Page 1 of A Lady's Lesson in Scandal
1
Millicent Whittenburg was in quite a pickle.
First, the potted palm she hid behind was far too short and woefully bereft of foliage.
Second, Viscount Tread, a man smelling of mouldy paper and dusty mothballs – and only two years younger than her father – doddered ever closer to her inadequate hiding spot. His watery blue eyes wildly searched the crush of lords and ladies for his betrothed.
Third and most troubling, Millie was his betrothed.
Tonight’s ball was in their honour, officially announcing an engagement arranged by her horrid stepmother.
‘Shall I make some kind of scene?’ Millie’s best friend, Ivy Cavendale, leaned close. ‘You can slip out the back. I’ll meet you in the gardens.’ Her light floral scent reminded Millie of wildflowers after a spring rain. Ivy shifted in her icy-blue satin gown, trying to shield Millie further from view with her body. Which was laughable. Millie towered over her friend and was about three times Ivy in width.
‘It’s no use. He’d smell me out like one of Father’s pointers. And the last thing you need is more scandal.’ Millie smiled at heroldest friend. Poor Ivy had experienced her share of gossip when her father and brother died a few months prior under highly suspicious circumstances. Ivy became a social pariah overnight. Not that either of them enjoyed warming the walls of London’s finest ballrooms, but it was still nice to receive invitations. Ivy didn’t get those any more.
Ivy had become a recluse. Millie worried her friend might never recover from the double blow of grief and shame caused by her father’s and brother’s deaths. Ivy only agreed to attend the ball tonight because she knew Millie needed her support.
Just the thought of lying beneath Viscount Tread as he wheezed and sweated was enough to make any girl gather her friends near and run to the closest nunnery. Millie swallowed down the rising bile.
Things couldn’t get any worse.
‘Oh, there you are, Daughter.’
Hellfire. Things just got worse.
As a matter of course, when her stepmother, Patricia Whittenburg, became involved, thingsalwaysgot worse.
‘I’ve been looking for you, dear. Poor Viscount Tread has been almost frantic with worry thinking you might have slipped away.’ Patricia’s stretched vowels made Millie cringe as the woman’s perfectly painted eyebrows raised like a guillotine.
Perhaps Millie could run. Patricia had no chance of catching her in the ridiculously heeled slippers she wore.
Hope died swiftly as her stepmother wrapped bony fingers around Millie’s arm. Sadly, the only thing escaping was Millie’s chances to be free.
Her stepmother wore a lime-green monstrosity cut so low, Millie could almost see the woman’s nipples. Patricia’s waist was cinched tight enough to crack a rib. It was a wonder she could breathe at all, let alone brandish the commanding tone she directed at Millie.
‘Come out from behind that plant, you silly girl.’ Patricia’s mouth crimped in disdain as her nails dug into Millie’s skin. ‘And you.’ She narrowed her eyes at Ivy. ‘I distinctly remembernotinviting you. The last thing we need at this ball is the stench of scandal.’
Ivy took a half step back. Her thin shoulders drooped like a flower bereft of rain.
Millie hated the defeat she saw in her friend. ‘She came as a guest of the Duchess of Dorsett.’ Not precisely true, but Patricia wouldn’t dare question the duchess. Lady Philippa Winterbourne, Duchess of Dorsett, was widely known to have the ear and favour of Queen Victoria herself. One didn’t disagree with the duchess. Ever.
Despite her stepmother’s talons digging ever deeper, Millie stifled a smug smile. This round went to Millie.
‘How the two of you won her approval, I’ll never know.’ Patricia’s grip hardened, making Millie wince. She could pull free, but that would only draw attention to them, and Viscount Tread bumbled ever closer.
Patricia eyed Ivy like a worm in her apple. ‘You may have snuck into this party on the arm of the duchess, but she isn’t here now. Get away from us, child. I have things to discuss with my daughter.’
Millie almost laughed aloud. Patricia was barely six months older than Millie and two months older than Ivy. They’d all come out in the same season, for cripes sake. Hearing her stepmother refer to Millie as her daughter or Ivy as a child was almost as ridiculous as being engaged to a man within squinting distance of seventy. So, not ridiculous at all, according to Patricia.
Ivy’s gaze bounced back and forth from Millie to Patricia. Millie knew Ivy would never abandon her. But if she stayed, Patricia would become even more cruel.
‘I’ll be fine, Ivy. Why don’t you get some food.’ Ivy wasn’t eating nearly enough. She had always been slight, but after the loss of her brother and father, she was painfully thin.
‘I shall be just over there if you need me.’ Ivy pointed to the refreshments table.
Millie smiled. ‘All will be well. Trust me.’
Ivy nodded, but she didn’t look convinced.
