Scandalous Scoundrels

by Aileen Fish

  Handing the letter back, Elisa asked, “Where is he on the list?”

  “He’s not on the list.”

  “He’s not on the list?”

  Violetta shook her head. “As I said, I was certain he would refuse.” She folded the note and tucked it away. “I know he’s coming now, that’s enough. The next response is from Lady Amelia.”

  Elisa continued checking off the list of attendees. By the end of the day she had quite forgotten about Violetta’s entertaining cousin.

  Chapter Two

  John was not, by nature, a social man. Not gregarious in the least. He had never made friends easily and was not inclined to keep them very often. It wasn’t that he disliked people. Well, not exactly. But typically they were tiring. When his father had made it clear that he expected John to serve at the Congress of Vienna, it had been among the worst news of his life. Comparable to being sent to school. He was happiest when he kept to himself, primarily restricting his activities to visiting bookshops, dining at tea houses, and taking a periodic stroll in the park or along the Thames if the weather was pleasant enough. It wasn’t that he didn’t long for some excitement in his life. He had just learned that he wasn’t suited to deal with it. Therefore, he kept his adventures confined strictly between the covers of a book. Then he could be a dashing pirate, a wealthy lord, or a dastardly highwayman, all without the inconvenience of having to deal with anyone.

  Now he was going to Violetta’s masque ball. He still had trepidation, but it didn’t seem insurmountable: he could certainly greet Violetta, and then fade into the background. Not a particularly onerous task to most people, but for him it was a tremendous step forward in social interaction. Perhaps his service at the Congress had toughened him as his father said it would. He was certainly glad that he was the third son and primarily wasn’t required to do much of anything. His elder brothers had taken to the Marriage Mart in the last few years, expected to make advantageous matches. As stressful and tiring as the Congress of Vienna had been, he would take it over the Marriage Mart any day.

  Settled back in London, it was clearly time to renew his acquaintances and attempt to resume his old life. Even if it felt as though it didn’t fit quite right, like a coat he had outgrown, he was at a loss to know what else to do. Certainly, once he re-accustomed himself to the rhythm of his old life, it would be a relief. And once he was past Violetta’s masque. Yes, he would reestablish his old habits, visit his cousin at her masque, and everything would be set to rights again. No matter how hollow and lost he felt just now.

  ***

  There were many things that Elisa wasn’t fond of. She didn’t care for apples, or most fruits really. She didn’t like cream sauces. Both flowers and cats made her sneeze. She bore most of these dislikes quite stoically, as no one would have suspected her distaste. But there was one thing she absolutely hated. Hated with such a passion that she at times had difficulty covering that detestation with the polite, poised mask women of her position were known for maintaining. That thing was ‘receiving hours’. All of those dull men fawning over her simply because she was an heiress. She might find it easier to ignore them all if she didn’t know that eventually she would have to marry one of them. Her guardian was clearly losing patience with her, asking more often about the balls she attended, the men who sought her hand. Already one and twenty, she bordered on being a spinster. Sometimes she tried to convince herself that she would be able to accept one of them. Then she would look at them all, listen to their prattling voices, consider their horrid hobbies such as hunting innocent creatures and calling it sport, and she found herself quite unable to consider accepting any of them. Worse, yet, than the loud, boorish ‘gentlemen’ were the quiet, insipid ones. She was vivacious and couldn’t imagine spending any length of time with a man whose sole contribution to daily discourse was “good morning” and “goodnight.”

  Thus, here she was again, with faithful cousin Fanny at her side, receiving whatever good gentlemen of London that cared to nip at her heels today. Fanny had undoubtedly been a beauty in her time, but that time was forty years ago if it were a day. The widow had been kind enough to become her companion seven years ago when Elisa’s parents had died in a carriage accident and her father’s will had expressly stated that she was to live under the protection of his friend and business partner, Lord Emberly. It was fortunate. Although she knew Emberly meant well, he seemed perplexed over what to do with her. Fanny, on the contrary, always seemed to know exactly what to do. She was still proficient with Society and fashion, guiding Elisa through her debut as an experienced captain sails his ship through shoals, and remaining steadfast at her side as Elisa turned away suitors. Elisa wasn’t even sure how many proposals she had refused. Fanny might know. It was just the sort of detail that her cousin would think important to keep track of. All she knew is that it had been scads over the last five years, and based on the men lounging about her guardian’s parlor it would soon be scads more.

  She felt Fanny’s fingers lightly touch her arm and knew that meant she had drifted too far from the conversation again. The gentlemen were looking at her expectantly, so she smiled and looked at Fanny helplessly.

  “Oh Elisa, of course you adore pall mall,” her cousin said.

  She did? No she didn’t. She smiled indulgently at the gentleman she suspected had asked. “Of course,” she said, “but I like quoits much better.” She felt her cousin stiffen at her side with mention of the ring toss game that was popular in low public houses. It wasn’t Elisa’s fault that the game was also popular with the younger set of the ton. The gentlemen chuckled and indulged her with talk of their own preference for quoits, as she had expected. Everything she said was always spot on or grand. Everything she did was charming or splendid. The false toadying compliments set her teeth on edge. She estimated there was a quarter hour left of today’s torture and wondered how she would bear it. If it were within her power, she would rise from her settee and demand that all of them leave. She realized that a small smile played at her lips at the thought and quickly suppressed it. One of the gentlemen would undoubtedly perceive that smile as a special message to him, indicating that she favored him above others. He might, if she were truly unfortunate, consider that ample encouragement to address his suit to her guardian. One day Emberly might command her to marry one of these idiots. She certainly didn’t want it to be one she had smiled at quite by accident.

  Fortunately the last few minutes passed without incident. The gentlemen left at Fanny’s gentle prodding. Elisa lounged back, quite exhausted, wondering how she would endure the endless days of receiving hours stretching in front of her. Two days a week, every week they were in London. At least two other days each week spent calling on other ladies of the ton. It was enough to make her scream. It was enough to make her consider running away on an adventure, like the heroines in the Gothic novels she had taken to reading. She looked over at her cousin and Fanny simply raised her eyebrows in amusement, making Elisa giggle.

  “I swear they get worse every week,” Elisa complained.

  Fanny inspected her fingernails with a small smile. “On the contrary, they haven’t changed in over twenty years.”

  “So you’ve said. I still don’t understand how you married one.”

  “Needs must, my dear. Are you ready to prepare for the Langley ball tonight?”

  “Of course. Although the only one I’m really looking forward to this month is Violetta’s masque.”

  Fanny gave one of her rare, indelicate snorts. “If I didn’t know better, I would think you had been growing younger these past five years. All you think of anymore is your own entertainment.”

  “Surely not. I think of your entertainment, too.”

  Fanny merely shook her head and packed up her embroidery before leading the way upstairs.

  Chapter Three

  John’s feeling of disquiet fled almost the instant he opened the door to Fitton’s Bookshop. The familiar doorbell rang gently. The scent of the
leather bindings enveloped him. Here, at last, he was at home. Mr. Fitton himself was behind the desk, the quick flick of his gaze to the door arrested by John’s arrival.

  “Mr. Howards, is that you?” the shopkeeper asked with a rare smile.

  John chuckled. Fitton was one of the few people that he was comfortable chatting with. “Indeed, Mr. Fitton, I have returned.”

  “Praise be, my lad. I’ve had some things laid aside for you.”

  “For the last year? I doubt that I’ll be able to purchase more than one or two for some time.”

  Fitton dug under his desk, pulling out tome after tome. “You most likely won’t even want them all, but that is certainly for you to decide.” He paused while John picked up the books spread across the desk to read the titles. “And there is a book that is, well, of special interest that came in recently.”

  John raised his brows. “Indeed?”

  Fitton glanced about to ensure that no one else was in his shop, which amused John since the shopkeeper would know if anyone had entered. Fitton slid a small book onto the counter. “When I saw this I knew that you might find it intriguing.”

  John ran his fingers over the black leather and the grooves from the engraved silver lettering. Lord Lucifer’s Guide to Pleasuring the Fair Sex. “This does look like it would be to my interest.”

  Fitton nodded and quickly tucked the book in wrappings. “And if I may suggest, I think you would enjoy Waverley.”

  “Then I must have it, of course.”

  John left the shop intrigued by the little black book that Fitton had wrapped up so tightly. Although he had initially thought to visit a coffee shop and enjoy leafing through his new acquisitions there, he knew that there was nothing for it but to go straight to his quarters and find out what, exactly, Lord Lucifer had to say about the fairer sex.

  ***

  “Every woman wants to be seduced. The challenge lies in helping her to realize that fact.” ~ Lord Lucifer

  Elisa lingered along the wall of the ballroom, watching the dancers. Although it was a bit obvious, her Aphrodite costume was proving quite popular and she had refused a good number of invitations to take to the floor. But she found that here, watching the dancers, she could almost believe that they were intriguing people worth meeting. It was only upon conversation, she knew, that she would find them disappointing. Lacking.

  “What could make such a beautiful woman look so sad?”

  The heavily accented voice came from beside her and she turned to face the gentleman who had addressed her. His shoulder was against the wall, his form a lean study of elegance in evening wear, topped with a cape and black mask. His mouth tipped up in a vague smile, as though she amused him. His accent was unfamiliar to her.

  “I’m sorry, sir, but we have not been introduced,” she said. Her reaction only served to make his smile larger.

  “True, I can see how that might make you sad, but,” he bent his head closer to her as though confiding a secret, “perhaps we will be introduced before the night is through.”

  At that, the gentleman pushed from the wall and walked away through the crowd. Elisa felt a small thrill in her heart. Here, at last, was something interesting. She couldn’t remember anyone from the invitation list that might fit this man’s description. She would need to press Violetta for an introduction.

  ***

  “If it seems you aren’t the sort of man she fancies, be another man. It’s easier done than you might think.” ~ Lord Lucifer

  John could feel his heart galloping in his chest from his brief flirtation with the shy beauty lingering along the wall. Not being able to stomach the thought of being announced, as it always made him nervous, he had snuck in through the garden and she had been the first person he had encountered. An excellent test, as it turned out, of his strategy on how to attend the masque ball. To truly pretend to be someone else. Something he planned to do for the rest of his time here, except for right now as he approached Violetta.

  “It looks like quite the crush, cousin.”

  “John!” she exclaimed as he bowed over her hand. “I can’t believe you’re actually here. Harold said you would come, but I didn’t believe him.”

  He squeezed her hand before releasing it. “Your husband believing in me more than you? I never thought I’d see the day.”

  “It isn’t that, it’s-”

  “Here you are,” her husband broke in, sliding his arm over Violetta’s shoulders.

  John bowed. “L-lord Chester.” Of all the people who flustered him, Violetta’s husband was among the worst, mostly because she was so desperate for the two of them to get along. But Harold Chester was older than John by a good twelve years, and confident in a way that John couldn’t begin to fathom. Chester enjoyed sporting and other manly pursuits. He was also, as his current stance expressed, quite possessive of Violetta, but his posture relaxed as he realized that the young man bowing over his wife’s hand was none other than her cousin.

  “Howards. Told the baroness that you would come if you said you would.”

  “Yes, yes. Thank you, my lord.” John knew that the baron most likely thought him an idiot, since he could rarely string a full sentence together in the man’s presence. It was almost as frustrating as trying to talk to his father, Viscount Howards. Chester was, in fact, a friend of John’s father, and really the two were cut from the same cloth. His father was perhaps a bit more refined of nature, but not by much. That round of thoughts had served to distract him from the conversation, which he realized would make him seem all the more the fool. It made him wish that he truly were a different man, not just playing one for the evening. “Pardon me,” he said abruptly, and fled as calmly as possible to the other side of the ballroom. Once there he promised himself that he wouldn’t have to be John Howards for the rest of the night. Instead, he would be one of his friends from Vienna, a man of consummate talent in social interactions. The sort of man who wouldn’t need to read Lord Lucifer’s handbook. The sort of man who could have written it.

  Chapter Four

  “The surest way to lure her is to express interest and then withdraw. She will pursue you to find out if she still has your favor.” ~ Lord Lucifer

  “A foreign gentleman?” Violetta asked distractedly.

  Elisa tried not to show too much enthusiasm, fanning her face with enviable calm. She really ought to consider the stage, she thought. “Yes, I wondered who he might be.”

  Her friend rattled off a list of names and descriptions that left Elisa no closer to discovering the name of the man she had chatted with so briefly. None of them fit the man she had in mind, all sounding to deviate from his perfection. Too old, too young, too tall, or too short. It was possible, certainly, that she was wrong in her assessment, that one of the men Violetta listed were in fact the gentleman she had met. But somehow she knew they weren’t. She had only caught sight of him across the ballroom a few times through the night and had yet to engineer an introduction, hoping that at the very least her hostess might be relied upon. Alas, no. Elisa began to consider that perhaps the gentleman had not been invited. Where she had met him was terribly close to Violetta’s personal parlor and a door to the back gardens. Was it possible that he had entered the house without an invitation? If so, why would he do so? It sounded terribly naughty. And somehow... thrilling.

  She scanned the ballroom and did not see him. Excusing herself from Violetta, she drifted across the room to where she had first met him. Fanny was seated nearby, chatting with old friends, and Elisa smiled to her cousin. Once Fanny’s attention was back on her friends, Elisa slowly walked towards the darkened parlor, as though it were a perfectly normal thing to do at a party. She slipped through the door and found the room dimly lit by the lanterns hanging in the garden. They weren’t very close to this side of the house, but the light spilled across the flagstones outside and warmed the casings on the windows with their glow. Looking to the terrace outside the parlor, Elisa felt her heart in her throat. He was there. St
anding with his hands clasped behind him, staring up at the stars. It could have been another man, but she knew it was him. Just knew. Before she could question herself, she slipped out the door.

  “I believe you owe me an introduction, sir,” she said boldly.

  He started at her voice, then relaxed and chuckled. “I suppose it’s my own fault for not realizing you were the sort of woman who hears ‘perhaps’ as ‘certainly’.”

  She tapped her fan in her hand and looked at him expectantly. He looked over his shoulder at her, that smile playing at his lips again as though he found her amusing. She found the expression to be equal parts endearing and infuriating. “Now that you know what sort of woman I am, you may proceed.”

  He turned fully to her and bowed as elegantly as one might to a duchess. “My lady, I am your humble servant, Casimir Rokiczana.”

  “Mr. Roki...”

  Her stumble on his foreign name made him smile again. “My friends call me Casimir. And we shall be great friends, shall we not?”

  She found herself smiling back at him. He was too bold. She was herself too bold. If her cousin Fanny were to see her now, the poor dear would expire on the spot. But with him she felt bold. Free. “You may call me Elisa.”