A Lady’s First Scandal

by Farmer, Merry

  Rupert pushed himself to his feet, straightening his jacket, then wandered across the room to Cece as she read her letter. “What does it say?” he asked when he saw all trace of teasing fall from her expression, to be replaced by a worried look.

  “Henrietta requires my presence at her house as soon as possible,” she said without bothering to push him away. “It seems there is a crisis within the May Flowers that needs to be addressed with all haste.”

  “Will you go?” Rupert asked.

  She glanced up at him. “Of course, I’ll go,” she said. “I’ll go immediately.” She turned and started out of the room.

  Rupert followed her. “I’ll accompany you.”

  She stopped in the hall and turned to him with an impatient breath. “I’m not a child that needs a nanny to escort her three streets over and around the corner.”

  “Perhaps you’re the nanny who needs to take this child out for a walk, then,” he suggested with a rakish wink.

  She shook her head and continued on. “Really, Rupert. You’d think you had more interesting things to do, now that your service to the nation is over.”

  “It’s not technically over,” he said, catching up with her. “I am merely no longer on active duty. Should the crown wish to recall me to service, it could do so for several more years yet.”

  “I’ve never wanted trouble in the colonies so much as I do now,” Cece muttered as they reached the front hall and she sent a passing maid for her coat and hat.

  “You don’t mean that,” Rupert said, coming to a stop far too close to her than was proper.

  She glanced warily up at him, her gaze resting on his lips. It did amazing things to his insides to think that she was remembering their kiss from the other day. Enough so that he almost considered repeating the liberty.

  In the end, he didn’t kiss her and she didn’t answer his statement. His mother and her father exited the breakfast room and she explained to them that she was going out. Moments later, the maid returned with her coat. Rupert could do nothing but take a passive role, donning his own coat when Mr. Stewart brought it and following her out to the street, like the puppy he was.

  Cece hated the way her insides felt as though they were filled with scrambling caterpillars every time Rupert turned what he considered his charm on her. Or perhaps the strong emotion she felt in response was the opposite of hatred. He was horrid to say the sort of things he’d been saying to her in the past week, and yet, the shivery, tingly way his shocking statements made her feel and the things she wanted to do as a result were certainly diverting. Though they were making it hard for her to sleep. And to take a bath without engaging in shocking liberties with her own person. She’d taken far more baths in the last week than she wanted to admit to.

  “Oh, dear. It looks like quite the event is afoot.”

  Rupert’s teasing comment as they approached Henrietta’s front door was just the thing she needed to push her out of thoughts that had turned her cheeks red with heat. He was right. Three other ladies she recognized as May Flowers were rushing up the front steps to the open door. Henrietta’s stalwart butler stood guard, nodding to each woman as they crossed the threshold.

  “I don’t suppose I’m allowed in,” Rupert said, pausing near the foot of the stairs.

  “Certainly not,” Cece said.

  “I’ll just wait here for you, then.”

  Cece sighed. “You don’t have to. Go home.”

  “You are my home, my dear, sweet—”

  She growled in frustration, turning away from his meaningless platitude and rushing into the house along with two other women.

  A swell of chattering greeted her as she followed the line of ladies heading to the ballroom at the far end of Tavistock House. It was one of the larger townhouses in Mayfair, which seemed appropriate, given that Henrietta was a marchioness. What took Cece by surprise, however, was the volume of the din and the tension that crackled in the air. Everyone seemed to be arguing. Unsurprisingly, Lady Claudia seemed to be at the center of the maelstrom.

  Cece made her way to the side of the ballroom, where Henrietta was giving orders to harried-looking servants serving refreshments.

  “What seems to be the trouble?” she asked as soon as Henrietta noticed her and stepped away from the team of maids.

  Henrietta fixed her with a wary look and cupped her elbow, drawing her to the side. “Lady Claudia has been in a snit for the past few days, since the St. James’s Park rally. Her kettle boiled over this morning when our newsletter reached her front doorstep.”

  Cece frowned. She’d received the May Flowers newsletter that morning as well, along with her bouquet of red carnations. She wished that she’d taken the time to read it instead of flirting with Rupert.

  She opened her mouth to ask Henrietta what it contained, but was cut off as Lady Claudia took charge of the mass of upset women.

  “This is an outrage,” she shouted above the chatter, dampening it to silence. She held a crumpled broadside, clutched over her head. “This is an absolute scandal, and it must be stopped at once.”

  Henrietta sent Cece a significant look before moving closer to Lady Claudia. The ladies present quieted even more, making space for Henrietta as she headed to Lady Claudia’s side.

  “Petals has always contained political articles,” she said with a shrug that was far calmer than Cece felt. “What makes it a scandal now when it wasn’t last week?”

  “You know full well what I am referring to,” Lady Claudia said, her voice still raised. “The position you have taken on behalf of us all where the Irish Question is concerned was not sanctioned by this group, nor is it a position we should be taking at all.”

  “The Irish Question is at the heart of politics today,” Henrietta countered her. “If we do not take a stand on the most important political issues of the day, then what is the point of forming a political society?”

  “It’s not the issue that we object to,” another member, Lady Jane Hocksley, said, stepping up to Lady Claudia’s side. “It’s the assumptions you have dared to make on behalf of us all as to how the issue should be resolved.”

  “The Prime Minister himself supports Irish Home Rule,” one of Henrietta’s supporters, Lady Beatrice Lichfield, insisted. “It is the only right and moral side of the argument to take.”

  A swell of noise from those who supported Irish Home Rule and from those who opposed it rose up so fast that Cece was tempted to cover her ears. She wanted to stand by Henrietta’s side, to show her support with her presence and her words, but the members had closed her and Lady Claudia into a space at the center of a thick circle of anger and indignation, and Cece was helpless to do anything but watch from the fringe.

  “Is your objection against Home Rule alone, or is your primary concern that an article was printed in our privately circulated newsletter supporting the cause?” Henrietta asked, still maintaining absolute calm and control.

  “Both,” Lady Claudia snapped, seemingly offended that Henrietta would ask in the first place. She was met with cheers by those who supported her, which was followed by contradiction from those who took Henrietta’s side.

  “It has long been established that any member who wishes can submit an article for the newsletter,” Henrietta said over the chatter. She turned to Lady Claudia. “Have you written an article that supports your point of view?”

  Lady Claudia turned a shade of pink that was so alarming Cece almost laughed. Lady Claudia wasn’t laughing, however. “You know full well that writing has never been my forte. How dare you throw that back at me in a meeting like this?”

  Her vehemence made Cece frown. Perhaps there were more things about Lady Claudia than she knew.

  “As I said,” Henrietta went on. “Any member may write an article for the newsletter.” She turned to the roiling crowd of members. “I believe it would be more effective for us to hold this debate through the civilized medium of writing than to lash out like prize fighters in an arena. I encourage
each of you to write a piece reflecting your own point of view.”

  “That solves nothing,” Lady Claudia said, stamping her foot. “The time has come to decide where the May Flowers stand on this issue. Do we stand with the subhuman rabble of farmers and thieves that would assume power in Ireland and overrun God’s natural order there, or do we stand for what is right and orderly?”

  Shouts from people on both sides of the issue rang out. The strength of emotion from everyone shocked Cece.

  At last, Henrietta managed to calm the ladies once more. “This is not an issue any of us will be able to solve in one meeting,” she said. “Especially one called without warning and without giving either side a chance to form well thought out arguments.” She sent a rare peevish look to Lady Claudia. “Therefore, in addition to writing articles, I propose we schedule a formal meeting to address the issues. I shall send around for everyone’s calendar, and a suitable time that works best for the most members will be decided on.”

  “This is dictatorship,” Lady Claudia grumbled, pushing her way through the stirred-up ladies in the direction of the door. “If this is how you propose to continue to run the May Flowers, I foresee trouble down the road.”

  She didn’t stay to say more. She stormed out of the room, half a dozen followers marching in her wake.

  A different sort of chatter rose up as the meeting—which wasn’t much of a formal gathering to begin with—fell apart. Groups of May Flowers broke off to speak in hushed voices, taking advantage of the tea and biscuits that Henrietta’s staff passed around. Several more left a suitable time after Lady Claudia and her cadre, so as not to appear to be following them. The entire encounter left Cece feeling off-balance.

  “I worry about what’s to come,” Henrietta said, making her way through her remaining guests to Cece’s side. “This is more than a simple issue effecting a ladies’ social club. I’m afraid it has infiltrated the entire Liberal Party.”

  “It has,” Cece agreed. “It makes me fear for the future. If the Liberal Party divides over this issue, it will ensure the Conservatives will regain power and hold it for years to come, and their aims are so contrary to everything we’ve been fighting for.”

  Henrietta hummed in agreement. “Would you be willing to write an article outlining the argument in favor of Irish Home Rule?” she asked.

  “Of course,” Cece said. “I’ll do whatever I can to help.” Assuming she could write something that made a shred of sense. She’d grown proficient at letter-writing while Rupert was away, but articles were a different beast.

  “I knew there was value in adding you to our ranks,” Henrietta said. A moment later, her expression shifted to a curious grin. “And how are matters between you and Lord Stanhope?” she asked.

  Cece felt heat flood her face. “He is as much of a menace as ever,” she said, unable to fully meet Henrietta’s eyes. She would most certainly see all the ways that Rupert was getting under her skin. “In fact, he insisted on loitering outside your home to wait for me.”

  “Oh?” Henrietta seemed impressed. “I must say hello to him.”

  Cece winced, but she could do nothing to stop her friend as Henrietta led her across the ballroom and back down the hall to the front door.

  The sight that awaited them wasn’t what Cece expected, though. Rupert was still there, as he’d promised, but he wasn’t alone. Lady Claudia stood by his side, looking adoringly up at him as Rupert told some sort of story. It wasn’t until Cece and Henrietta drew near that it became clear he was bragging about his time in Africa.

  “And with that,” he finished up whatever he’d been spouting, “the locals were appeased and we were able to continue with our business.”

  “How thrilling,” Lady Claudia said, boldly resting a hand on his arm. “I do so love a tale of daring and heroism. Our soldiers abroad are the first and last defense against the evils of these savage nations. I only hope everyone appreciates your sacrifices as I do.” She batted her eyelashes at Rupert, then turned to stare haughtily at Cece.

  Cece was tempted to roll her eyes. She wasn’t even slightly fooled by the woman’s garish act. She seemed to have gotten it into her head that Rupert—one of the few, single earls under the age of forty in Britain—was on the marriage market. The shrew would have to adjust her expectations when she learned that—

  “Thank you so much for your kind attentions, Lady Claudia,” Rupert said, smiling at the woman the way he used to smile at Cece. “It is truly bolstering to hear that there are those of the fairer sex who support our efforts, at home and abroad.” He sent a teasing, sideways glance to Cece that was as good as tweaking her nose.

  “You must know that you will always have my support, Lord Stanhope,” Lady Claudia said in a disgustingly moony voice.

  Rupert grinned, and even though Cece was fairly sure he thought Lady Claudia was as ridiculous as she did and that his grin was mocking, he said, “Lady Claudia, my mother is hosting a ball next week at Campbell House. I would be thoroughly delighted if you would come.”

  “I believe I have already received an invitation, my lord,” Lady Claudia said, her eyes as round as a cheetah who sensed it had its prey cornered.

  “I insist you come as my special guest,” Rupert went on. “It is so gratifying to have a special guest, after all.”

  Again, he peeked at Cece. The beast was teasing her. It was a heartless shift in tactic from his shameless innuendo at breakfast. Of course, Lady Claudia couldn’t know any of how he had behaved toward her not more than an hour ago. As much as Cece disliked the woman, Rupert was being cruel to Lady Claudia and impudent to her. She wasn’t going to stand for it.

  She turned deliberately away from Rupert, facing Henrietta. “I’ll prepare that article for you straight away, Lady Tavistock,” she said with the brightest smile she could manage. “Now, if you will allow me to take my leave, I have a great many things to accomplish today. As much as I would enjoy a longer visit, I have no time for idling in the street.”

  “Perfectly understandable, Lady Cecelia,” Henrietta said, clearly trying not to laugh. “Allow me to walk you to the end of the street.”

  “Thank you.”

  Cece smiled as Henrietta hooked and arm through hers and the two of them marched away from Rupert and Lady Claudia.

  “Looks like you have a rival in more ways than one,” Henrietta whispered when they were out of earshot.

  “I’m not in the least bit worried,” Cece said, her head held high.

  At least, she wasn’t worried about Lady Claudia. Rupert and his newfound, wily ways, however, were on track to spin her inside out and upside down.

  Chapter 8

  As much as Rupert would have liked to spend all his time post-homecoming wooing Cece—or teasing her until she lost her temper, which was just another form of wooing in his mind—the duties of his title couldn’t be ignored.

  “I feel as though I’m a year behind at university, listening to the debates in Lords,” he lamented to Reese as the two of them walked from the Palace of Westminster to their club farther up Parliament Street.

  “It must be a baptism by fire,” Reese said sympathetically, though his brow was knit in a frown as they stepped around pedestrians heading in the opposite direction and made their way to The Tower Club’s door.

  Rupert laughed humorlessly. “I did everything I could to keep abreast of the situation while in South Africa, but news travels damnably slow across that sort of distance.”

  Their conversation paused as the door attendant let them into the club and they strode along the echoing, marble halls to the private sitting room they and their friends had commandeered as their own. Freddy was already there, reading a book, drinking tea, and looking even more threadbare than the last time Rupert had seen him. Fergus had managed to gain entrance as well, although that had taken a colossal effort on Rupert’s and Reese’s part. The secretaries of the club hadn’t been keen on admitting an Irishman, even if he was teetering on the brink of inheriting
an earldom. Harrison Manfred, the Marquess of Landsbury, and John Darrow, Viscount Whitlock, were there as well, playing chess in the corner.

  “All you really need to know to appear informed in the House of Lords,” Reese continued where their conversation had left off once they were seated comfortably in leather armchairs as a footman fetched their tea, “is that nothing at all is getting done at the moment because of The Irish Question.”

  Fergus glanced up from the letter he was writing at the small table under the window, his green eyes lighting with interest.

  “How so?” Rupert asked. He thanked the footman as he was handed his tea, then took a biscuit from a plate on the table between his chair and Reese’s to dunk.

  Reese took a sip of his tea before answering. “The Home Rulers are so intent on having their case heard and bringing the matter to a vote that they have obstructed business in Commons time and time again with filibusters.”

  Rupert grinned. “Irishmen talking until they drop? I’d like to see that.”

  “Yes, well, none of them are actually Irish, and it’s a damned nuisance, if you ask me,” Reese said.

  “I beg your pardon?” Fergus stood from his letters, walking over to face Reese with his arms crossed confrontationally.

  Freddy lowered his book and looked as though he might tackle Fergus if he assaulted Reese in any way.

  “I don’t mean to offend you, O’Shea. Truly, I don’t. But even you must admit that these Home Rulers are preventing other, important issues from being discussed in Parliament.”

  “If Commons wants to get on with things, they should vote on Gladstone’s proposed Home Rule bill and move on,” Fergus insisted.

  “If only it were that simple,” Reese sighed, rubbing his face.

  “Why isn’t it simple?” Fergus pressed on, his posture tighter.

  Rupert glanced between his two friends, feeling as though he were watching a boxing match. Both were absolutely the best of men, but each had had entirely different upbringings and experiences.