A Dash of Scandal

Three

“To be, or not to be, that is the question” on everyone’s mind as Miss Elizabeth Donaldson declines another marriage proposal, and Lord Dunraven loses patience with the uninspired efforts of the Bow Street Runners. The earl declares he will find the Mad Ton Thief himself and recover the missing Dunraven raven.—Lord Truefitt, Society’s Daily Column
Chandler Prestwick, the earl of Dunraven, sat at a table in White’s furious over what he’d just read. He wadded the evening paper with a jerk and a curse.

“Damned gossips,” he muttered aloud. Must they put his name in every column!

Tossing the newspaper aside, he picked up his drink and looked at the amber-colored brandy that covered the bottom of his glass, and as easily as night slipped into day, he thought of the woman he’d met last night.

The liquor was the color of her eyes. They were the first thing he’d noticed about her when she faced him. Stunning, intriguing, golden brown eyes that were full of dancing lights. He had startled her, but only for a moment. She’d recovered quickly and looked him over carefully, fully, before letting her gaze settle on his face.

Who was she? He was sure he had never seen her before and just as sure he wanted to see her again. She was lovely with trim, slightly arched brows the same flaxen color of her thick, neatly arranged hair. The style was too tight and severe for her, but it didn’t take away from her classical beauty. Her lips were full, exquisitely and temptingly shaped, and the color of a dusky pink flower.

He remembered thinking she was trying to play down her loveliness, and he couldn’t help but wonder why. Most young ladies in High Society went to great lengths to enhance their beauty.

The gentle allure in her face wasn’t the only thing that drew him, or the inviting curves of her womanly body. He was charmed by how quickly she’d regained her confidence and her sharp wit. Hellfire, he was drawn to everything about her. He even approved of the way she’d handled herself in a most inappropriate situation. Proper but not stiff, excited but not emotional.

And she was daring, too. Yes, uncommonly bold to remain in his presence and talk to him so long when it was obvious she was a young lady of quality. Most of the gentlewomen of the ton would never have spoken to him without benefit of proper introduction for fear of their reputations being ruined beyond repair. She had no such compunction. That was a very good indication she had no idea who he was.

Some young ladies tried to gain his attention by fluttering their lashes or fans, dropping their handkerchiefs or talking in a voice so soft and low he could hardly hear them. But this enchanting lady was so confident in herself that she was willing not only to talk to him but to challenge him with her wit. He felt certain she wasn’t in any way trying to gain his attention, but that is exactly what she had done.

Chandler knew she liked his looks by her bold appraisal of him before she’d been confident enough to tell him she thought he was handsome. She had sent heat flashing through him like no other woman had. He could tell by her approving expression when her gaze skimmed his face that she appreciated his features. Chandler smiled to himself, remembering how it had pleased him and astonished him at the same time. Who was she? And was she the kind of lady he had been looking for to share his life?

Chandler shook his head, not ready for where his thoughts had taken him. It was way too soon to start asking himself questions like that about a lady he didn’t even know by name. He would admit there had been too many things to like about her, but that was as far as he wanted to go with that idea.

After they had parted, he noticed her more than once during the remainder of the evening. She appeared poised and self-assured when she talked with people but not forward. He wasn’t sure he wanted to admit even to himself that he’d actually been watching her.

Now here he was sitting at White’s, waiting for his friend and thinking about her when he should have been concentrating on the damned thief who had stolen the raven. The solid gold bird had come from the tomb of an Egyptian pharaoh and had been a part of the house since the Dunraven estate was built, close to one hundred years ago. He refused to be known throughout all time as the earl who had lost the most precious family heirloom.

Chandler swirled the brandy in the glass and forced himself to shake thoughts of the young lady who had caught his attention so effortlessly during the evening—for now. He would see her again. If she didn’t see to it they were introduced in the next night or two, he would. He would find out who she was. He’d make sure of that.

He leaned his head back and relaxed in his comfortable high-backed chair. The sounds of the club surrounded him—muted conversations, loud laughter, and the clank of heavy glass hitting wooden tabletops. He listened to the noise for a moment before he shut it out and let his mind drift back to the events in his life that had led to the theft of the raven.

Chandler had inherited the title earl of Dunraven at age fifteen. As head of his family, he took his position seriously and finished his education at the top of his class. He quickly became a good steward of the vast holdings his father had left him and had added to his wealth each year.

Over his mother’s strident objections he decided to see his three younger sisters properly married before he considered marriage for himself. He contented himself with enjoying his ever-changing mistresses.

After his youngest sister had married, his mother told him he could wait no longer. He must marry and produce an heir to ensure the title. Since that time, Chandler had resisted all her attempts to marry him off to a suitable young lady.

Chandler found that his first complete year without a sister to escort to ton parties and to Almack’s was like sprouting the wings of an eagle. With his two good friends from Oxford, John Wickenham-Thickenham-Fines and Andrew Terwillger, he drank too much, gambled too often on cards and horses, and dallied regularly with more than one mistress at a time.

That he was a constant feature in the gossip columns irritated him. Most of the information written about him and the other two members of the Terrible Threesome, as the tittle-tattle liked to refer to Chandler and his friends, was untrue. Chandler had never bothered to dispute any of the absurd claims until about a year ago when he was very nearly brought to dueling over a story published in one of the columns.

There was nothing he would like better than to know the identity of the person who spied on unsuspecting people and wrote those wretched things.

He couldn’t deny the debauchery of his late youth and his enjoyment of it, free from responsibilities, but recently his carefree lifestyle had lost its appeal. He had slowly, confidently let go of his wild days.

Chandler had finally admitted to himself, but to no one else, that his mother was right. It was time for him to take a wife and beget a son to carry on the Dunraven title.

He didn’t want his friends to know he was searching for a bride. They would badger him without mercy, and the matchmaking mamas would be lining up to parade their innocent daughters before him. No, he had long ago realized he had no desire for a giddy girl right out of the schoolroom.

Chandler’s mother had not held a party in their town house since his youngest sister married. This year she had broken her vow of staying in Kent and had hosted one of the first parties of the Season, hoping to encourage her son to pursue thoughts of a wife.

The morning after the party Chandler was stunned and outraged when his housekeeper had informed him that the Mad Ton Thief, as the London papers had dubbed the robber, had stolen his family’s priceless heirloom, the golden raven, from its place of privilege on the tall mantel in Chandler’s library.

Thoughts of finding a wife had vanished. His mother had announced she was taking up residence at their home in Kent, and she intended to remain there until he became serious about choosing a wife.

He was serious about finding a wife. It just wouldn’t consume him until he caught the Mad Ton Thief and reclaimed the golden raven for his family before it was sold or melted down.

The sound of billiard balls smacking together broke Chandler from his reverie. He sipped his drink. The only thing his mother’s party had done was allow the Mad Ton Thief entrance into his home to rob him. He had not seen one woman, innocent or widow, who caught his eye. No lady had enchanted him like the young lady last night since his brief but fervid affair with the beautiful Lady Lambsbeth.

As the tittle-tattle had indicated, he was damned unhappy about his unsuccessful meeting with Mr. Percy Doulton of the Bow Street’s elite Thief Takers, who were investigating the rash of thefts in London’s finest homes. But how had the scandal writers known that?

Doulton was Bow Street’s number-one member of Thief Takers and so far he and his Runners had made no headway in finding the Mad Ton Thief. All they had succeeded in doing was making most of the members of the ton feel as if they were under suspicion by inappropriate and inane questions about the stolen artwork and jewels.

Chandler agreed that it was most peculiar there had been a theft at three different homes and that not one person had admitted seeing anyone who remotely looked suspicious. But as he reminded Doulton, one seldom saw a pickpocket nab a man’s coin purse.

Criminals were skilled at such behavior. The strange and difficult thing was that almost all the guests who attended the parties were known to someone in Society. Few, if any, strangers attended the private parties of the Season. That meant there was a robber among them passing himself off as a gentleman.

“Good. You’ve ordered a bottle. But what’s this? Only one glass? Did you forget I was joining you? How quickly we neglect our friends.”

Chandler looked up into the dark brown eyes of his longtime friend John Wickenham-Thickenham-Fines, better known in Town as Lord Chatwin. Fines was a tall, handsome fellow with thick hair as dark as his eyes. Like Chandler, his friend was broad in the chest and shoulders. He carried himself with just the right amount of self-importance, and he had a smile that made all the ladies swoon.

“Actually, you are so late I thought you had decided not to show. I was just thinking about calling it a night.”

“Sorry to be delayed.”

“No harm done,” Chandler said. “I thought you must still be dallying—I mean dancing with the young ladies. There seem to be more of them this year.”

Like Chandler and Andrew, Fines worked at seeing how many of the coming-out ladies he could convince to take a forbidden walk in the garden with him. No matter how bad the Threesome’s reputation got, there were always one or two new ladies each Season who couldn’t resist them.

“You must be deep into your cups, man. It’s near dawn. All the parties were over hours ago. I truly thought you’d be long gone but had to check just in case you were here, and it’s a good thing I did.”

Fines looked around the room, spotted a waiter, and motioned for a glass before he plopped down in the seat opposite Chandler and made an attempt to loosen his neckcloth.

Chandler shifted in his chair and looked around the dimly lit room. Most of the tables in the taproom were empty. No doubt the gaming rooms would have thinned as well by this hour, with only the stout gamblers and drinkers around to see the morning break.

“Well, I didn’t realize I’d been here that long, but perhaps I have.”

“Sounds to me like you have been woolgathering.”

Fines knew him too well, and Chandler wasn’t sure he was as pleased about that as he once was. “Don’t make me sound as if I’m in my dotage.”

“A year ago, I would have found you gambling at a table, not sitting drinking here by yourself.”

“I was merely relaxing with my brandy. So tell me, where have you been while I’ve been patiently waiting?”

“Impatiently is more like it, ol’ chap. Don’t try to fool me. I know you too well.” He cleared his throat and sniffed. “I just came from Anne’s. Sorry to keep you, but I was in the mood and didn’t want to lose it, you know.”

Chandler felt a twinge of envy. He hadn’t felt in the mood to see his mistress lately, which was why he had dismissed her with a considerable sum not more than a month ago. In years past he would have been into another relationship before the day ended, but he was restless and felt he was looking for something more or different.

“So tell me, was there a jewel you danced with this evening who put you in a strain to see Anne?”

“All of them.” He laughed. “You know how I love beautiful ladies, and I would take every one of them to my bed if I could.”

“You love all women, Fines, not just the beautiful ones.”

“True. I rather like changing my affections from one lady to another: It would be positively tiresome to settle on one, don’t you think?”

Tiresome to settle on one lady? Chandler used to think so, too, but now he planned to do just that after he apprehended the thief.

“Hmm. It’s not something you are trying to accomplish, is it?”

“Damn, no, Dunraven. Don’t startle me this early in the morning. I’m not up to it. Me make a match?” He shook his head. “The devil take me if I do.” Fines picked up the bottle of brandy and poured a generous amount into the glass that had been set before him.

Chandler laughed. “Nothing would please me more than seeing a young lady sweep your legs right out from under you and land you prone at her feet.”

Fines grimaced. “What a horrible thought. I’d just as soon grovel at the king’s feet. No doubt Andrew put such a foolish notion in your head. Just yesterday he said to me that one of us should start acting respectable before Society gives up on us and no longer seeks us out for their daughters. Can you believe such poppycock?”

“He mentioned something similar to me, but I doubt that will happen.”

“So true.” Fines sipped his drink. “It’s a damn good thing titles and money wash away a lot of past bad deeds. No doubt, the young ladies will be standing in line with their dowries ready when we give the signal.”

Realizing he wasn’t up to Fines’s line of banter tonight, Chandler drained his glass. “I think I’m going to give up the night.”

“I just got here,” his friend complained. “And where is Andrew, the devil?”

“No doubt he has given up the night as well. As you said, it’s almost dawn.”

“You’re still depressed about the missing raven, I gather.”

Chandler forced his face not to betray him with anger or frustration. “Not so much,” he lied.

“Truly?”

Leave it to Fines to press the matter. “I feel sure I’ll find the man who is stealing sooner or later.”

“Yes, but later could very well be too late for you. It’s rather easy to melt down gold into an unrecognizable shape, isn’t it? And then the raven would be gone forever.”

Chandler gritted his teeth before saying, “How nice of you to remind me of that.”

“Facts are facts, Dunraven, and can’t be denied.” He drank from his glass rather than sip and savor the fine brandy. “Actually, it might already have been done.”

“You really know how to lift a man’s spirits.”

“There is one good thing. It’s not a piece that could be easily sold to a trader or collector. Too recognizable.”

“That’s true.”

“They’d have to melt it.”

“Damnation, Fines, enough of it.”

“I just don’t want you having false hopes.”

“Certainly no chance of that with you around.”

“How long has the blasted thing been in the family anyway? Must be more than a hundred years or so.”

Fines never did know when to quit. Chandler pushed back from the table and rose from his chair. He said, “Long enough that I’m going to do everything in my power to find the person who took it and recover it.”

“Don’t go off in a huff,” Fines said. “I haven’t finished my drink.”

“But I have.”

“I can see you’re ill-tempered because I went to see Anne and kept you waiting until all hours.”

Chandler smiled. “I’d never begrudge friend or foe a rendezvous with his mistress. You know that. I do, however, have an appointment early in the afternoon.”

“Speaking of Anne and mistresses, have you found a new one yet?”

“No, still looking.”

Chandler realized that he had lied again. He wasn’t looking for a mistress, but he didn’t want to explain his business to Fines. He wasn’t exactly sure when it had happened, but he was beyond sharing all his thoughts and deeds with his friends.

“You always were the picky one, Dunraven.”

“No, Fines, it’s that you have never shown much discretion.”

“There’s never been a reason to. I think it best to sample them all. Short, tall, thin, young, and older.” Fines smiled wickedly at Chandler. “They’re all delicious in different ways. I’ll let you know if I hear of anyone who is available.”

The last thing Chandler wanted was his friend’s help in finding a mistress, but he answered, “Do that,” before he walked away.

***

“It is the best and the worst Season for London Society. The ton flourishes with the indulgence of elegant parties while reeling in shock from having a mad thief in its midst.”

“Heaven have mercy, Millicent, you do try me. Why, in heaven’s name, would you think our readers would appreciate an opening like that?” Beatrice sighed heavily and slowly brushed Hamlet’s coat.

Millicent had no idea how her aunt could be so coherent at this time of the morning. It was dawn and here they were in her aunt’s bedroom with lamps turned high, putting the finishing touches to Lord Truefitt’s column so that it could appear in the afternoon paper. Millicent thought her opening had been a perfect depiction of the events of the Season.

It would be best for her to cajole her aunt and not try to upset her. Millicent would tweak the writings before putting them in an envelope to be taken to the address where her aunt dropped off the column each morning.

“Truly, Aunt, don’t get upset. Remember it concerns Hamlet when you fret. I forgot that you said the readers of the gossip sheets don’t like too much reality in the columns. Not to worry, I’ll change it.”

“Thank goodness.” She patted Hamlet’s head affectionately and he licked her hand noisily. “You’re here to help me keep my column, not see to it that I lose it. Worst of times, indeed! We must write only what our readers want to read. They don’t refer to them as scandal sheets because we write about weather and politics.”

“I understand. I won’t forget again, and I’m pleased you didn’t have a problem with the line from Shakespeare that I added at the last minute.”

Lady Beatrice seemed to consider her answer before saying, “No, I must admit that it didn’t bother me. In fact, I thought it rather clever. I’ve always enjoyed his writings. Especially the sonnets. That’s why I’ve sent you so many copies of his work over the years. But, you should have obtained my permission first.”

Millicent took the reprimand silently.

“The wording seemed to fit what we wrote. I suppose it was all right, but you really must not add things like that, dearie, after we have finished a column, without consulting with me first.”

“I’ll remember that.”

“See that you do.”

“Now, you are certain you heard Lord Dunraven is personally looking for the Mad Ton Thief.”

“Yes. Although I didn’t meet any of the Terrible Threesome earls tonight. There was plenty of talk about them at both parties we attended.”

“There always is, and I’m sure you will meet them soon enough. Most evenings they leave early to gamble or go to private parties where not even I can gain entrance. Listen to anything they have to say, but do not let any of them talk you into agreeing to a private meeting with them.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t, Aunt. You can trust me on that,” she said, feeling somewhat guilty, since she’d just this evening been alone with a handsome gentleman. She must make sure that didn’t happen again.

“I’m sure you will behave splendidly, dearie. But it is interesting that Lord Dugdale might be thinking about settling down and making a match. I do wish I could be out and about myself. I know just the questions to ask that wouldn’t raise suspicions.”

“I was careful.”

“I know. It’s always such a delight to hear what is going on with the earls.”

“From what I heard, Aunt Beatrice, it’s clear Lord Dugdale is paying more attention to the young ladies at the parties this year and staying later for dancing at the balls.”

“Oh, it would be so delicious to have one of them finally wed. Maybe now that the earls are reaching their thirties they are finally growing up. But it will be such a shame to lose them. They’ve been splendid to write about all these years, but not a person among the ton will care a pence about them once they are married.”

Millicent watched her aunt’s expression soften as she talked about her work. “You seem to actually enjoy what you do,” Millicent said.

“Dearie, I do. I do. I can’t imagine what it would be like not to have my column to write. It’s my life. Now, did anything else interesting happen?”

Millicent immediately thought of the gentleman she’d met in the hallway in an unused section of the house. She had been drawn to him in a way that excited her. She had never felt the least brazen in her life until she looked into his eyes. He was the only gentleman she had met since coming to London whom she would like to talk to again.

She had been enchanted by his unbelievably blue eyes, the tilt of his head and the way his friendly, disarming grin fascinated her. She couldn’t forget the way her skin prickled when his unveiled gaze swept up and down her with appreciation. And then offering her his pencil before letting her go.

But, was he a gentleman or a rogue?

Millicent mentally shook herself. What was she doing daydreaming about him? She was at the parties to do a job for her aunt, not to get starry-eyed over a courtly rogue who dared to be so forward as to detain her, then caress her hand and blow her a kiss so tantalizing she could almost feel its softness land against her cheek. Besides, he could be a married scoundrel for all she knew.

Several handsome young gentlemen in her village had tried to persuade her to accept their marriage proposals, but Millicent was waiting until she met a man she wanted to be with every day for the rest of her life.

Millicent wondered if she could feel that way about the nameless gentleman she had met last night. Already she wanted to see him again. She wanted to know if she would have that same sensuous experience of breathless wonder when she looked into his eyes the second time.

Her father had provided well for her and she had no need to marry for financial security. She wanted to marry for love.

But, Aunt Beatrice had made it clear that she was here to do an assignment. If she enjoyed a little of the Season along the way, so be it, but that was not her primary responsibility. Still, Millicent couldn’t help but think about the upcoming evening and look forward to it with a very different attitude than she had the previous evening of engagements.

“Come, come, dearest, don’t take so long over your thinking. We must finish this before I sleep. Did you hear anything else that we need to write about?”

“No, nothing other than what I’ve already told you. I’m sure I’ll do better tonight.”

“It does take a certain aptitude to listen to conversations and glean what is good gossip and what is mere talk, not worthy of print. Now, don’t hurry with your rewriting of this so there will be no mistakes in the column, and see that Phillips delivers the package on time.”

“Consider it done.”

“Splendid.” Beatrice’s eyes closed. “Now leave me, Millicent. I need to rest.” Her eyes popped open. “Don’t forget to seal the paper with Truefitt’s crest.”

“I’ll take care of everything,” Millicent said softly, wishing she could bend down and place a tender kiss on her aunt’s forehead, but with Hamlet curled beside his mistress that was not going to happen.

“Go on to sleep, Aunt Beatrice, and dream of pleasant things. All will be well.”

Millicent tiptoed out of the room and softly closed her aunt’s door. She walked down the shadowed hallway to her bedroom and, after sending her maid, Glenda, downstairs for tea, Millicent shut herself inside. She turned up the lamp on the small desk that had been put in the room for her and sat down to start the painfully slow work of rewriting the article, making all the corrections her aunt had suggested, thankful that the gossip column wasn’t very long.

She picked up the quill and dipped it into the ink jar, but the sharpened nib didn’t touch the vellum before she replaced it on the stand. Instead, she picked up her reticule and opened it. She shook the contents down onto the desk: handkerchief, spectacles, dance card, a satin ribbon, and two pencils.

Her stomach quickened when she saw the pencil the intriguing gentleman had insisted she accept. She picked it up and squeezed it in her fist, then slowly she opened her hand and rolled it back and forth between her fingers. An unexpected pleasure filled her.

She remembered how she had felt when he’d deliberately let his fingertips brush across the inside of her gloved hand, soft but firm enough she would know he’d stepped outside the boundary of propriety. What daring. He had no idea how she would react, yet he took the chance she wouldn’t scream for help or box his ears. And he was right. Surely the man was an unscrupulous rake to be so forward to a lady he had never been introduced to.

As a proper young lady, she should have given him a snub for such ill-mannered behavior, but that thought had never entered her mind. And as a proper young lady, she should never allow herself to write such things as tittle-tattle. Perhaps she should feel heavy with guilt for what she was doing, but for some reason that emotion hadn’t entered her thoughts either.

Millicent shook her head. She must banish the stranger from her mind. No doubt he had deliberately set out to make himself unforgettable so she would wonder who he was and seek him out so that appropriate introductions could be made. She wouldn’t allow herself to think about him again. She had too much work to do and very little time.

She picked up the quill again determined to do her work. She wrote What’s in a name? before her mind betrayed her and turned to dreamy blue eyes, a knowing smile, and a forbidden kiss blown across the air.