Nicola Cornick - One Night Of Scandal

The second book in the Blue Stocking Brides series, 2004

Dear Reader,

It is 1803, and along the coast of Suffolk the threat of French invasion is at its highest. Smugglers, pirates, treasure seekers and spies are all drawn to the quiet Midwinter villages, where the comfortable surface of village life conceals treason and danger as well as romance and excitement…

This is the world that I have inhabited for the past year whilst I wrote the BLUESTOCKING BRIDES trilogy. It has been a wonderful experience. I have always loved the county of Suffolk for its remoteness, the peace of the woods, the wind in the reeds at the water’s edge and the sunset over the sea. It is one of the most atmospheric and inspiring places for a storyteller.

About a year ago I was reading a book about “The Great Terror,” the years between 1801 and 1805, when Britain was permanently on the alert against the threat of Napoleonic invasion. It made me wonder what life would have been like in the coastal villages of Britain, where there was always the chance that the business of everyday living would conceal something more dangerous. I thought about a group of gentlemen dedicated to hunting down a spy-gentlemen for whom romance was no part of the plan, but who found that the ladies of Midwinter were more than a match for them! And so the idea of the BLUESTOCKING BRIDES trilogy was born…

I hope that you enjoy these stories of love and romance in the Midwinter villages! It has been a real pleasure to write this trilogy.

Nicola Cornick

September 1803

She had overplayed her hand.

Deborah Stratton drummed her fingers impatiently on the letter that was resting on the top of the walnut desk. She knew exactly what it contained, but she read it for a third time, just so that it could annoy her all over again.

Her father, Lord Walton, wrote in a deceptively pleasant manner. It was the underlying message that troubled Deborah.

I am gratified to hear of your betrothal…

That sounded kind, but Deb knew that it was laced with sarcasm.

However, your suitor seems somewhat dilatory in asking my permission to pay his addresses to you…

Deborah winced. There was no denying that. Her suitor had been very remiss indeed.

The imminent occasion of your brother’s marriage seems the ideal opportunity to introduce the gentleman to your family so that he can secure my approval, albeit belatedly…

Deb frowned. She was obliged to agree that it would be the perfect occasion-except that there was one small problem. There could be no introduction, for her suitor did not exist. He was a figment of her imagination. He had been invented with the express intention of persuading her father to cease interfering in her business.

Lord Walton had been pressing his younger daughter to return home to Bath for some time. His letters had become ever more urgent. He wrote that it was inappropriate for a young widow in Deborah’s situation to live alone but for a female companion. Far better to return to the family seat where she could resume her place in Bath society and he would be spared the expense of financing a separate household for her.

It was, in fact, a request that Lord Walton could enforce easily whenever he chose by the simple expedient of withdrawing her allowance. Deb knew this and she had written back in desperation, explaining that she had recently contracted a betrothal to a Suffolk gentleman and wished to remain in Midwinter Mallow. This, her father’s reply, had arrived by return of post.

We shall look forward to seeing both of you in two months’ time for Guy’s wedding…

Deb pushed the letter aside and sat back in the walnut chair. Her ruse had backfired spectacularly, just as her companion, Mrs Aintree, had warned her that it would. She knew that it was all her own fault. She had got herself into a tangle, as she was wont to do, and now she would have to get herself out again.

Deb got to her feet and marched into the breakfast room where Clarissa Aintree was still at the table, reading the local newspaper. Mrs Aintree, a practical lady of indeterminate age who had once been Deborah’s governess, was accustomed to her former charge’s impulsive nature. Sometimes her warnings were heeded and sometimes they were not. This had been one of the latter occasions.

Mrs Aintree put the paper aside and took a sip of tea, her blue eyes regarding Deborah’s stormy face with mild amusement.

‘I assume that your father did not respond to your letter quite as you intended?’ she enquired.

‘No!’ Deborah slumped into her seat disconsolately and poured herself another cup of chocolate. Then she paused with a sigh, resting her chin on her hand.

‘I thought that Papa might be so pleased to think me safely betrothed that he would agree to my remaining in Midwinter, but instead he says that he wishes to meet my fiancé and that I must bring him to Guy’s wedding!’

Mrs Aintree murmured something that sounded like ‘I told you so’.

Deborah got up again and strode restlessly across to the window. ‘I know you told me so, Clarrie, but I thought-’ She broke off. ‘Oh, I am so cross!’

‘With yourself?’ Mrs Aintree asked shrewdly.

Deb gave her a sharp look. ‘Yes! And with Olivia! She was the one who told Papa in her letters that this is a dangerous neighbourhood in which to live.’

‘It is,’ Mrs Aintree pointed out blandly.

‘I know! But if Olivia had not written thus to him, then he would never have summoned me home to Bath.’

Mrs Aintree ate a piece of toast. She ate it thoughtfully and slowly. Then she said, ‘Your papa is not a stupid man, Deborah. I am sure that he is quite well aware of the dangers of French invasion here in Suffolk.’

Deb sighed. She knew that was true and that it was unfair to blame her sister, Olivia Marney, for telling tales. Even so, she felt aggrieved.

‘Yes, but Liv mentioned the increase in smuggling and the rumour that there are spies at work in the neighbourhood and…oh, a hundred and one other things to alarm Papa! She knew that he had been seeking an excuse to summon me home and so she presented him with one…’ Deborah paused. ‘Indeed, if I did not know her better, I might think that she had done it on purpose!’

‘That is unworthy of you,’ Mrs Aintree said calmly. ‘Your sister would never deal you Spanish coin, Deborah, as well you know. She has been a tower of strength to you. Not that she cannot have been tempted to get rid of you over the years, given the way that people say you flirt with her husband.’

A hint of colour came into Deborah’s cheeks. ‘I do not flirt with Ross,’ she said, a little defensively. ‘You know that is untrue, Clarrie. It is just that we are very alike and we enjoy each other’s company. Indeed, I wish that Liv and Ross could settle their differences. It is devilishly uncomfortable to spend time with them when they bicker like magpies.’

Mrs Aintree gave her a severe look that put Deborah forcibly in mind of the days when she had been a recalcitrant schoolgirl.

‘No doubt Olivia suffers from it rather more than you do,’ she said.

Deborah gave a gusty sigh. ‘Oh, I know that I am a selfish creature,’ she said, ‘but what am I to do?’ She threw herself down in her chair again, half-heartedly buttered a piece of toast and then pushed it aside. ‘I cannot produce my fiancé for my father’s approval, for he does not exist.’

Mrs Aintree shook her head sadly. ‘I have told you before, Deborah dear, that one deception leads inevitably to another. I suggest that you tell your father the truth.’