Scandal of the Year

by Olivia Drake

  Determination took fire within her, but she hid the reaction behind a cool demeanor. She knew from long experience not to stir the suspicions of her ayah.

  Going to one of the long windows that flanked the front door, Blythe made a pretense of peering out into the gray day. “Oh, pooh, I do believe it looks like rain. We had better postpone our walk until later.”

  Kasi’s dark eyes narrowed to slits. Too wise by half, she glanced from Blythe to the antechamber, then back again. “We take coach, missy.”

  “That is an excellent solution,” Blythe said. “Why don’t you order it brought around? Tell the coachman that half an hour from now will suffice.”

  Kasi gave her another suspicious look. Nevertheless, she put her palms together and salaamed, then shuffled away down the corridor leading to the rear of the house.

  Blythe lost no time in scurrying across the marble floor and through the door of the antechamber. “James, how fortunate that I found you here.”

  He turned sharply, a stack of letters in his white-gloved hand. The rugged masculine angles of his face looked at odds with the sober garb of a servant. Certainly, his gaze skimmed her in a way no member of the staff ought to look at a lady.

  His bland expression revealing nothing of his thoughts, he gave a slight bow. “Good morning, Miss Crompton. How may I assist you?”

  “I wondered if there was any mail for me today.”

  “The usual collection of posies arrived earlier,” he said. “The housekeeper put the flowers in vases in the morning room. Oh, and there was a note, as well.”

  He flipped through the letters in his hand, selected one, and held it out to her.

  She ignored the offering. “Bring it to my chamber,” she said coolly. “At once.”

  Turning on her heel, Blythe breezed out of the room. How haughty he must think her to be unwilling to carry one measly little note by herself. But he would understand her purpose soon enough.

  His footsteps sounded a short distance behind her. She felt a trifle breathless, and the sensation had nothing to do with the slight exertion of mounting the stairs. It was the giddy anticipation of being alone with James.

  Instantly, Blythe lectured herself. She must overcome this girlish mooning over a handsome footman. Marriage to the Duke of Savoy had to be the foremost objective in her life. To accomplish that goal, she needed to convince James to take part in the scheme to hoodwink Lady Davina.

  Upon reaching the family quarters, she kept a sharp lookout. To her relief, the corridor with its gilded pillars was empty in both directions. Mama was busy in her chamber, writing out invitations to a card party she was planning for the coming week.

  That was her mother’s solution to the problem with Lady Davina. They had gone to another ball the previous night, and the duke’s daughter had snubbed Blythe yet again, refusing to allow her access to Savoy. Mama couldn’t seem to grasp that Lady Davina would not be diverted by fair means.

  So Blythe would use foul.

  The plush carpet muffled their footsteps. Her hips swaying, she knew that James would be lagging a respectful distance behind her. What was he thinking as he followed in her wake? Was he watching her? Did he admire her figure and envy the gentlemen whose rank allowed them to court her?

  Blythe grimaced. How imprudent to speculate on the thoughts of a servant. James might be handsome, even fascinating in his distinctive way, but their lives were irrevocably separated by rank. Nothing could ever come of her attraction to him. She knew full well the necessity of avoiding even the slightest breath of scandal.

  Consequently, no one must find out about this clandestine meeting.

  Outside her bedchamber, she took another glance around and then proceeded inside. A moment later, James stepped through the doorway. He was holding a silver salver on which sat the letter.

  His shrewd gaze met hers, but he said nothing. He must know something was up, but he would leave it to her to make the first move.

  Blythe closed the door, then hastened past him to take a swift glance into the dressing room. It was empty. No maid lurked anywhere within earshot. The last thing Blythe needed was for gossip to spread below stairs, because then it would inevitably reach Mama’s ears.

  James stood waiting in the same spot. He lifted the salver slightly toward her. “Your letter.”

  An undercurrent of irony in his voice revealed his suspicion of her request to come here. But he could have no possible notion of her true intention.

  She took the letter, saw that it was from Lord Kitchener, and then tossed it onto the bedside table. Another silly rhyme, no doubt. The viscount had been sending them every day, thanks to Lady Davina’s assuring him that Blythe loved poetry.

  Better she should think about James. He might lose his position if he was caught assisting in her scheme. Was she wrong to ask him?

  She shook off her misgivings. Instinct told her that now was not the time to equivocate. She must win James over by treating him like a friend, an equal. To that end, she must be frank.

  “I’m sure you’ve guessed that the letter is merely a pretext,” she said. “I asked you to follow me here so that we might have a word in private.”

  “As your servant, I’m always happy to oblige you.”

  She flushed. The swift beating of her heart made her feel light-headed. He couldn’t have meant anything salacious … could he? Certainly not. Envisioning the two of them locked in a passionate embrace was the product of her own wayward imagination.

  She took a deep breath. “I’ve a favor to ask you in regard to Lady Davina. You do remember her, don’t you?”

  “The daughter of the Duke of Savoy.”

  “Yes.” Beset by restlessness, Blythe walked back and forth in front of the fireplace. “You witnessed her rudeness toward me at the ball here. She has made it very plain that she opposes a marriage between me and her father.”

  “She was quite clear on the matter,” James agreed in a neutral tone.

  He seemed so cool and distant today. What had happened to the camaraderie they’d shared the morning he’d brought her breakfast?

  Folding her arms, she continued her pacing. “Since then, Lady Davina has kept to her word. She’s done everything in her power to separate me from her father. A few evenings ago, she even played a nasty trick by creating a circumstance in which I would be embarrassed by Viscount Kitchener.”

  James cocked a dark eyebrow. “Indeed?”

  Blythe didn’t want to hearken back to that incident, but perhaps it would gain James’s sympathy. “My parents and I attended a musicale at Lady Wargrave’s house. Davina arranged for Lord Kitchener to sit beside me. You see, she knew he’d been smoking opium and she hoped he would embroil me in some sort of distasteful scene.”

  “But you’re not in disgrace, so I must assume she failed.”

  “Luckily, Kitchener fell asleep before he could do any harm to my reputation. However, I confess to being worried about what she might try next. And whether or not she will succeed next time in humiliating me in front of society.”

  James set down his silver tray on a table. He clasped his hands behind his back and regarded her. “Forgive my forwardness, but perhaps you should find another nobleman to wed—someone with more amenable kinsfolk.”

  If only it was so simple. Like her sisters, he couldn’t fathom Blythe’s situation. He didn’t know that Papa had his heart set on this union. Mama had said so in no uncertain terms.

  Your father believes that a marriage between you and the duke would be an absolutely brilliant match.

  Blythe lifted her chin. “My parents wish for me to marry well. Having the duke as my husband would elevate not only my status, but theirs as well. No one would ever again dare to snub them.”

  He frowned. “Your sister is wed to an earl and your other sister to a viscount. Is that not sufficient?”

  “No,” she said firmly. “There are still those who look down on us. That is why I am determined to wed the duke. However, Lady Davina
is an impediment. I’ll need to find a way to distract her so she’ll lower her guard and allow me access to her father.”

  “Distract? In what way?”

  “I’ve decided to play matchmaker and find a suitor for her, a man who will divert her attention. There’s only one problem.”

  Faint amusement tilted one corner of James’s mouth. “Let me guess. No man in his right mind would court a shrew like her.”

  It should be shocking to hear such a condemnation of a lady coming from a servant. Yet James seemed set apart from the rest of the staff, a man unique unto himself.

  “There is that,” Blythe said. “But I meant Davina is such a snob that only a very few gentlemen meet her high standards. I cannot imagine her settling for any rank less than a duke. And at present, there are no dukes—or their heirs—on the Marriage Mart besides her father.”

  “A pretty pickle for you, then.”

  “Not entirely.” Blythe slowed her steps to watch him closely. “I was thinking that I might have to find a royal for her … a prince, to be precise.”

  “Surely you cannot mean the Prince Regent,” James said. “Forgive me, but from what I’ve heard of the man, I doubt you would have any influence over him.”

  Blythe shook her head. “I don’t want someone known to society. That would be far too difficult to manage. Rather, I was considering a foreign prince.”

  “Considering? Did you have one in mind?”

  “Yes. Perhaps … Prince Nicolai of the tiny nation of Ambrosia.”

  James stared at her, then threw back his head and laughed. “You cannot be serious. You’re intending to invent a prince—as well as an entire country?”

  Miffed by his incredulity, Blythe said, “The hoax can work, truly it can. I’ve thought it through and formulated a plan.”

  “I can’t wait to hear it.”

  Her skirt rustling, she walked back and forth. “Ambrosia is a small kingdom nestled in the mountains north of the Caspian Sea. It is so remote that very few Europeans have ever traveled there.”

  “But it must be rich beyond compare, lest Lady Davina turn up her patrician nose at your prince.”

  “Quite so. The prince will own fabulous reserves of gold and precious stones. And he will be exceedingly handsome. You see, I will put out the word that I met him once, when he visited the Maharajah of Mumbai.”

  “I’ll concede such a ruse would not be entirely impossible.” All humor vanishing, James regarded her with a strange intensity. “It can be easier to fool people than one might think. They see what they expect to see.”

  “Precisely.” Blythe quickened her steps. “I’ll whisper in a few ears and start a rumor about the imminent arrival of the prince in London. Soon, everyone will be abuzz with the news. Then Lady Davina will begin to receive letters from Prince Nicolai. He will say that tales of her legendary beauty have traveled all over the globe.”

  James cocked an eyebrow. “I presume I would be expected to deliver these letters.”

  “Would you?” Stopping in front of him, Blythe laced her fingers at her waist and looked at him from beneath the screen of her lashes. “I promise you will not suffer any trouble for it. I’ll make absolutely certain of that.”

  James knew he was being maneuvered. Yet as he gazed down into her beautiful face, he lost all ability to think. Those come-hither hazel eyes were almost green today, and her lips formed a pleading pout that drove him half-mad with lust. Were he not clad in this damnable footman’s outfit, he would demand a kiss to seal their bargain.

  Not that Blythe would acquiesce. A passionate encounter with a servant would run contrary to her stubborn insistence on selling herself to the Duke of Savoy.

  James cudgeled rational thought back into his brain. “So you’ll attempt to distract Lady Davina with flattering notes from an imaginary prince. I must say, I fail to see how such a scheme will wrest her from her father’s side long enough for you to entice Savoy.”

  “Oh, I have a plan for that part, too.” Blythe strolled to the bed and wrapped her arms around the post, leaning against it while again giving him that sultry look. “You see, she’ll have to actually meet the prince.”

  “But the fellow doesn’t exist—” James bit off his words as her meaning struck him like a fist. “What the devil. You expect me to play this prince?”

  “Of course. What else did you think I meant?”

  He shook his head, feeling like an utter fool for not realizing her intention from the start. He had been far too caught up in dissolute fantasies to consider all the implications. “No. Absolutely not!”

  She dipped her chin and gave him a beseeching look. “But you’d be perfect for the role, James. You’re handsome and well-spoken—and I suspect you can be very charming with the ladies, too. I, of course, would provide you with the proper attire for a foreign prince. It would only be a matter of arranging a few discreet assignations with Lady Davina.”

  Like hell! James had a vision of his own plans going up in smoke. He wanted to unmask her parents, not play dangerous games that could result in him being tossed out of this house, his mission in ruins.

  “You ask the impossible. I haven’t the freedom to play at such a scheme.”

  “I’ll require you to accompany me about town. That should give us ample time to accomplish the ruse.”

  “I’m sorry, Miss Crompton, but you’ve put me in an awkward position. I’ve too many duties to perform right here. If I fail, I’ll face the wrath of God.”

  Confusion wrinkled her brow. “The wrath of…?”

  “Godwin, the head footman,” James explained. “He’s quite the fierce taskmaster, and since I’m new, he’s keeping a close eye on me.”

  “God is watching you.” She clapped her hand over her mouth and giggled, much to his surprise. “How terribly irreverent of me to say such a thing.”

  James found himself grinning back at her. “God really will punish me if I set one toe out of line.” His face sobering, he willed Blythe to abandon the ludicrous proposal. The last thing he needed was the complication of pretending to be a prince. “In all sincerity, Miss Crompton, I must beg your understanding. Surely you can see that I dare not partake in this intrigue of yours.”

  He felt confident that she wouldn’t order him to participate. In the short time he’d known her, Blythe Crompton had proven herself to be a fair-minded girl who would respect the wishes of a servant. She would find some other means to accomplish her scheme, leaving him alone to conduct his own detective work.

  But in the next breath, she shattered his assumptions.

  “James, you told me that you wanted to travel to India. If you cooperate in this, I shall give you the means to go.” She stepped closer, her gaze intent on him. “Fifty pounds.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me. I’m offering to pay you more than two years’ salary to become Prince Nicolai.”

  James went cold all over. For the second time in five minutes, he felt as if she’d knocked his feet out from under him. She couldn’t begin to guess how neatly she had backed him into a corner. No footman in his right mind would turn down such an enormous sum for the work of a few hours.

  Still, he had to try. “You’ll be in trouble if your parents discover what you’re doing.”

  “They won’t find out.” She gazed up at him with the charming entreaty of a seasoned flirt. “Please, James. Won’t you do it for me? I truly need your help.”

  That winsome smile did him in. He resigned himself to his fate. There was no way for him to refuse, anyway, without stirring her suspicions.

  He bowed. “As you wish, Miss Crompton. I’ll play the prince.”

  Chapter 12

  “Do straighten your necklace,” Mrs. Crompton instructed in the coach that evening. “The clasp is showing, and it’s essential that you look your very best tonight.”

  Blythe obediently reached up to rearrange the dainty pearls around her neck. “There, is that better?”

  “Lovely,�
�� Mrs. Crompton said with a nod of approval. “I daresay, you are certain to attract the attention of His Grace tonight. That pale green is perfect with your complexion and so are the white rosebuds in your hair. It would not surprise me to see Savoy fall to his knees and propose at the sight of you.”

  “Oh, Mama. Don’t be silly.”

  “Well, then, your dowry will sweeten the pot. Either way, you will be the Duchess of Savoy.”

  The coach swayed slightly as it inched forward in the line of carriages outside Almack’s. The soft glow of a lamp illuminated the plush interior with its crimson velvet cushions and the gold fringe on the window shade. Elegant in cobalt-blue striped silk, Mama sat with her hands folded in her lap. She looked utterly cool and confident.

  Glancing out into the purple dusk, Blythe hoped her mother was right. Given half a chance, Blythe could charm the duke. But would she have that opportunity tonight? It was doubtful, since there would be scores of other pretty girls in the ballroom, bluebloods who would not inspire Lady Davina’s bile the way Blythe did.

  I would never permit my father to marry so vastly far beneath him.

  Mama still clung to the belief that the duke’s daughter could be coaxed into approving of the match. But the trick she’d played with Lord Kitchener had erased all such illusions in Blythe. Her future couldn’t be left to happenstance. She needed to orchestrate the situation to her advantage, which meant removing Lady Davina from the picture.

  That was why Blythe had commandeered James as her ally.

  She frowned out the window. Unwilling collaborator was a more accurate description of his role in the scheme. His initial refusal had been understandable. After all, she was asking him to take a great risk that might jeopardize his position in the house. But then she had offered him a very generous sum—and yet still he had seemed reluctant.

  Why?

  Perhaps James was worried about his ability to convince Lady Davina he was really a prince. That had to be it. There was no other rational explanation. When Blythe had dismissed him from her bedchamber, his gait had been stiff, his expression closed. She had not seen him since.