Amanda Quick: Scandal

"We should be quite flattered that an earl came to call and I am sure we all are, but, quite frankly, I am enormously relieved to have him gone. Men like that do not suit little country parlors such as ours," Priscilla Inglebright declared. "So exhausting having a man like that underfoot."

"His family used to live in the neighborhood at one time, I believe." Lavinia frowned thoughtfully.

Emily was startled. "Are you certain?"

"Oh, yes. It has been more than twenty years, now. Priscilla and I had only recently moved here. The earl's family owned a fair amount of land around here, as I recall." Lavinia suddenly broke off with an odd expression in her eyes. "But, as I said, that was twenty years ago and I really do not recall the details."

"Well, I must say, it was especially disconcerting to have him show up today of all days," Miss Hornsby remarked. "Here we have been waiting this age for a report from Emily and we had to spend the last hour discussing the latest literary reviews. Extremely frustrating. But now at last we can get down to business." She turned faded, expectant eyes on Emily. "Well, my dear? How did it go?"

Emily pushed her spectacles more firmly onto her nose and picked up her reticule. She felt much more clearheaded now that S. A. Traherne was gone. "Ladies of the Thursday Afternoon Literary Society, I am pleased to bring good news." She fumbled around in the reticule while she spoke, drawing out some papers. "The navigable canal shares we bought have been sold at a respectable profit. I received Mr. Davenport's report in the morning post. He has already taken the drafts to the bank and deposited them in your account."

"Oh, my," Miss Bracegirdle said, her eyes glowing. "I might just be able to afford that little cottage at the foot of the lane, after all. What a relief to know there will be a roof over my head when the last of my charges goes off to school next year."

"This is so exciting," Miss Hornsby declared. "Just think, Martha," she added to Miss Ostly, "we are well on our way toward securing a decent pension for ourselves."

"Just as well," Martha Ostly retorted, "seeing as it has become quite clear neither of our employers is going to be bothered to supply us with one. What a relief not to have to contemplate an old age spent in genteel poverty."

"At this rate, Lavinia and I will soon have enough money to open our seminary for young ladies," Priscilla Inglebright said happily. "It seemed like an impossible dream for so long and now it is almost within our grasp."

"Thanks to Emily," Lavinia Inglebright added with a warm smile for the youngest member of the group.

"I shudder to think what would have become of all of us if you had not suggested this marvelous plan to pool our money and invest in shares and funds, Emily." Miss Hornsby shook her head. "I, for one, was dreading having to become the companion of one of my aging relatives. They're a miserable lot, my relatives. Every last one of them. Make one grovel for every scrap of charity."

"We are saved and we owe it all to Emily," Miss Bracegirdle said. "And if there is ever any way we can repay you, Emily, you must tell us at once."

"You have all repaid me a thousandfold by being my friends," Emily assured them earnestly. "I will never forget what you did for me after I made a fool of myself five years ago."

"Nonsense, my dear," Miss Bracegirdle said. "All we did was insist you continue to attend our little Thursday afternoon group as usual."

And thereby made it clear to one and all that the decent folk of Little Dippington were not going to ostracize the Faringdon girl simply because of the Unfortunate Incident, Emily thought with a rush of affection. She would always be grateful to the ladies of the Thursday Afternoon Literary Society.

Lavinia Inglebright got to her feet, eyes sparkling. "Do you know, I believe this calls for a celebration. Shall I fetch that bottle of claret we have been saving, Priscilla?"

"A lovely notion," Priscilla exclaimed.

Simon was obliged to walk his stallion aimlessly among the trees for the better part of half an hour before his quarry had the grace to appear.

The earl fumed silently. Matters had not gotten off to the smooth start he had anticipated when he had arranged to attend the Thursday afternoon salon. Obliged to stage a strategic retreat, he had decided to lay in wait for Emily as she rode back to St. Clair Hall.

He had fully expected the literary society meeting to break up shortly after he took his leave but obviously the good ladies of the group had finally found something to talk about after he'd gone. He was getting damn cold, although it was an unseasonably warm afternoon. There was no getting around the fact that it was late February, after all.

Lap Seng whickered softly and pricked up his fine ears. Simon stopped pacing and listened. In the distance he heard he sound of a horse trotting down the lane.

"About time," he growled as he remounted. Then he frowned as he heard Emily's voice lifted high in a cheerful, off-key song sung at full volume.

"What good is a man, now, I ask you, kind ladies? If we had any sense, we would send them to Hades. They say there's a use for each creature, e'en leeches, But to discover the use of men, my dears, A woman must look in their breeches."

In spite of his foul mood, Simon found himself grinning. Apparently the members of the society had gotten into something a bit stronger than weak tea after his departure.

He tightened the reins and urged Lap Seng out of the trees and into the center of the road. He was ready a moment later when Emily's dappled gray came bouncing around the bend.

Emily did not see him at first. She was concentrating too intently on her bawdy song. Her spectacles sparkled in the sunlight and her red curls bobbed in time to her tune. Simon was seized with a sudden desire to know what that mass of fiery hair would look like if it were unpinned and allowed to fall around her shoulders.

"Damn it to hell," he muttered under his breath as he waited for Emily to realize he was directly in her path. The last thing he wanted to do was find himself physically attracted to the woman. He needed to keep a clear head for what he intended. Cold-blooded revenge required coldblooded thinking.

"Good afternoon, Miss Faringdon."

With a startled expression Emily brought her horse to a shambling halt. "My lord, what on earth are you doing here?" Her face was flushed and there was anxious alarm in her elfin eyes. "Did you lose your way? The Gillinghams are directly over that little rise. You merely turn left at the stream and go straight up the hill."

"Thank you," Simon said. "But I assure you, I am not lost. I was waiting for you. I had begun to fear you had taken another route home."

She looked at him blankly. "But you said you were expected back early at the Gillinghams."

"I confess that was an excuse to enable me to leave early. I received the distinct impression my presence was having a dampening effect upon the good ladies of the literary society."

Emily blinked owlishly. "I fear you are right, my lord. We are not accustomed to entertaining dragons—" she looked horrified and immediately tried to recover, "I mean, earls on Thursday afternoon."

"A dragon, hmm? Is that how you see me, Miss Faringdon?"

"Oh, no, my lord," she assured him quickly. "Well, perhaps there is a faint resemblance about the eyes."

Simon smiled grimly. "What about the teeth?"

"Only the smallest degree of similarity. But it does not signify, I assure you, my lord. You are exactly as I had pictured you from your letters."

Simon exhaled slowly, holding on to his patience with a savage grip. "Would you care to walk with me for a ways? We have much to discuss."

"We do?"

"Of course. We are old friends, are we not?"