d left behind an heir—indeed, the four-year-old Marquess of Tavistock clung to his mother’s skirts as they watched the barracks—but it was well known that Lady Tavistock managed the vast wealth of her late husband’s estate as expertly as any man could. Which was likely why the poor woman was reputed to receive at least three offers of marriage every week.
But more importantly, Lady Tavistock was renowned as the leader of the influential May Flowers, a group of women who not only involved themselves in politics, but were also rumored to control the actions of Parliament from behind the scenes.
“I take it you’re waiting for your beloved?” Lady Tavistock asked.
Cece blinked, astounded that such an important woman would know that about her. “Yes, my lady,” she said. “Lord Rupert Marlowe, the Earl of Stanhope.” She instantly felt embarrassed about throwing Rupert’s title into play, as if she were bragging.
But Lady Tavistock continued to smile as though they were friends. “I’m here waiting for my brother, Freddy,” she said.
Cece drew in a breath as she made the connection in her mind. “Yes, Rupert has written frequently about Viscount Herrington
. They’ve become close friends.”
Lady Tavistock hummed in affirmation. “Freddy has mentioned Lord Stanhope several times in his letters.” She let out a breath, facing the barracks. “I’m so glad he’s home. I’ve missed him so. Although he has little to come home to. Our father ruined the estate, and—” She pressed her lips together and shook her head. It wasn’t civil to speak of such things, but everyone was widely aware that the former Viscount Herrington had bankrupted his estate and left his son with nothing more than a title. If not for Lady Tavistock’s brilliant marriage to one of Lord Herrington’s school friends, she would have been in exceptionally dire straits just as her brother was.
Panic welled up in Cece as Lady Tavistock remained silent, her expression sorrowful. She did the only thing she could think to do on short notice by blurting, “I was quite impressed with the speech you gave outside of the Palace of Westminster last week. Irish Home Rule is an issue I feel quite passionately about.”
“Do you?” Bianca asked behind Cece.
A jolt of embarrassment hit Cece. She hadn’t realized Bianca was listening. There was no telling what the wild young woman might do.
“Yes,” Cece said, reluctantly shifting her stance to include Bianca in the conversation. That meant including Natalia and Lady Katya as well by default. “Gladstone is perfectly right when he says that it is long past time to create an Irish Parliament and give them a measure of control over their own destinies.”
Lady Tavistock’s smile returned tenfold. “I couldn’t agree more,” she said. “Though the opinion is not a popular one at the moment.”
“A fact I find confusing and ridiculous,” Cece went on. “Particularly considering British administration of Ireland has resulted in ruination for so many of its population.”
“Don’t say that so loudly,” Natalia gasped, glancing around them as though the disapproval of a nation was about to rain down on them.
“Why not, if it’s true?” Lady Tavistock said. “We women have been told to be silent in matters of politics and importance for far too long. It’s well past time we make our voice heard.”
Lady Katya laughed. “I couldn’t agree more. You young ones are lucky that you’re able to speak as much as you can. In my day, things were very different.”
“Times are changing,” Lady Tavistock said with a shrug. “It’s imperative that we change with them.”
“I agree,” Cece said. “And if we don’t take charge of the change ourselves, it may never happen.”
Lady Tavistock smiled approvingly at her.
Bianca, on the other hand, laughed. “I never expected to hear such radical views from you, Cece,” she said.
“Oh?” Lady Tavistock asked. “And why not?”
Cece felt her cheeks go pink, especially when Bianca grinned and said, “Cece is as traditional as they come. She plans to devote her life to domestic duties as my brother’s wife. She never expresses her opinions about things, even though we all know she has them.”
“That’s not true,” Cece said in a quiet voice, staring hard at Bianca and hoping her outspoken friend would know when to be silent.
Of course, where Bianca was concerned, silence was too much to ask. “You should hear the way she scolds me for being too bold,” she told Lady Tavistock with a conspiratorial look. “Cece is forever correcting my deportment and my opinions. She constantly tells me I should take care to be more deferential to gentlemen and to wait until I am spoken to before speaking.”
“That’s because you are a ridiculous flirt,” Natalia said, both defending Cece and mortifying her at the same time. “You’re going to ruin your reputation if you continue to pretend you’re a man in social situations.”
“I most certainly do not pretend I’m a man,” Bianca said, one eyebrow arched.
Cece’s face burned hotter. Bianca behaved more like a celebrated, renaissance, Venetian courtesan than anything else, expressing her opinions openly and flirting scandalously. As far as she was concerned, Cece had every reason to constantly correct her friend.
Fortunately, rather than being scandalized, Lady Tavistock laughed. “I always approve of women who speak their mind,” she said. She hugged her son tighter to her side and said, “And I am teaching Ricky to appreciate them as well. You like Lady Bianca, don’t you?”
The young Marquess of Tavistock nodded, blushing and giggling as Bianca wiggled her fingers at him in a wave, then hid his face in his mother’s skirts.
Cece was on the verge of saying more when the door to the barracks opened yet again. Only this time, instead of a single man slipping out in civilian dress, the entire, wide door was thrown open and a veritable sea of men in red coats poured out.
She gasped, forgetting the embarrassment Bianca had caused her, forgetting Lady Tavistock’s kind notice, forgetting everything but the fact that Rupert was home and would be in her arms at any moment. Her heart raced so hard she could hear her pulse in her ears as she stood on her tip-toes, searching desperately for Rupert among the men leaving the barracks.
At last, she spotted him, and tears sprang to her eyes. He looked older, slightly more careworn, but fitter and even more handsome than the last time she’d seen him. The red of his uniform coat suited him splendidly. He’d grown a moustache that conformed to the latest style—which she wasn’t sure she liked—and his cheeks were rosy and full of health. And when he glanced across the street and found her in the crowd, his whole countenance lit up.
But instead of rushing to her, arms open, he turned back, saying something to one of the men behind him. That man stepped up to Rupert’s side as they crossed the street. When Rupert pointed at Cece, the other man waved.
“Look, Ricky,” Lady Tavistock said, lifting her son into her arms in a rare show of maternal affection for someone as highly-ranked. “There’s your Uncle Freddy.”
The boy waved back as Cece’s heart fluttered uncertainly in her chest. Rupert still wasn’t running to her. Instead, he turned to a red-haired gentleman on his other side and said something. The two of them laughed.
When the group of three finally made it across the street to where the families of the returning soldiers were waiting in the park, Cece was beside herself with uncertainty instead of joy.
“Hello, Mother,” Rupert said, heading straight to Lady Katya and catching her in an enormous hug. “You look as beautiful as ever.”
“Flattery will get you everywhere,” Lady Katya laughed, hugging him back.
When Rupert broke away from her, he turned to scoop Bianca and Natalia into his arms at the same time. “Look at the two of you. What happened to the naughty children I left behind?”
“We’re naughty women now,” Bianca said in a saucy voice.
To her other side, Lord Herrington had stepped up to give his sister and nephew a strong, affectionate hug. “You’ve no idea how much I’ve missed you, Henny,” he said in a voice filled with emotion.
“And I you,” Lady Tavistock replied, blinking back tears.
Cece could see more unspoken depth to their greeting than she needed to be part of, so she turned away. She clasped her hands in front of her to keep from flinging herself into Rupert’s arms when he broke away from his sisters. At any moment, he would open his arms wide and greet her the way she’d dreamed of for four, long years.
Instead, he stepped back to the red-haired man’s side and said, “Well, O’Shea? What do you think of this splendid family of mine?”
Cece’s jaw dropped and her heart sank. It was unclear to her whether Rupert included her in his family at all.
“They’re splendid,” O’Shea said. Cece blinked. He had to be Lord Fergus O’Shea, the Irishman Rupert had written about so often, the one who had saved his life in the Transvaal.
At last, Rupert turned to face her, glowing with affection. “And this, my friend, is the most glorious flower in all of England.” His voice softened and deepened as he beamed at Cece. “This is the one and only Lady Cecelia Campbell.”
&
nbsp; Cece’s smile returned, and her heart overflowed with affection. At last, Rupert stepped forward and swept her into his arms. Cece was helpless to do anything but hug him back with everything she had as she burst into tears.
“I’ve missed you so,” she sobbed against his neck. He smelled of a different kind of soap than he’d used before departing for the army, but the essence of him was still there and as familiar to her as her own skin.
Rupert squeezed her tight, resting his head against hers. “I would kiss you like you’ve never been kissed before if there weren’t so many people watching,” he whispered against her ear.
“I don’t care,” Cece said, shaking with relief to have him home.
But instead of taking her up on her implied offer, he let go of her and stepped back. A moment after that, he turned to Lord Herrington.
“Lord, it’s good to be home, isn’t it?” he asked with a laugh.
“I’ll say,” Lord Herrington agreed. He stood taller and glanced around. “Is this our entire welcoming committee?”
“Who were you expecting to see?” Lord O’Shea asked in his Irish accent. “The queen herself?”
Rupert laughed and slapped Lord Herrington playfully on the back. “He’s probably looking for a wealthy widow to bolster his fortunes, now that he’s no longer on the army payroll.”
“He already has a wealthy widow to support him,” Lady Tavistock said, ostensibly teasing, but with seriousness in her eyes.
“No man wants to be supported by his sister,” Rupert said, nudging Lord Herrington’s arm.
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