Loretta Chase - Scandal Wears Satin

But she wasn’t a man, and she had no idea how to run away.

Time, she thought. Her only hope was time. If they could drag out the engagement for months and months, a new scandal would come along, and everybody would forget this one.

Davis entered with the tea. “I put in a few extra drops, but you’ll need to drink it quickly,” she said. “Lady Bartham’s called, and Lady Warford said you’re to come straightaway.”

“Lady Bartham,” Clara said. “That wants more than a few drops. That wants a bottle.”

She swallowed her brandy-laced tea, put on her company face, and went down to the drawing room.

The visit was even worse than anticipated. Lady Bartham was so sympathetically venomous that she left Clara half blind with rage and Mama with a sick headache.

The next morning, Mama announced that she was sick to death of this ghastly engagement and everybody’s insinuations. They would consult the calendar and fix a date for the wedding.

“Yes, of course, Mama,” Clara said. “In the autumn, perhaps. Town won’t be so busy then.”

“Autumn?” Mama cried. “Are you mad? We’ve not a moment to lose. You must be married before the end of the Season—before the Queen’s last Drawing Room at the latest.”

“Mama, that’s only three weeks!”

“It’s sufficient time to arrange a wedding, even a large one—and a small one is out of the question. You know what people will say. And if those wicked French dressmakers Harry took you to can’t finish your bride clothes on time, it is too bad. It is not my fault if my children disobey me at every turn.”

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