The Importance of Being Scandalous

by Kimberly Bell

  I was thinking I want to spend the rest of my life with her, and she looks absolutely sinful in trousers. That explanation wouldn’t help the situation at all. “I’ll fix it, I promise.”

  “Do you think you can?”

  “I have to try.” Philip finding out was one thing, but if his father caught wind of it on one of his lucid days God only knew what would happen. Perhaps they would conscript him to the church or the army after all.

  Philip nodded.

  Nicholas stood up and went to the library door. “Philip?”

  “Yes?” His brother sounded extremely tired.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t for mean it to affect you.”

  “We’re family. Everything we do affects each other.”

  Indeed, it did. But when one family member wanted something so drastically at odds with what the rest of the family wanted, how could he keep from disappointing them? “Again, I’m sorry.”

  Philip waved his explanation off. “What’s done is done. Fix it if you can. Once word gets out about father, we’ll have more than enough gossip to attend to.”

  It was harder than ever for Amelia to sit quietly when Embry brought his mother for tea. She kept expecting someone to jump up and start making accusations about the race. Instead, everything was business as usual. She was agreeable, smiled adoringly, and generally played the role of devoted fiancée. Internally, she was on edge. When she did manage to pay attention, it didn’t take long before she was seething. With every passing moment, it became ever more clear how little Embry actually saw her.

  Amelia takes three sugars in her tea. No, no she didn’t. She took one or none at all.

  Amelia favors the classic Roman architecture. Actually, she preferred the giant cathedrals of the Gothic period.

  Amelia would never dream of visiting America. She abhors sea travel. How could he possibly be certain of that when she wasn’t certain herself? She’d never been on a ship.

  “One does wonder how you’ve come to know me so well, so quickly,” she said through clenched teeth.

  Embry squeezed her hand. “Because you are the match to my soul, darling.”

  Ahh yes. That must be it.

  How had she never noticed this about him? She must have been so desperate for someone to pay attention to her. Had she only taken his offer because he was offering? The last one sounded dangerously close to the truth.

  Amelia had no one to blame but herself for the situation she found herself in. She’d accepted the proposal of a man she didn’t actually want, purely because she’d wanted someone to propose to her.

  She was at the end of her ability to pretend when Embry’s mother pulled her aside.

  “Amelia, dear, I want you to know how thrilled I am to have you join the family.”

  Of course she was thrilled. The paragon of amiable behavior Embry had painted couldn’t help but be a blessing to any family.

  Amelia did her best not to take it out on his mother. “Thank you, Lady Montrose.”

  “He told me what he said at your engagement party, and the way Olivia and Charlotte have been behaving. I know he is deeply sorry,” Lady Montrose continued.

  “They’re hardly in the minority, thinking the way they do about my family.”

  “Be that as it may, I’ve spoken to the girls. My son has been through so much. For a time it looked like he might never find someone new. We must welcome anyone that can make him happy, no matter their shortcomings.”

  Amelia could think of a few shortcomings she’d happily develop to test that theory. For now, it couldn’t hurt to highlight a few of the ones she already possessed. “You’re so kind. I can only hope that our children aren’t afflicted with the same difficulties my sister experiences. It was so hard on my parents, to say nothing of Julia.”

  Lady Montrose’s face paled. Her expression settled into a mask of politeness, but Amelia could see her imagination running wild with images of a crippled grandson as heir to the Earldom. “My son assures me that is extremely unlikely.”

  “Oh, I do hope so. The doctors know so little about why these things happen, but I’m certain Embry knows best.”

  Amelia was not surprised when Lady Montrose soon excused herself from their tête-á-tête, and shortly after expressed that it was time for her and Embry to take their leave.

  “Your mother seems pleased for us,” Amelia said as she walked Embry to the door.

  “Of course she’s pleased. I found the finest woman in all of Britain to marry.”

  Unfortunately, she died, and now you’re trying to cram me into her mold.

  “Embry, there’s something I need to tell you.” Now was as good a time as any to tell him about the Rotten Row incident—he’d hear about it soon enough—but Amelia was interrupted by her mother letting out a distressed cry.

  “Mother?”

  The footman who had whispered in her ear left after handing her a note.

  Lady Bishop pasted a stiff smile on her face. “A conflicting engagement I completely forgot about. I can’t imagine what I was thinking, but we’d better make our farewells to Lord Montrose and his mother.”

  To the shock of all three of them, Lady Bishop shuffled the pair out with something very close to haste.

  “What the devil?” Amelia asked once they were gone.

  “It’s your sister. She has an infection.”

  The world stopped.

  Everything came to Amelia as if it was coming through water. An infection. Julia hadn’t had one in years, but they had been nearly fatal when Julia was young.

  The last thing Amelia had told Julia was that she didn’t forgive her. That she didn’t need her.

  What if they were their last words to each other? “When’s the next train?”

  “I don’t think that’s necessary. I just didn’t want you to make a scene when you heard.”

  Enough was enough. “Never mind,” Amelia said, rushing for the stairs. “I’ll find out myself.”

  Due to Lady Bishop’s newfound dislike of Nicholas, he was forced to arrange secret and accidental assignations with Amelia. Today, they had planned to frequent the same coffee shop once Amelia sent word that she was free. No messenger had come, but Nick was impatient, so he went to wait at the agreed upon place anyway. Construction on the new square near Charing Cross made the streets a nightmare, but Nicholas was in no hurry. He was feeling rather conflicted about his involvement in Amelia’s scandals when he arrived at the coffeehouse, but they suddenly compounded tenfold—Lord Montrose was seated at a table directly next to the door.

  Executing an about-face, he tried to make a stealthy escape.

  “Wakefield.”

  Damn it. Nicholas turned back around. “Montrose.”

  He needed to get outside before Amelia showed up, so he could warn her.

  “Sit with me,” Montrose said. “I’ve been meaning to have a word with you.”

  “I really must—”

  “Please, Wakefield.”

  There was something about the way he said it. Nicholas was a hundred kinds of fool and he was certain he would end up regretting it, but he turned and sat down at Montrose’s table. “What is it?”

  “It’s Amelia.”

  Well, of course it was. She was the only topic they had in common. “And?”

  The Earl pondered the edge of his napkin. “She’s been behaving quite strangely lately.”

  Under different circumstances, Montrose’s genuine distress would have garnered sympathy from Nicholas. Instead, it only fueled his irritation. “To be completely candid, how would you know?”

  Montrose frowned, but was not dissuaded. “She’s my fiancée.”

  In for a penny, in for a pound. “She’s your prisoner.”

  Montrose’s face became a sky before the storm.

  “My point is, Amelia is as sweet as you imagine, but she’s not livestock. You’re trying to force her to do something against her objection. She will fight you every step of the way—that is her nature.”


  “I refuse to believe it.”

  “It does not require your belief to be the truth.” Nick couldn’t see it working, but he had to try. “Why don’t you just let her go?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “She doesn’t want to marry you. Let her go.”

  The Earl’s rage bubbled over. “Why? So you can drag her down the road to ruin? So you can prey on her innocence?”

  He shouldn’t. Nick knew he shouldn’t. “So I can marry her.”

  The kaleidoscope of emotions that crossed Lord Montrose’s face—bafflement, surprise, and finally more rage—could have kept an artist busy for months. The sound of his cup connecting with the table rang out like a shot. The entire coffeehouse went silent, watching them. Montrose realized it at the same time Nicholas did.

  “I think I’ve taken up quite enough of your time,” Lord Montrose said through clenched teeth. “Excuse me.”

  Chapter Ten

  The first thing Amelia did when she arrived was go straight to her sister’s room. The maid, Nora, was sitting in a chair by the bed. Julia was lying still with her eyes closed, and she was so dreadfully pale. Amelia climbed into bed next to her. No more of people telling her she couldn’t have her sister.

  “Miss, I’m not sure you should—”

  “She’s allowed,” Julia said, leaving her eyes closed.

  “Miss Julia, your father said—”

  “Mia has had a dreadful scare. She thought I was going to die without having forgiven her for being so horrible to me. You wouldn’t want her to remain guilty and miserable would you, Nora?”

  The maid’s face settled into resignation. “No, miss.”

  “Has she been completely dreadful?” Amelia tucked herself in next to Julia.

  Julia gasped. “I have been a saint.”

  Nora’s expression told a different story. “None of us behave our best when we’re feeling poorly, Miss Amelia.”

  “That’s it.” Julia coughed. “I want Mrs. Polk back.”

  “Well, you can’t have her,” Nora said without sympathy. “You scared her half to death, trying to die, and she’s having a rest.”

  “You could have one as well,” Amelia offered. “I’m not going anywhere for a while.”

  Nora looked between the two of them. “Miss Julia?”

  Julia sighed. “Fine, but bring cake when you come back.”

  “Oh yes, Your Highness. Your wish is my command, Highness.” The maid laughed her way out the door.

  Amelia leaned in to whisper in her sister’s ear. “You two seem to be getting on.”

  “She’s growing on me,” Julia whispered back. “Once she got over the pity and the mousiness, she’s actually rather interesting.”

  A weight lifted off Amelia’s chest. Julia hadn’t been miserable and alone. She’d had Nora to keep her wickedness entertained. “You tried to die?”

  “I didn’t try, so much as it just sort of happened.”

  “Is it done happening?” Amelia asked.

  “I think so.”

  The danger was past. Another weight gone. There was time to say what needed to be said and put things to rights between them.

  “Are you going to go back to being cross at me?” Julia asked. “Because if you are, I might try to die on purpose to get you to see sense again.”

  Amelia laughed. “No, I’m not going to go back to being cross. Are you going to keep insisting I should marry Embry?”

  “Yes. I think it’s what’s best for you. But you aren’t required to agree with me.”

  “Well, that’s a first.”

  “I know. I must truly be ill this time.”

  Amelia laughed. She laid a hand on Julia’s brow. It was warmer than it ought to be, but not dangerously hot.

  Julia closed her eyes again. “Mia, are you…can you stay awhile, or do you have to go back?”

  “Would you like me to stay?” Amelia asked.

  Julia nodded, sounding drowsy. “Only for a while. Embry can spare you for a little while.”

  Embry could spare her for a lifetime, if Amelia had any say in the matter. She snuggled in closer to her sister, running soft fingertips over her hair. “I’ll stay as long as you like.”

  When Nicholas arrived home from his catastrophic meeting with Lord Montrose, the estate agent was waiting for him.

  “Mr. Fletcher? What brings you to London?”

  “Lord Nicholas,” the man said, bowing formally. “I’m afraid I must speak with you.”

  Dread seeped into his chest. “Of course. Is it about my father?”

  Mr. Fletcher nodded.

  “Perhaps we should include Philip, then. I believe he’s at home.”

  They sent someone for the future Marquess. When Nick heard he’d been in the nursery playing games with the children, guilt settled in his stomach. Lady Wakefield was not right—Philip should know—but her wish to spare him was rooted in kindness. How many good days would be tainted by unfortunate news?

  “Lord Wakefield’s condition is getting worse,” Mr. Fletcher explained when they were both assembled. “Yesterday, there was an episode with a tenant. He became violent.”

  “Violent?” Philip straightened, frowning. “Surely not.”

  “What was he doing dealing with a tenant?” Nicholas leaned forward in his chair.

  Mr. Fletcher answered them both patiently. “It was one of the new tenants—Mr. Allen—that recently moved in. He wanted to handle the problem directly, to show that the lord of the manor didn’t take tenant issues lightly.”

  He could believe that. “What happened?”

  “He was having a good day, and then suddenly he wasn’t. He became confused. He didn’t know the man, and the man kept insisting he did. Your father shook him, rather violently. I’d ask leniency for Mr. Allen. He had no notion of your father’s condition.”

  “Of course,” Nicholas said. “Was he hurt badly?”

  “Nothing serious. I think the shock was the worst of it.”

  Undoubtedly, the poor man. This should never have happened. “I’ll come back with you and set things to rights with him in person.”

  “I’m going also.” Philip stood up.

  “Philip.”

  “I can spare a few days, and I think it’s time I see Father for myself.”

  Nick put a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Are you sure you want to?”

  “Is there a chance he’ll get better and this will all blow over?” Philip asked.

  Nicholas shook his head. The running of the estate was their responsibility now, and they needed to accept it.

  Philip’s expression fell. “Better now, then, while there are still good days to be had.”

  That Philip had actually hoped it might be possible was a testament to his brother’s optimistic nature. Nick wished he could spare him this, but they were all going to have to deal with it sooner or later.

  “Pass me a roll, would you?”

  Amelia took one from the covered bowl sitting in the middle of the bed and fired it with excessive force. It bounced off the headboard and over the side out of view.

  Julia continued pulling pieces of cod apart with her fingers. “Brat.”

  They were in the palace, surrounded by Julia’s recreated menagerie on a mountain of pillows. “I should tell Nora I heard you sniffle. Or worse, heard some sort of fluids building in your lungs.”

  “You wouldn’t.”

  “Oh, I would.”

  “You’re truly that cross?”

  “How should you feel if I wanted you to spend the rest of your life with someone who only saw your limp? Who only saw something that’s not you when they looked at you?”

  Julia frowned at Amelia. “If they were good to me, I might—”

  Amelia cut her off. “Don’t lie to me, Julia. You don’t even allow the servants to underestimate you, and you want me to believe you’d accept it from a husband?”

  Amelia had always pitied the queen when they were children. She had
been isolated as a child like the Bishops, though for wildly different reasons, but she didn’t even have a sibling to keep her company. Amelia had often thought how miserable it would have been if she were Victoria, with no Julia to keep her company. Now, she had rather mixed feelings on the subject. On the one hand, Amelia was certain she couldn’t survive it if something happened to Julia, but on the other—even from her sick bed, Julia could be so frustrating it made Amelia’s eyes cross.

  Julia broke into a fit of rough hacking. When she’d finished, her face was red and she sagged back against the pillows.

  Amelia poured a glass of wine and handed it to her. “Are you all right?”

  “Fish. I just swallowed it wrong.”

  Unfortunately, Amelia was as versed in her sister’s lies as Julia was in Amelia’s.

  She cleared the food dishes away to the carpet and slid in beside Julia, pulling an extra blanket over them both. Amelia had known she was right, but it was confirmed when Julia wrapped her arms around Amelia and put her head on Amelia’s chest.

  How could she marry someone and build a new life away from Julia, when any moment something terrible could happen? No. She had to find a way to explore her new feelings for Nicholas without ending up right back where she was—engaged.

  She would convince Nicholas to become her lover, and find her happiness here with her family. Where she belonged.

  “That cough is God punishing you for meddling in my love life.” Amelia stroked her sister’s hair.

  “God has better things to do than help you make terrible decisions,” Julia retorted. It was followed by another fit of coughing, this one sounding worse than the last. Her skin was getting hotter by the minute.

  Amelia was about to get up and call someone when their father came into the room.

  “Abandoned the palace picnic already? I was just coming to join you.”

  “Papa.” Amelia didn’t need to say anything else.

  Lord Bishop turned around and started shouting the house down. Mrs. Polk was there in an instant, followed by an army of maids. A footman was sent for the doctor. Lord Bishop and Amelia were displaced from the room in the flurry.

  “She was fine an hour ago,” Amelia said as they stood staring at the closed door together.