Have Yourself a Merry Little Scandal: a Christmas collection of Historical Romance (Have Yourself a Merry Little... Book 1)

by Anna Campbell

  “Then what?”

  “Then, she ushers you into a secret back room, where the proprietor of the agency meets with you to make the arrangements. It’s all very secretive. They only accept new clients by referral … that card given by a client to a trusted friend.”

  “Oh, poppycock!” Maud exclaimed as Mary finished her inspection of the card and handed it back to Joan. “Don’t you think if any of it were true, we would have caught wind of it before now? Scandal is the lifeblood of the ton, so I cannot fathom something like this has been going on for any length of time without someone finding out and exposing them.”

  “Hmm,” Miranda mused, absently reaching for a scone. “Actually, when you think of it, the fact that they operate in plain sight is ingenious. The women who consort with these courtesans have everything to lose by allowing this information to fall into the wrong hands. Of course they have kept it a secret. Any woman who would think to go spreading the tale … well, she’d ruin her own reputation in the process, wouldn’t she?”

  “Precisely,” Joan agreed.

  Maud waved them off and returned to the sampler in her lap. “I still say it’s all some sort of prank. A lady is likely to turn up at Madame Hernshaw’s and receive nothing more from her inquiry but an expensive gown she’ll never wear.”

  “Well,” Mary said, drawing the word out as she glanced from one lady to another. “There is only one way to know for sure, isn’t there?”

  Joan’s eyes went wide. “You aren’t honestly suggesting I try to hire one, are you?”

  “You do have one of their cards,” Maud pointed out. “What are you doing with it if you have no intention of investigating for yourself?”

  Staring down at the card as if afraid it might bite her, Joan shrugged. “I hadn’t decided one way or the other. Lady Banbury offered it to me, but I’ve been carrying it about for weeks, too afraid to do anything other than look at it.”

  “It’s settled then,” Maud declared with a decisive stab of her needle. “You’ll go to Madame Hershaw’s and find out whether the rumors are true and then report back to us.”

  “Me?” Joan protested with a gasp. “But I couldn’t possibly! Lord Vaughan and I are making progress toward becoming more than acquaintances. I think he will make an overture soon, and if all goes according to plan, I’ll have a lover at nothing more than the cost of a few lowered necklines and flirtatious smiles. I nominate Mary. She’s the most adventurous of us, after all.”

  Mary choked on a sip of tea and suffered through a coughing fit while Maud pounded her back. “Oh, but I am nowhere near ready to take a lover. It is too soon.”

  Miranda’s heart ached for her friend, who had been widowed for two years yet was not ready to move on from Rodingham. What must it be like to love someone that deeply? She feared she might never know.

  “I think the most skeptical of us should undertake the investigation,” Mary added with a sly glance in Maud’s direction.

  Maud gave a defiant tilt of her chin. “I think not. If this agency truly exists, I wouldn’t be caught within sneezing distance of a single one of those courtesans.”

  Joan turned to Miranda with a wicked smile, the calling card extended from her fingers. “I suppose that leaves you. You’ve yet to take a lover since Lord Hughes, God rest his soul. Surely you do not intend to die an old, shriveled up widow?”

  Miranda stared at the card, the printed letters and swirling scrolls swimming before her eyes. Of course it had occurred to her that widowhood meant independence. However, it was difficult to shrug off years of seminary school etiquette and the strictures of a society that kept young debutantes ignorant to the realities of intimacy and pleasure. She had been fortunate to have a husband who took the time to ensure she enjoyed the marriage bed, even if he neglected to give her his attention outside their chambers.

  Despite having built a fulfilling life for herself—one in which she followed her own whims and found camaraderie with such dear friends—Miranda could not deny the needs she’d been ignoring. Marriage had awakened passions in her that now went unfulfilled. While she had been fond of Lord Hughes, the foundation of their union had been based mostly on their compatibility in bed. Having him warm and heavy on top of her … she missed that, more than she was willing to admit.

  “No, of course not,” she replied, realizing the three women were silently awaiting her response. “I just … well, the opportunity to take a lover has not yet presented itself.”

  “Ahem,” Joan mumbled, thrusting the calling card into her hands. “Seems to me that opportunity has just knocked on your door.”

  “If anyone found out, she’d be ruined,” Maud stated.

  “No one will find out,” Mary countered. “If other ladies of the ton can get away with it, then Miranda can, too. Besides, she doesn’t actually have to hire one of them if she doesn’t want. If nothing else, she can simply confirm whether the stories are true. What she does from there is entirely her business.”

  Miranda scoffed. “You say that now, but the minute I inform you I’ve taken to keeping a man as my paramour, you’ll want all the details.”

  “Only if you wish to divulge them,” Joan replied. The sly look on her face told Miranda she’d be hounded persistently until she told every scandalous detail.

  Miranda studied the card with a sigh, excitement stealing over her. As a younger woman, she had never been daring. Her upbringing had made a perfect, polished lady out of her—assuring her future as the wife of a baron.

  If ever there was a time for Miranda to shed the girlish notions imposed upon her in her youth, it was now.

  Tucking the card neatly into her work-bag, she smiled. “Ladies, I think a visit to Madame Hershaw’s dress shop is in order. I have a need for something in red satin.”

  “What do you mean my dowry is gone?”

  Roger Thornton watched his younger sister transform from serene girl to vengeful hellion with the utterance of only a few words. Their elder brother, Lord Angus Thornton, held both hands defensively before him as if sensing Emily’s oncoming tirade. Roger could hardly blame her, as safeguarding the family fortune—including an impressive dowry for their only sister—had been one of the duties passed down along with the title of viscount. However, true to form, Angus had proved as abominable at this as he did just about everything else. His only recommendation was his striking looks, which in this situation proved of help to absolutely no one.

  “Now, Emily,” Angus began, backing away as she advanced on him with fists clenched. “I can make it right; you just have to give me time.”

  “Time?” she exploded, throwing her hands up in exasperation. “There is no time! Lord Lovett has made it clear he intends to request my hand in marriage. Do you mean to tell him he’ll be receiving an impoverished bride once he does?”

  “If he truly cares for you, he’ll want you without the dowry,” Angus said with a little shrug.

  “The man needs an heiress, you dolt!” Emily screeched. “Of course he cares for me, but there is more than love to consider here! Lovett doesn’t have the luxury of thinking with his heart. Do you think he would have given me the time of day if he didn’t know I would come with a dowry large enough to get him out of debt?”

  Angus opened his mouth to reply, but Roger came to his feet and the motion silenced his siblings. One would think he was the eldest, the way they both deferred to him. If only he truly was the firstborn; their lives would be so much easier.

  “Tell her,” he commanded, slowly, succinctly.

  Angus flinched as if Roger has struck him. “Such matters are not—”

  “You owe her that much,” he interjected with a wave of one hand. “Explain yourself.”

  Swearing under his breath, Angus paced away from them, hands on his hips. Emily looked to Roger with a furrowed brow, a silent question in her eyes. He shook his head to indicate he had no idea what their scapegrace brother had done with the money—though he could make a few guesses.

  W
hen Angus faced them again, he wore an expression they both knew well: one of apologetic shame. Roger clenched his teeth and awaited what would undoubtedly be a pitiful string of excuses.

  “I was assured the venture was a sound one,” Angus rushed out in a single breath. “The money would be doubled, and I only wanted to improve our circumstances. I intended to return it with no one the wiser once I’d made it back.”

  “You used my dowry to dabble in speculation?” Emily cried. “Angus, how could you?”

  “I thought it was a sure thing.”

  “There is no such thing in matters of speculation,” Roger snapped his ire beginning to rise. It should hardly surprise him that Angus had done such a thing, though he would have thought his brother above pilfering their sister’s dowry. Apparently, Roger would have been mistaken.

  Emily sank into the nearest chair and buried her face in her hands. “Oh, God. I’ll never make a match now … not with Lovett, not with anyone.”

  Roger gave her shoulder a consoling squeeze while offering Angus a withering glare. “It isn’t so bad as all that.”

  “It is,” Emily insisted. “Everything is absolutely ruined!”

  Fits of female hysterics usually made Roger uncomfortable, but this was his baby sister. He more like a father to her as he did a sibling, considering he was twice her age. He had been eight and ten when Emily was born, and the death of their parents thrust him into the role of unofficial head of the family. It didn’t matter that Angus had inherited the title, or that he controlled their finances. Roger was the practical one, the one Angus and Emily came to when they needed advice. The loss of three stillborn babes between himself and Emily had left a wide gulf between them in years, though his affection for her created a powerful bond. To see her weep made his stomach twist itself in knots.

  “I will mend it,” Roger declared, though he had no idea how he would achieve it. “Do you hear me, Em?”

  Emily’s wide blue eyes filled with tears as she gazed up at him. “Oh, Roger, but how—”

  “Let me worry about that.”

  Angus rubbed the back of his neck and did his best to look contrite. “You don’t have to do that, Rog. I know this is my mess to clean up.”

  Roger’s face flared with heat as his annoyance reached its peak. He would find Angus easier to tolerate if he would cease his feigned displays of remorse. They only lasted long enough for Roger to rescue him from one problem before he’d thrown himself headlong into the next.

  “I kn-know I d-don’t h-have to!” he roared, embarrassment tangling with the anger making him trip over his words. It didn’t matter that his family were the only ones who knew about his debilitating flaw; Roger never stopped being humiliated by the betrayal of his tongue.

  Angus winced with what looked like a combination of pity and unease. “Rog …”

  “Get. Out.” Roger’s words came out clear and brusque, which was often the perfect way to keep from stuttering. He’d developed a reputation as a man of few words to mask his defect from the world. It never failed him.

  Furrowing his brow, Angus opened his mouth to protest, but Roger held firm.

  “Now.”

  Without another word, Angus took his leave. Roger coaxed Emily from her chair, then cupped her face in his hands, swiping away stray tears with his thumbs.

  “Don’t cry,” he murmured. “I will solve this problem for you.”

  “You should not have to,” she protested, darting her gaze at the door. “Angus is the eldest, the viscount, the one we should be able to trust with our livelihood.”

  “True, but he is not. So you will cease worrying and let me handle it.”

  “But, how?”

  Playfully tweaking her nose, he shook his head. “Let me worry about that. Accept when Lovett proposes and say nothing of the dowry.”

  Emily threw her arms around him with a relieved sigh. “You are the best brother a girl could ask for.”

  Smoothing a hand over her golden hair, he smiled. “I know.”

  With a giggle, Emily took up the shawl she had cast off upon entering the room. “And I am the best sister a man could ask for, am I not?”

  Roger wrinkled his nose and pretended to think over the question. “As you are the only one I have … I suppose you’ll do.”

  She slapped his arm on her way to the door. “You will still accompany Lovett and I to the opera this evening, yes?”

  He suppressed a groan, having forgotten his promise to play chaperone for the evening. “I will be there to ensure Lovett behaves himself.”

  Roger wanted to insist that the man wasn’t good enough for Emily if he could not accept her without a dowry. But Emily was right—love was only part of this particular equation. He might soon need to take a wife for the purpose of pulling their family back from the brink of destitution.

  Roger shuddered at the thought of marriage—though it wasn’t the idea of getting married that disturbed him. He rather thought he might enjoy having a wife if she were the type of person he could admire and make pleasant conversation with. His love for Emily created a longing in him for children of his own. His sister was eighteen now, no longer a little girl. She would marry and blossom into a fine lady, leaving Roger alone save for the burden of Angus.

  However, in order to marry, one had to undergo the ritual of courtship and Roger was not built for such niceties. Conversation with strangers was a chore in and of itself. No need to compound that by trying to steady his traitorous tongue long enough to woo some woman to the altar. Never mind his concern that any child born of his blood might inherit his speech impediment.

  Aside from those reservations, there was the fact that Emily’s dowry needed to be replaced sooner rather than later. His sister didn’t have the luxury of waiting for Roger to coax a woman into accepting his suit.

  What was a man to do for a large influx of funds in a rather short time? Roger strode from the room in search of Angus. While he was puzzling over the matter, he might as well have a talk with his elder brother. With Christmas so near, he wouldn’t stand for Angus upsetting Emily more than he already had. If the fool could keep himself out of trouble long enough for him to get their sister settled, Roger might then have the chance to ponder his own future. One thing was for certain, he did not intend to spend what was left of his life cleaning up Angus’s messes.

  Chapter 2

  The next afternoon saw Roger ensconced in a drawing room with his cousin, Lady Beatrice Watson. Marriage had taken her out of the Thornton household, and widowhood had offered her independence. Yet, Roger made certain to maintain a relationship with Beatrice, as the concept of family loyalty had been drilled into him from boyhood. One glance at his surroundings, and it was clear his cousin was doing quite well for herself. Her late husband’s brother had inherited the barony, but a generous jointure would see her catered to for the rest of her days.

  Beatrice had inherited the dark coloring of most Thorntons—pitch-black hair and deep brown eyes, just like Roger. Only a few years older than him, Beatrice still carried the spark and vitality of youth.

  Roger had simply visited her for want of a distraction, yet somehow ended up blurting out the story of Angus’s idiotic blunder. Beatrice listened with pinched lips and tightly drawn eyebrows until he was finished. It didn’t take long, as he adhered to only the most necessary of words.

  Beatrice set aside her teacup with a shake of her head. “One would think age and experience would have shown Angus the error of his ways by now.”

  “It would seem that isn’t the case.”

  Tapping one finger against her chin, Beatrice studied him with a pensive eye. “So it falls to you to ensure our Emily has a dowry to offer a prospective husband.”

  “Not just any husband, though. She has her heart set on Lovett.”

  “He is soon to come up to scratch. They have been courting for some time.”

  “Yes.”

  Narrowing her eyes, she tilted her head, studying Roger as if he were
a butterfly pinned beneath a magnifying glass. “You know, Roger … you’re quite handsome.”

  He shifted in his chair, suddenly uncomfortable with her close perusal. “Thank you.”

  “I’m sorry, I never allowed myself to truly think of it before. You have a lovely head of hair and kind eyes.”

  Oh God. She was going to suggest marriage. Roger steeled himself for the inevitable sentiments.

  You are of an age to begin thinking of taking a wife.

  It would solve all your troubles.

  Don’t you want a family?

  Any woman would be fortunate to have you.

  “Beatrice,” he began, prepared to shoot the idea down before she even fixed her lips to offer it.

  “You like women, don’t you, Rog?” she asked before he could go on. “Honestly, I cannot think of a time I have heard of you courting anyone. Though, I always assumed it was because you’re a bit shy. Is that it?”

  He ground his teeth, wrestling with the usual irritation and discomfiture such questions always caused. Shyness was a convenient enough excuse to fall back on when he didn’t want to admit the truth.

  “Yes,” he replied with a slow nod.

  Beatrice waved a dismissive hand. “I cannot blame you when Angus is your opposite. The man talks too much, and you not enough. I suppose that was God’s way of balancing out the family.”

  He snorted. “You may be right.”

  “Anyway, I was just thinking … well, I might have the answer to your dilemma. But I don’t think you will like it.”

  Roger sat up straighter in his chair. Any venture that promised a large sum within the next month or two was ideal. “What is it? I’m desperate.”

  Biting her lip, Beatrice stood and paced. “Before I tell you, you must promise not to think poorly of me. Even if you decide you don’t wish to take part … I beg you to understand that being a widow is miserably lonely. Most men never think of it, but a woman has needs too. We require love, and affection, and … and other things that cease to exist once a husband has died and left us all alone.”