The Importance of Being Scandalous Read online

  “Cheer up. Once you’re Lady Montrose, you’ll live with Embry and you won’t have to see any of us if you don’t you wish to.”

  Lady Montrose. Amelia was going to be a countess. It was too much to fathom. Even her parents had never expected her to marry above a vicar or some lesser merchant.

  “Julia,” Amelia asked seriously. “Are you certain you’re all right?”

  “Of course. I’m thrilled.”

  It sounded sincere, but Amelia knew her sister better than that. “We always said—”

  “Don’t be silly. We both knew you’d marry someday.”

  “Not before you.”

  Julia rolled her eyes. “We’re not children anymore. I think we can admit that’s never going to happen.”

  “I will not, and you shouldn’t, either.” Amelia’s sister was beautiful, intelligent, and talented. Julia was superior to Amelia in every way, right down to her impeccable style and lyrical voice.

  “No suitable man wants a crippled wife, Mia.”

  Amelia leaned forward, resting her forehead against Julia’s the way they used to when they shared a room and would whisper under the covers until late into the evening. “Then none of them are worthy of you.”

  “Certainly not,” Julia said. “I was obviously meant for Prince Albert, but he’s gone and settled for the queen, so now there’s nothing for me but spinsterhood.”

  “If only he’d met you first.”

  “If only.” Julia kissed Amelia’s nose. “Enough of this moping. I have a plan for how we can cheer ourselves up.”

  The gleam in her sister’s eye had never meant anything but trouble for Amelia. “Does it involve burying ourselves in blankets and napping through the afternoon?”

  “It does not.”

  “It never does. Your plans are rubbish.”

  “Fine. If you don’t want to know, I won’t tell you.”

  Amelia didn’t need to know. She was eighteen years old. Mastery of one’s curiosity was surely a requirement for a future countess. She would be perfectly fine, staying in her room, not knowing. “Tell me.”

  “There’s a new maid,” Julia said, eyes twinkling.

  Amelia groaned. “I knew it. Can’t we let well enough alone for once?”

  “She called me a ‘poor dear’ when she brought my chocolate this morning.”

  Strangers only ever had two reactions to discovering Julia’s infirmity. Pity was the lesser of the two evils, and the less common, but it was still not to be borne. Amelia shoved off the bedcovers and went to the wardrobe. “What shall it be, then?”

  “Jolly Roger, I think.”

  “Somehow, none of these plans ever involve you carrying heavy objects up and down the hallways.”

  “When you’re born with a life-threatening spinal condition, then we can start taking turns.”

  “Liar.”

  “Whiner.” Julia swung her legs off the bed, briefly revealing the unusual angling of her left foot before she covered it again with her skirts. “Wear the grey one. Last time I saw Roger, he was extremely dusty.”

  Amelia traded her nightgown for a chemise and tea-gown, finishing the ties as she heard Julia come up behind her. “And somehow, only my dresses end up ruined in your plans.”

  “Hardly. Remember the elderberry incident? And a little dust won’t ruin anything.” Julia made quick work with a brush, tidying Amelia’s hair into something close to presentable.

  Sooner than she liked, Amelia was ready for mischief. The sisters went their separate ways once they reached the hall, Julia carefully making her way down the stairs while Amelia went in search of the marble bust of their long-forgotten ancestor. She found him in the library, happily collecting dust.

  “Good morning, Uncle Roger, how are you today?” Amelia wrapped her arms around the stone head and lifted it off its shelf. “Oof. You’ve gotten heavier.”

  Amelia and the bust lurched their way back down the hallway until they reached the top of the stairs.

  Julia’s loud whisper sounded from below. “She’s almost done dusting the salon. Do you have it?”

  “Roger would like to lodge a formal complaint against this undignified treatment of his person,” Amelia hissed back.

  “Duly noted,” Julia said. “Fire at will.”

  Rolling her eyes, Amelia let go of the bust. It tumbled down the stairs in a series of loud thumps. Amelia chased after it while Julia made corresponding sounds of distress. Her sister finished in a flurry of dramatics, complete with a very convincing wail and billowing of skirts as she threw herself in a heap on the ground. Amelia barely managed to scoop up the head and dart into the dining room before the salon door opened, followed by the new maid’s scream.

  Chapter Two

  Lord Bishop frowned down at the aristocratic brow of his ancestor in its new, slightly more dignified position on the desk. Amelia waited quietly with her sister. This was hardly their first meeting of this nature. The dark wainscoting of the study had witnessed more than its fair share of Bailey daughter lectures over the years.

  “Why always this one?” he asked his daughters. “There are a dozen others in the house. What did Sir Roger ever do to you girls?”

  “It’s the nose,” Amelia said. “He has a better bounce than the others.”

  “He’s the heaviest, as well. More noise,” Julia added.

  A slight smile betrayed Lord Bishop’s amusement. “I keep telling your mother you’ll grow out of these pranks. You seem determined to make a liar of me.”

  Julia’s smile was sympathetic. “It’s a matter of necessity, Papa.”

  “Oh?”

  “Nora called Julia a ‘poor dear.’”

  Lord Bishop’s face darkened. He was as sensitive to the treatment of his eldest daughter as the rest of their family. “You must tell me or your mother immediately when these things happen.”

  Amelia shook her head. “You’d have let her go.”

  “Rightly so!”

  “Papa,” Julia admonished. “If we tossed out everyone who misstepped in their early days with us, we would be making our own beds.”

  “That’s not true.”

  Amelia interrupted Lord Bishop. “The only people who accept employment with us are those without other options. If you let Nora go, she may not be able to find other work.”

  “It’s better this way,” Julia said. “I feel vindicated, and Nora has learned not to underestimate me. No one suffers unduly, and we can go about our lives with better understanding.”

  “It’s quite humane,” Amelia said.

  Lord Bishop stared at his daughters. “If you had been born sons…”

  “We’d be impossible.”

  “Thoroughly out of control.”

  “Far better this way.” Julia lifted the tumbler of amber liquid from Lord Bishop’s desk and up to her nose. She raised a comical eyebrow at their father, who took it away from her and placed it out of sight.

  Amelia wasn’t fooled by her sister’s light-hearted response. If they’d been born sons, their lives would have been much different. Julia might have joined society, gone to school, lived a passably normal life. As a woman, the moral impurity associated with disfigurement excluded Julia from the possibility of marriage—the only respectable future for females of their station.

  It wasn’t just Julia who bore the cruel consequences of her misfortune, though she certainly bore the worst of it. By nature of having produced a defective child, the moral purity of their parents—and by extension the entire family line—was called into question. Amelia was content to be ostracized by society. It saved her from having to associate with small-minded fools who couldn’t see past Julia’s limp to her sister’s myriad enviable qualities.

  “Just so,” Lord Bishop agreed with a smile. He was oblivious to the melancholy undertone. The Bishop sisters had long ago committed themselves to a facade of perpetual frivolousness. Their parents suffered enough regret without being exposed to their daughters’ darker moments. �
�Now go and see your mother. She had quite the fright thinking something had happened to Julia.”

  “Why does no one ever worry something might happen to me?” Amelia complained as the girls left the study.

  “Because you are healthy as a horse.”

  “Am I?”

  “Of course.”

  “Shall we put it on my engagement announcement? Perhaps my headstone,” Amelia said while they went in search of their mother. She pitched her voice upward into a formal tone. “Here lies Amelia Bishop. Her constitution was favorably comparable to livestock.”

  They were both laughing when they found their mother in the salon, noticeably not riddled with fright or distress. She was also not alone.

  “Excellent! I was about to send for you girls.”

  Lady Bishop’s companion turned, the curling edges of his black hair catching a stray beam of sunlight. Nicholas Wakefield. Amelia’s heart performed a tiny stutter-step in her chest and she convinced herself she’d mistaken him for her fiancé. His shoulders were broad like Embry’s—far broader than they’d been the last time she’d seen him—and the beginnings of a beard shadowed his jaw, giving a slightly disheveled impression. There was something different about the way he carried himself.

  How could two years have changed him so? When he’d left, he’d been a boy of nineteen. Now here he was, looking very much like a man.

  “Good afternoon, Lady Julia.” He rose, giving her sister a warm smile as Julia embraced him.

  Amelia felt a pang of jealousy that didn’t make any sense. Of course they would be happy to see each other. Julia and Nicholas were friends. Perhaps not as close as Amelia and Nicholas, but very nearly. Amelia had even harbored a not-so-secret hope that Julia and Nicholas might marry someday.

  To Amelia, he gave a formal bow. When his eyes met hers, the most peculiar sensation sprang to life in the pit of her stomach. “Good afternoon, Miss Amelia.”

  Oh dear.

  Amelia’s laugh froze Nicholas in place. Seeing her with her hazel eyes lit and a smile dimpling her cheeks erased two years in an instant. As he’d suspected, distance had not been playing tricks on him. Everything else in a room still disappeared when Amelia Bishop walked in. Why did she have to go and get herself engaged, just when he’d managed to gather the courage to declare himself?

  His foolish emotions didn’t care about her engagement. All the distance had done was make him forget how to prepare for being around her. Nicholas used to have an entire routine for keeping his breathing and his emotions under control before he visited the Bishop household. He employed those methods now, taking deep breaths in through his nose and reciting the more boring sections of one of his Latin texts from school in his head.

  “I hear congratulations are in order,” he said, once the ladies had settled themselves into seats.

  Amelia’s brow furrowed.

  “Your engagement.” Julia raised an eyebrow at her sister. “You remember your fiancé, Embry?”

  “Oh yes!” Amelia laughed, a blush spreading across her cheeks. “Goodness. We haven’t even officially announced it yet. How have you heard already?”

  “Lady Wakefield has eyes and ears everywhere.”

  “Isn’t that a terrifying thought?” Julia murmured, low enough to keep Lady Bishop from hearing.

  Nicholas allowed himself a small smile. Amelia shot her sister a sideways smirk.

  “Have you been back long?” Julia asked, this time at full volume.

  Nicholas shook his head. “Just in from London this morning.”

  “And the first thing you did was come to visit us?” Lady Bishop pressed her fingers to her lips, blinking rapidly.

  “Oh, for God’s sake.” Julia shook her head. “You are not going to cry, Mother.”

  Lady Bishop blinked all the faster. “I’m quite touched.”

  “You’re certainly something,” Amelia said under her breath.

  Nick coughed to cover his chuckle. Their debate over who had it worse—Nicholas with his mother’s imperious interference, or Amelia with Lady Bishop’s love of hysterics—had never been properly settled.

  Julia took charge. “Mother, is the laudanum still on your dressing table?”

  Lady Bishop’s waterworks dried up immediately. “Are you all right? Is something the matter?” She rang the bell beside her, calling out. “Mrs. Polk! Mrs. Polk, summon the doctor immediately.”

  “That won’t be necessary, Mrs. Polk,” Julia called over her. “I just feel a migraine coming on.”

  The look Julia sent Amelia said it wasn’t actually one of the headaches that could trap her in bed for days at a time. Nick appreciated the sacrifice. Lady Bishop’s dramatics weren’t quite the backdrop he would have chosen for his reunion with Amelia.

  “Still, we should put you to bed immediately. Perhaps a hot bath.” Lady Bishop ushered her eldest daughter out of the room as Mrs. Polk arrived to assist her, forgetting about Nicholas and Amelia entirely. “We can’t have you sick with Lord Montrose’s family visiting.”

  The swirling chaos of concern moved down the corridor, leaving the salon in silence. Leaving Nicholas and Amelia alone. Together.

  Pull yourself together, man. It’s hardly the first time you’ve been alone with her. Nicholas fell back on his old habits, taking deep, steady breaths.

  “…nice to know some things never change,” Amelia was saying.

  “Hmm?” Thankfully, Nicholas’s calming ritual went unnoticed.

  “Mother. Everything has been so different lately. It’s nice to know some things will always stay the same.”

  Nicholas had known her too long and too well not to hear the things she didn’t say. “Are you all right, Amelia?”

  She shook off her reverie. “Of course. Everything is wonderful.”

  “Truly?”

  “Truly.” She smiled.

  It was a lie. He could read it in the way she wouldn’t quite meet his eyes and in the tension at the edges of her mouth. Apparently more had changed than Nicholas realized.

  Amelia jumped up, breaking the awkward silence. “Would you like to go for a walk? I’ve been stuck inside this house for days.”

  Amelia needed space. She needed fresh air to distract herself from the scent of him. Had he always smelled like coffee and oranges and…what was that other smell? Something masculine that made her want to lean over and breathe him in. He couldn’t have smelled like that before he’d left. She would certainly have noticed.

  When he asked if she was all right, she’d desperately wanted to tell him the truth, but he wasn’t the gangly youth who’d left her two years ago. The forelock of his hair might fall across his brow at the same boyish angle, but the tailoring of his jacket now hugged muscle and sinew that were entirely man. This new Nicholas was a stranger, and he inspired strange feelings. The fluttering feeling hadn’t gone away, and it was now accompanied by the strangest prickling sensation when he looked at her. Perhaps she was coming down with something.

  If he were still the old Nicholas, she would have told him everything in an instant. He’d always been her confidant, her safe harbor in the oftentimes overwhelming chaos of the Bishop house.

  Amelia didn’t know if she was all right or not. She certainly wasn’t as happy as she would expect to be under the current circumstances. A girl in her position should be thanking her lucky stars to have caught the honorable interest of a young, attractive earl. Instead she was exhausted.

  Without Nick, all of her misgivings had piled up with no outlet. She couldn’t tell her parents she wasn’t certain she wanted to be a countess; it was everything they’d never dared to hope for her. And Julia would slap her silly for second-guessing the opportunity. He was her best friend. When he left, so did the afternoon discussions in the hayloft and the moments of crisis when she’d climbed the tree outside his bedroom. He hadn’t even written her. He was different now. Would the man who’d come back in Nicholas’s place still have time for her girlish insecurities? Would he even care?


  She couldn’t say any of that. Not to this new Nicholas. So instead she said, “The continent looks to have suited you.”

  “It did. It was a bit of a revelation, actually.” Even his voice was different. He used to sound hesitant, like everything he said was a question. There was no uncertainty in him now.

  Amelia tried to make her own voice sound as confident—with dismal results. “How so?”

  It was difficult to be confident of anything when one’s organs were flipping somersaults inside one’s body.

  Falling into old habits, they started toward the wooded area that straddled the Bishop and Wakefield estates. Nicholas gestured emphatically with his hands while he spoke. That, at least, was still the same. “At first, I was only touring. It wasn’t unpleasant but it wasn’t particularly riveting. But then I met Jasper and—”

  “Jasper?”

  “Viscount Bellamy. I met him in Caen and went with him to Paris.”

  “On a whim?” Amelia asked. “You went to Paris with a complete stranger?”

  “I did.” The corner of his mouth tilted up. “I tried to argue, but Jas is extremely persuasive.”

  He must be. The old Nicholas would have never behaved so recklessly. Amelia left that development for later consideration. “Presumably Paris had more to offer in the way of entertainment?”

  “It did.”

  Amelia waited for him to say more. When he didn’t, she realized why and heat flared across her cheeks. A revelation, he’d called it. Well, she should be glad for him. That was how boys became men, wasn’t it? It had clearly worked for Nicholas.

  “It’s not what you’re thinking.”

  “You have no idea what I’m thinking.”

  “Two years hasn’t changed that much, Mia.” Nicholas leaned against a tree trunk. “I can still read you like a book.”

  Of all the nerve! Amelia crossed her arms. “What am I thinking, then?”

  He leaned in close. Dangerously close. The coffee and citrus smell surrounded her as his eyes met hers and a jolt of awareness sparked between them. “You think I spent the last two years steeped in debauchery, bedding my way through the French countryside.”