To Wed in Scandal (A Scandal in London Novel)

by Liana Lefey

  Also by Liana LeFey

  Countess So Shameless

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Text copyright © 2013 Liana LeFey

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Montlake Romance

  P.O. Box 400818

  Las Vegas, NV 89140

  ISBN-13: 9781612185385

  ISBN-10: 161218538X

  Mama—as you typically are with everything, you were right about Sabrina. Thank you for helping me shape her into the heroine she was meant to be. And Daddy, you’ll never know what it means to me that you tell everyone that your daughter writes romance novels.

  This one is for you.

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Sneak Peek: To Make a Match

  About the Author

  Deepest gratitude to:

  Diana West, for the many years you’ve blessed me with your fabulous friendship. Thank you for the hysterical (and sometimes wildly inappropriate) laughter we’ve shared on so many occasions, for your constant encouragement, and above all, for your steadfast love.

  “ZippyChica” Sonia Lara, for slogging through my gnarly rough drafts and giving me the feedback I need to polish them into something worth publishing, and for Pride and Prejudice—with the subtitles.

  My agent, Barbara, for continuing to guide this fledgling into flight.

  My Montlake/Amazon team, for being completely AWESOME.

  LONDON, 1713

  THE OAF HAD finally left—but not without a parting gift. The thought of Montgomery finding the snake she’d secreted in his coat pocket brought a fierce grin to Sabrina’s lips. She rather hoped he discovered it on his way home, for it was particularly satisfying to picture him trapped in the close confines of the carriage with the slithering reptile loose about his feet.

  With delight, she imagined Montgomery leaping out onto the street, his conveyance continuing on its journey without him. He might even land in a large, noisome puddle. Face-first.

  She smothered a laugh as she crept into Mama’s room and hid behind the door. Being the youngest and smallest, her job was to listen in on her parents’ conversation and report back to her sisters. It was especially important now, as the topic of discussion would surely be Montgomery’s visit today. Papa wanted him for Eugenia, even though she had expressed strong wishes to the contrary.

  She could not agree with Eugenia more. The man was simply horrid.

  Sabrina reflected upon his many offenses with growing irritation. After her first few attempts to sabotage his suit, he’d taken to calling her the Red Pestilence. He had done it again today as he was leaving—and worse, he’d yanked one of her loose curls as he’d said it. Even now her cheeks burned. The thought of him as a brother-in-law was positively galling. It could not be countenanced. Thus, her slippery little present.

  Last week, she had put ink in his tea. The result had been spectacular—and Papa had been livid. At least this time, no one but Montgomery would bear witness to her japery.

  She shrank back as Mama sailed into the room, Papa close on her heels and already arguing in favor of Montgomery.

  “Elizabeth, you know he’s the best possible match. They are of an age, they already know each other and are on friendly terms, and he’s—”

  “She’s in love with Afton,” answered Mama.

  Papa let out an exasperated sigh. “She’s young. She can learn to love Montgomery.”

  “You know it doesn’t work that way, Harry.”

  Her quiet reply was followed by silence. Sabrina peeked through the crack, just as Papa moved to stand behind her mother and place his hands on her shoulders.

  “I know, my dear.” Again, he sighed, only this time it sounded resigned. “Very well. I shall allow her to choose between them. Montgomery would provide a better life for her, but if it is her wish, I will give Afton my blessing.”

  Mama turned in his arms, and Sabrina caught a flash of her delighted smile. “I knew you’d see reason.”

  “Reason has nothing to do with it,” answered Papa with a chuckle. “I simply know better than to cross you when you’ve set your mind on having things a certain way. Now, I have a surprise for you.”

  Sabrina watched as he produced a gilt box and held it out to her mother, who took it and opened the lid. “It’s lovely, Harry. Thank you.” Her voice sounded strange.

  “Here, let me see it on you,” he said softly.

  “No, not just now,” her mother quickly answered. “I must change for dinner, and it wouldn’t go well with the gown I’ve chosen.”

  His face fell.

  Stretching up, she placed a kiss upon his cheek. “I’ll wear it for you later,” she promised. “Run along now, and let me dress.”

  His disappointment vanished, replaced by a roguish grin. “I could play lady’s maid,” he suggested.

  “You know better than that, Harry.”

  With a sigh, he released her. “Very well, my dear. I shall see you downstairs shortly.”

  Sabrina shrank back as he passed. When the sound of his footsteps had faded, she again peered through the crack.

  Her mother stared at the necklace in her hand, her expression grim. “I wonder what the new one looks like,” she muttered as she opened the bottom drawer of her jewelry box and tossed the necklace into it.

  What does she mean?

  Her mother finished her toilet and left the room. After waiting several minutes to be sure it was safe, Sabrina came out of hiding and ran over to the chest. Opening it, she took out the rejected gift: an emerald necklace. Even at her age, she knew quality when she saw it.

  A noise at the door made her jam the necklace back into the drawer and shut it.

  Jane, Mama’s lady’s maid, entered and squealed when she saw Sabrina there in the shadows. “Oh! You gave me a fright! Playing in her ladyship’s things again, are we?”

  Sabrina nodded.

  Jane smiled. “I shan’t tell. Only you’d best be getting back before Mrs. Tellane misses you.”

  Her governess had been taking a brandy-assisted nap when she’d tiptoed out to deliver her gift to Montgomery, but Sabrina knew better than to mention it. She left, grateful for not having to explain herself. As she
made her way to where her sisters waited, she wondered about what she’d seen.

  Why did Mama not want Papa’s present?

  LONDON, NOVEMBER 1723

  “THE RIGHT HONORABLE Dowager Countess of Aylesford and the Lady Sabrina Grayson,” announced the liveried footman.

  Only a few heads turned to see the new arrivals, but that didn’t matter. Nothing mattered now, save that London was finally at her feet. Sabrina stared down at the glittering world below, savoring the richness of color, breathing in air that seemed saturated with life itself.

  Three years had been spent cloistered away from all such joy. But the gaiety promised at the bottom of these stairs filled her with gladness—to wear something besides black or grey, to laugh aloud, to dance with handsome young men.

  Papa…Hard on the heels of elation, guilt and grief stifled her breath. Her step faltered. How could she feel any happiness without him here? He’d always taken such delight in his littlest girl. She remembered how he had laughed when she’d begged to go to her first ball on her fifteenth birthday. He’d said no, but had promised to find her a prince to marry the following year.

  That year had arrived without him. Her heart wrenched. Who will find me a prince now?

  Holding back the tears that threatened, Sabrina forced a bright smile for a gentleman who glanced at her in passing. The world would not permit her to wallow in her grief, at least not visibly. A sad, blotchy face would do her no good at all on the hunt.

  I would never have trusted Papa’s judgment, anyway, she thought, blinking away her tears. Birds of a feather flock together, after all. No doubt he would have selected a handsome charmer just like himself. No. It was better that she choose for herself.

  And unless she wished to end as a governess for one of her siblings’ children, she must cast her nets soon. A husband must be caught this Season.

  Carefully, she appraised each of the gentlemen on display as they descended the long staircase.

  Too round.

  Too fidgety.

  Impressively dressed, but ancient.

  That one laughs exactly like—and unfortunately resembles—Lady Pinkerton’s pet monkey. I hope for his sake he’s extremely wealthy.

  Throngs of girls milled about, all of them young and well dowered. Most of them barely out of the nursery, she thought. At nineteen, she could hardly claim the charm of their naïveté.

  Perhaps an older man might be more suitable? Not too old, but mature. A refined, elegant man with impeccable taste and fine manners—and a more discerning palate when it came to women.

  As though heaven itself had decided to have a laugh, Lord Falloure sauntered past, followed by a rush of warm air as every female in his wake sighed. Well, almost every female. She snorted quietly. Though older and undeniably elegant, the man was a confirmed bachelor with a known penchant for married women. She had no desire to see her husband’s lovers at every social event.

  No. She needed a discreet, sensible sort of man. A man who understood that there were more important things than carnal pleasures. A man who, therefore, looked right past the silly, giggling debutantes as though they did not exist.

  A man exactly like…that one.

  Examining her prey carefully from a distance, she guessed him to be in his mid to late twenties. Good.

  The quality of his clothes marked him as a gentleman of adequate means. Also good.

  He was well built, with gilt-blond hair and fine features. Their children would be handsome. Excellent.

  And he seemed completely unmindful of the wistful stares and titters issuing from a nearby cluster of young females. The other gentlemen in his group occasionally glanced their way, but not him. Perfect.

  “Mama, who is that?”

  Her mother followed her gaze and sniffed, making a moue of disapproval. “Lord Francis Fairford, eldest son of Baron Middleton. He’s managed to escape matrimony thus far, though he’s been all but paying court to one Mrs. Geraldine Childers, but I don’t expect a union to come of it,” she confided. “The woman is a foreigner and without ties. His father will surely have forbidden it.”

  So, not engaged or married. “May I be introduced?”

  Her mother’s eyes narrowed. “It’s still very early, my dear, and he is only heir to a baronetcy. There are many more eligible gentlemen here.”

  “Yes, Mama, but someone must be the first,” Sabrina countered, keeping her tone meek.

  After a moment, her mother relented. “All right, if you insist. Better that you test your wings on someone of little consequence before the real hunt begins. ‘A jeweler first practices his skill on lesser stones before attempting the diamond,’ Grandmama used to say.”

  Sabrina smiled as they made their way over to the menfolk.

  At their approach, a silver-haired gentleman stepped forward. “How lovely you look this evening, Lady Aylesford.”

  “My Lord Sheffield,” her mother murmured, pinking ever so slightly. “Allow me to present my youngest daughter, Sabrina.”

  Sabrina grinned as the corner of Sheffield’s eye crinkled in a quick conspirators’ wink. They were already well acquainted. A friend to her father for many years, he had become a great comfort since Papa’s passing.

  “Charmed and delighted, Lady Sabrina,” he said as he bowed. “No doubt you, as your mother did once upon a time, shall soon have all the young men worshiping at your feet.”

  As he presented her to the younger men in his circle, she grew acutely aware that, while the majority appeared quite keen to make her acquaintance, the one she sought to impress in particular seemed vastly uninterested. Indeed, when it was his turn, Fairford’s cool blue gaze flicked over her with what could only be termed poorly concealed disdain. His almost inaudible greeting of “Enchanted” fell flat and stale, and his bow was but the tiniest bend of the waist.

  As she recovered from Fairford’s blatant dismissal, a tall, curvaceous, blond woman materialized at his elbow—and she watched his demeanor transform. The chilly hauteur vanished, replaced by alert, attentive consideration of the new arrival.

  This must be the infamous Mrs. Childers.

  She rapidly tallied her rival’s many deficiencies. Her smile was too warm, her manner too familiar. Her generous bosom was a trifle too exposed and her hips entirely too prominent below what had to be the most tightly corseted waist in Christendom. Somehow, Mrs. Childers had mastered the miraculous technique of remaining conscious without breathing, for surely the seams of her gown would burst asunder if she did.

  Everything about the woman was “too.”

  A mistress, to be sure. She mulled it over. A union with the Frenchwoman was out of the question, her mother had said, which made Fairford perfectly eligible. She wasn’t concerned about the wench. If anything, it was better to know about her now. It would make things so much easier, for there would be no danger of losing her head over him.

  Mama had suffered devastating consequences for becoming too attached to her philandering husband, Sabrina’s father. She was determined not to repeat her mistake. Anything beyond a mild fondness for one’s husband was unacceptable.

  She looked at Fairford. Provided they got on reasonably well, he would do. She put him at the top of her list. Then, cognizant that a young lady should never spend too much time eyeing any gentleman, she moved on. It wouldn’t do to seem overly eager. According to her sister Eugenia, a gentleman preferred to pursue rather than be the object of pursuit.

  All she had to do was gain his notice and then let him chase her to the altar.

  The conversation at hand, a hushed discussion regarding the recent discovery of another unidentified woman’s body on the banks of the Thames, should have held his attention. Not tonight.

  Henry’s mind wandered to the goings-on behind him, where a group of debutantes were discussing gowns and frippery. He doubted whether many of the girls were even aware of the strange murders.

  “The French just seem to instinctively know what enhances a woman’s appearance
to her best advantage,” one announced, earning sounds of heartfelt agreement from her peers. “If it weren’t for their divine influence, we’d probably still be draped in linen and wearing crude leather sandals.”

  A wave of titters followed.

  Closing his eyes, he sighed. God. Why am I even here?

  He was just about to excuse himself when another voice spoke, one laden with sarcasm: “The only advantage to be had by wearing enormous baskets strapped to one’s waist is their ability to mask an overly abundant posterior, should one be so unfortunate as to have one.”

  Silence fell like a stone, and he suppressed a chuckle. Whoever she was, that girl had bollocks of solid rock. Every Englishwoman he knew was a devout worshiper of all things French, despite the tension between their countries.

  “Still, I must admit they do usually have impeccable taste,” the bold female continued, clearly attempting to settle the feathers she’d just ruffled. “Perhaps the Spanish will at last learn how to dress, now that their young king has brought home a Bourbon princess.”

  Her comment was followed by agreeable murmurs. Unable to help himself, he glanced over his shoulder. A redhead. He might have known. He wished he could see her entire face, but all he caught was the curve of her cheek.

  “Do you mean to say that you think the princess will cause the Spanish to wear panniers, too?” one of the girls asked, her expression vacant and confused.

  The redhead laughed a little. “I doubt it. I understand she is most unhappy, being not fond of her husband. The Spanish court is equally displeased with her.”

  “Then I don’t see why we need be concerned with her,” another girl chimed in snidely. “Unless, of course, she brings Spanish prudery back to France with her. I should hate being forced to wear a veil over my hair in order to be fashionable next Season.”

  This garnered a few laughs. He waited to see how the redhead would react. He was not disappointed.

  “What the Spanish choose to wear is of little concern to us here in England, ’tis true. But a Bourbon princess marrying Spanish royalty of Bourbon blood is. Their union only further solidifies France’s hold on the continent. Don’t you see? This is the Bourbons’ way of circumventing the treaty.”