How to Enjoy a Scandal

by Adrienne Basso

  Lord Fairhurst likewise stole a glimpse at the other women, then groaned beneath his breath. “Is there somewhere that we can speak privately?”

  “Alone?” Gwendolyn stammered momentarily on the word.

  “It would be best.”

  “Impossible! ’Tis rare enough that I was allowed to stay for tea. I am never present when the household receives callers.”

  “I must see you alone.”

  Gwendolyn straightened her back. “I can show you the rose garden. ’Tis not nearly as lovely as the one at Moorehead Manor, but it will afford us some privacy. We will bring Emma along for propriety’s sake.” At his dubi-ous frown, she added, “Emma is the best choice of my three relations to act as chaperone. She can be remarkably quiet and inconspicuous when told.”

  “If you insist.”

  Fighting a powerful fear, Gwendolyn modulated her voice to a nonchalant tone. “Lord Fairhurst has expressed an interest in your roses, Aunt Mildred. I would like to show him the garden. Emma can join us.”

  Her aunt held up a plate of cream cakes, looking confused. “But the tea has just arrived.”

  “We will return before it grows cold.” Gwendolyn gazed pointedly at her sister. “Emma?”

  The young girl’s eyes lit up. “I shall be delighted to accompany you,” she replied eagerly.

  Emma led the way. After a slight hesitation, Gwendolyn placed her fingertips lightly on the arm Lord Fairhurst extended toward her. Avoiding her aunt and Dorothea’s curious stares, she left the room.

  The narrowness of the hall caused her hips to brush against the viscount’s upper thigh. He made no indication that he was aware of the contact, yet the heat of his body and the firmness of his muscles invaded Gwendolyn’s senses. Her uneasiness increased.

  Why had Lord Fairhurst come to call and why was it so vital that he speak with her alone? Though she longed to do other wise, Gwendolyn knew it was prudent to acquiesce with his demands rather than openly quarrel.

  They wandered out to the garden, following the main path. Emma chatted amiably, pointing out the finest specimens to the viscount, who answered in a polite, distant tone. When they reached the fountain of a fat cherub pouring water from an urn, Gwendolyn pulled away from the viscount, then reached for ward and clamped a hand on her sister’s wrist to gain her attention.

  “I need a few moments alone with Lord Fairhurst.

  Would you please wait in the rose arbor for us.”

  “Gwen!” Emma rolled her eyes and looked up at the sky. “Why do I always get excluded from all the fun?”

  Gwendolyn took her sister’s hand in hers and squeezed it very hard. “Trust me, Emma, this is not one bit fun.”

  “That’s what you always say,” the younger girl grumbled, her lips forming into a pout. She shifted to stare at the viscount, her gaze one of calculated interest. “I will walk the perimeter of the small pond rather slowly, but only once.”

  “Thank you.” Gwendolyn waited impatiently until Emma had reluctantly dragged herself away, then turned to the viscount. “State your request quickly, Lord Fairhurst. Emma’s curiosity is infinitesimal compared to my aunt’s. She will not allow us to stay out here long.”

  Lord Fairhurst arched one eyebrow. “You are exceedingly direct, Miss Ellingham.”

  “’Tis one of my finer qualities, my lord.” She smiled with a sweet falseness. “Please, explain yourself. I was under the distinct impression we concluded our business last week in your drawing room. Why have you come here?”

  “I wish to attend a few of the local society functions during my stay at Moorehead Manor and I find they are far too tedious without a female companion.”

  “Then send for your wife.”

  “Lady Fairhurst does not enjoy the country.”

  “Pity.” She cast him a highly skeptical look. “If you insist, I can speak with Dorothea, but I am uncertain if she will agree.”

  “’Tis not Dorothea that I want. ’Tis you.”

  Gwendolyn felt a spasm of warmth clutch the pit of her stomach. She was quiet for a long moment, her gaze growing distant and unfocused as she stared out at the blooming beauty of the garden. “Surely I misheard you, my lord.”

  “You did not.” He took a step closer. “I want someone with a steady head and composed demeanor to be my companion. Therefore, it must be you.”

  His confidence that she would so easily comply irritated her. It emphasized all too well that he was a man accustomed to getting his way. Well, not this time.

  “There is one rather fatal flaw in your plan, my lord. I am not an accepted member of society, therefore I cannot be your society companion.”

  “My dear Miss Ellingham, that is all about to change.”

  The notion made her stomach clench. Gwendolyn struggled to exhale. It was not just his words, but the force with which they were uttered that stole her breath.

  Re-enter society. He was mad!

  She gave a nervous little laugh. “Though your joke was in questionable taste, I will concede you the irony of the situation.”

  She turned, preparing to walk away. He seized her hand and pulled her close, locking her wrist securely within the strength of his hand. “I am deadly serious.”

  “You are seriously insane!” she retorted, twisting her arm in a vain attempt to dislodge his hold, but his grip remained fixed in place. “Why do you need me?”

  “A fair question.” He gazed over her shoulder to ensure Emma remained out of earshot. “I would first ask for your word to keep what I tell you in the strictest of confidence.

  You must promise to tell no one, not even Dorothea.”

  Despite her anxiety, the viscount’s mysterious attitude caught her attention. Ignoring her better judgement, Gwendolyn replied, “If that is what you wish, I will tell no one.”

  He nodded. “I do indeed prefer to have a female companion with me at a social event for various reasons, but it becomes a necessity in certain instances. You see, I have great difficulty remembering people’s names, even after I have met them several times. I therefore find at times that it can be awkward and embarrassing to go about in public. Ever yone knows me and yet I recall almost no one’s name.”

  Gwendolyn shook her head and smiled thinly. “That might be awkward at a London affair, but here in Willoughby, it does not matter if you remember an individual’s name. You are a viscount and they . . . well, they are not.”

  The corners of his mouth drew down in a frown. “’Tis appallingly bad manners not to address someone by their name, especially if you have been previously introduced.”

  Gwendolyn’s smile widened. “That type of behavior is almost expected of you. Everyone knows that aristocrats are eccentric. It’s a common excuse to dismiss their odd behavior.”

  Lord Fairhurst’s eyes flashed a look of pure annoyance. “I am neither eccentric, nor odd, and I abhor bad manners.”

  The request still made no sense, especially considering her notorious reputation. Had Lord Fairhurst somehow forgotten about it? “You would exhibit the poorest taste imaginable if you brought me to any society affair,”

  she replied lightly, hoping she had found a legitimate reason to dissuade him from pursuing this ridiculous idea. “I am not received in the home of anyone of consequence.”

  He sniffed. “The Barringtons never do anything in bad taste,” he declared haughtily. “If you accompanied me to an event it would be perfectly acceptable.”

  Gwendolyn squinted at the viscount. “You have no problem recalling my name or my sister’s. Perhaps you are getting better.”

  “Obviously, you are the exception. There must be something about the two of you that makes you extremely unforgettable.” His lips twitched. “Unfortunately, that is not the case with nearly everyone else in Willoughby.”

  He was serious! Gwendolyn began rubbing her arms, hoping to stop the goose bumps of anxiety that were forming. “My wardrobe is hopelessly out of fashion. I shall be hard-pressed indeed to find something appropriate to
wear to any of our local society affairs,” she muttered.

  The viscount’s brow frowned in consideration. “It will take far too long to have clothing commissioned in London, but there must be a local dressmaker who could make you some fashionable gowns. Naturally, I shall cover all the expenses.”

  “You cannot possibly pay for my clothing! Everyone will believe I have become your mistress!” A fist of nerves knotted inside her stomach, but Gwendolyn forced them to unravel.

  “My apologizes. That is a valid concern. I had not realized it might appear that way.” His mouth tightened.

  “You shall order whatever clothes are necessary and I will reimburse you the costs. No one need ever know. Trust me, Miss Ellingham, I shall be the soul of discretion.”

  “I hardly find that reassuring.” Gwendolyn snapped.

  “How will I explain a new wardrobe to my aunt and uncle?”

  He released a huff of breath, obviously irked by her protests. “You have raised several legitimate points, but none that cannot be overcome with proper planning. I will call on you tomorrow morning and take you riding, so we may discuss this further.”

  “We’ll need a chaperone,” she said quickly, pleased to have another obstacle to throw in his path.

  “Does Emma ride?”

  “Not any longer. She was bucked from her horse several years ago but remembers the incident too vividly to feel comfortable riding.”

  “I’ll bring one of my grooms.”

  Gwendolyn wanted to refuse. An inner warning told her nothing good could possibly come of any further acquaintance with the viscount. His idea of having her accompany him to any sort of social function was totally preposterous. Yet it was clear he was not a man who often heard the word “no.”

  Frustrated, Gwendolyn started walking slowly toward the house. She wanted to speak her mind fully, tell him that she refused to subject herself to any possible humiliation, yet she knew it was unwise to anger him so soon after the incident with Dorothea. He still might change his mind and create a scandal. It would be safer in the long run to cooperate. For now.

  “Be here at eight o’clock tomorrow morning,” she replied. It took all her composure to answer in a steady voice. “We should take our ride before it gets too warm and before too many others are out and about.”

  “As you wish.” He bowed elegantly, the courtly picture of an indulgent male.

  Gwendolyn’s spine stiffened. She opened her mouth.

  Then closed it. Her wishes! What rubbish. They both knew that was hardly the case. For one mad moment Gwendolyn thought of arguing with him, forcing him to admit the truth of the matter. Whatever that could be.

  But she held her tongue. She had bought herself some time. Now all she had to do was make him see the utter foolishness of his ridiculous plan.

  Chapter Six

  The next morning, Gwendolyn hooked her knee over the side-saddle’s pommel, secured her free leg in the stirrup the viscount’s groom caught and held for her, and sat ramrod stiff as the viscount watched her every move. She could feel his heated gaze burning into her, but she refused to so much as glance in his direction. Except for a crisp greeting in answer to his own when he arrived at the stables promptly at eight, Gwendolyn had said nothing.

  She steered her horse out of the courtyard. Lord Fairhurst’s large black mount sidled close and walked at an easy stride beside Gwendolyn’s mare. The groom followed behind at a discreet distance. By unspoken agreement they set the horses trotting the moment they left the drive.

  A crisp breeze blew across Gwendolyn’s cheeks and she turned her face up to a ray of sunshine. The morning was clear and fine, perfect for riding.

  “’Tis a lovely day,” she muttered.

  “Beautiful,” Lord Fairhurst agreed.

  They turned a corner and Gwendolyn noted her mare’s ears perk up as they reached an open field. She knew the animal was longing to stretch her legs with a vigorous run. Reasoning she could avoid talking with the viscount if they were riding hard, Gwendolyn gave a light flick of her reins and the animal took off.

  Not surprisingly, the viscount’s mount chased after her, catching her with ease. They kept the horses at a brisk, safe pace, cantering through the open fields. The fresh air invigorated Gwendolyn’s spirits and helped clear the dullness from her mind. She had gotten precious little sleep last night, tossing and turning and worrying over how to convince the viscount he was making a colossal blunder with his ridiculous plan of having her accompany him to society events.

  They had gone for several miles when another set of riders appeared on the horizon. The viscount shouted to be heard above the pounding of the horses’s hooves.

  “Do you know them?”

  Gwendolyn looked up, drew in a breath and held it.

  Though the distance was considerable, she recognized the bright green color of the woman’s riding habit. “I believe it is Mr. and Mrs. Merrick. Their property lies to the north of here. If we turn off ahead, we can avoid meeting them.”

  The viscount waved aside the comment. “No. ’Tis as good a time as any to test the waters.”

  “I do not think . . .” Gwendolyn began, but her protests were lost in the wind. Lord Fairhurst had spurred his horse forward and her traitorous mare eagerly followed.

  The horses frisked and frolicked together until the viscount pulled his mount to a halt in front of the other pair of riders, who had likewise stopped. Though she would have dearly loved to ride past them, Gwendolyn too pulled up.

  “Good morning, Mr. Merrick, Mrs. Merrick. Splendid day, is it not?” Lord Fairhurst tipped his hat and smiled broadly. “Miss Ellingham and I were taking the morning air. Won’t you join us for a mile or two?”

  “Not today,” Mrs. Merrick replied grimly, acting every bit as horrid as Gwendolyn feared. Though she spoke to the viscount, she barely looked at him, glaring instead at Gwendolyn. “Perhaps we can arrange to meet for a ride another time, my lord. When you are alone.”

  Mrs. Merrick peered down her nose. Gwendolyn felt herself twitch with an involuntary tremble, her body raw with nerves.

  “But today is the perfect opportunity,” Lord Fairhurst insisted, a note of steel in his voice. “It would be foolish to waste it.”

  Mrs. Merrick made a bird-chirping noise of distress, then turned her harsh beetle-black eyes on her husband.

  Mr. Merrick’s pallor heightened. He shook his head ever-so-slightly, but his wife continued to stare him down until the poor man looked at the viscount almost apolo-getically. “We are for home, my lord.”

  Lord Fairhurst’s visage darkened. Gwendolyn feared there might be an explosion of temper, which would make matters far worse. He took a long breath as if tr ying to calm himself. “Your home is located to the north, is it not? How convenient that Miss Ellingham and I are going in the same direction. We shall join you.”

  “Our home lies in the opposite direction from where you were headed,” Mrs. Merrick said indignantly.

  A faint line of color touched Mr. Merrick’s face. He turned away, facing his wife, mouthing something at her.

  Whatever he said somehow convinced her not to make a scene.

  Not giving them further time to argue, Lord Fairhurst spurred his horse forward. Everyone fell into step behind him. The viscount allowed a few minutes of silence, then began making small talk. Mr. Merrick obliged, awkwardly doing his best to keep up his end of the conversation.

  The women said nothing.

  Finally, they came to the clearing that bordered the edge of the Merricks’ property. Suspicion sharpened Mrs. Merrick’s gaze as she turned to the viscount. “You two are out here riding alone?”

  Gwendolyn cringed inwardly, but refused to say anything, knowing it was pointless to defend herself.

  “My groom is with us,” Lord Fairhurst replied. He turned and pointed to the mounted servant who kept pace at a respectful distance. “Though I suspect the rules of etiquette are somewhat more loosely observed here in the country, I would never
risk the reputation of a true lady by anything less than the most proper behavior.”

  Gwendolyn saw the flash of anger in the older woman’s eyes. Clearly disputing the remarks, Mrs. Merrick opened her mouth to argue that Miss Ellingham was most certainly not a lady, but the glare from the viscount must have made her think twice.

  “No one will ever dispute that you act the gentleman, my lord,” Mr. Merrick said, nervously tapping the tip of his tongue to his upper lip. “Especially my wife, who shares your deep commitment to all that is correct and proper.”

  “I am truly delighted to hear that, sir,” Lord Fairhurst said. “It is important to maintain standards. I applaud Mrs. Merrick’s efforts.”

  At his compliment, the tenseness in Mrs. Merrick’s face broke and the wrinkled lines of anger at the corners of her eyes began to fade. But Gwendolyn feared it would only be a temporary lull. This was too perfect an opportunity for Mrs. Merrick to pass up. She would soon start regaling the viscount with stories of Gwendolyn’s past.

  Out of habit, Gwendolyn hung her head and wished she could close her eyes and disappear. What an amazingly powerful weapon that would be, to fade away from the unpleasantness and cruelty, to slip away from the pain effortlessly.

  But there was no easy escape. All she could do was conceal the lines of vulnerability on her face and pretend everything was perfectly fine. They were fast gaining on the house. Gwendolyn bit her lower lip with worry, trying to decide what to do when the viscount was invited inside for refreshments and she was not.

  But then at the last moment, the viscount positioned his horse in the opposite direction. Gwendolyn breathed a sigh of relief. Apparently he was not about to test the Merricks’ hospitality by riding into their courtyard.

  The couple bid him farewell while sending a crisp nod in Gwendolyn’s general direction. She conceded to herself that if glares of disapproval held any heat, she would surely have melted into a puddle on the hard ground.