A Dash of Scandal(55)

“Shakespeare is all well and good, but it would be boring to most of our readers if we didn’t spice it with gossip. Scandal is such a delicious form of entertainment. We must have more, Millicent.”

Millicent wasn’t shy and she could handle herself at the parties. She just didn’t like writing about people’s personal and private lives.

“You have been doing this a week now,” her aunt continued, hardly catching a breath. “You must get more information on things like the meeting between Lord Dunraven and Lady Lambsbeth, who has danced with whom or who has made a match or who is thinking of making one. What is going on with Miss Pennington and Miss Donaldson? Our readers want to know who slips out into the gardens when no one is looking, which gentleman gets the kiss and which gets a slap. And of course, it always makes excellent gossip if a couple who is suited suddenly decides against marriage and why.”

Listening to her aunt talk with relish about the intimacies of other people’s lives reminded Millicent why she didn’t like what she was doing for her aunt. If anyone had seen her with Lord Dunraven in the draper’s shop and then wrote about it, she would be devastated. Suddenly she felt chilled. What would happen if someone had seen them?

Exactly what happened to your mother.

Before she lost her courage, Millicent said, “That brings up a subject I must speak to you about.”

Her aunt sat up a little straighter. “Suddenly you look serious. Tell me.”

Millicent clasped her hands together in front of her skirt and said, “Against my wishes, it appears that Lord Dunraven is pursuing me.”

“What’s this?” Her aunt leaned forward in the bed so fast Hamlet scampered to the end of the bed. “The Lord Dunraven of the Terrible Threesome and the missing raven?”

Is there another?

Millicent hoped she was doing the right thing in confessing to her aunt and seeking help. “Yes. I swear, Aunt, I’ve done nothing to encourage him.” Had she? “In fact, I’ve been quite the opposite and almost rude at times.” Submissive at others. “But at every turn he rebuffs my rejections and keeps insisting I allow him to call on me. I always decline. And—”

“And?”

“He’s been absolutely forward in his manner toward me every time we meet.”

“This is most fascinating, Millicent. You must give me details.”

Millicent winced. No.

She couldn’t possibly tell her aunt that she had been so thoroughly kissed and caressed by this man that she had half fallen in love with him already. She must think quickly.

“So far, it hasn’t been anything I can’t handle, but I need to know how to rebuke him so that he leaves me alone. We can’t run the risk of him discovering who I am. He may get curious about what I’m doing.”

“The only way for him to discover that is for you to tell him, and I’m sure you won’t let that happen. But I agree that it’s in our best interest that he not pursue you.”

“He’s much too charming.”

“He is a rake who knows all the tricks, and he’s such a worldly gentleman. You must tell me exactly what he has done. Has he compromised you?”

“No, nothing as serious as that,” she fibbed. Millicent groped for the right words. “He caressed my hand and squeezed my fingers the entire time we were dancing.”

“Botheration, Millicent,” her aunt exclaimed. “That’s hardly worthy of gossip. What else did he do?”

Millicent looked at her aunt and wasn’t at all sure she approved of the gleam she saw her in red eyes.

“He blew me a kiss. He danced the waltz with me. He keeps asking to call on me. I know it doesn’t seem like a lot, but he is most persistent. He won’t take no for an answer. I don’t know what to do.”

“I do,” her aunt said with all confidence and in the strongest voice she had used since Millicent arrived. “The one thing that will make Lord Dunraven lose interest in a young lady faster than anything else.”

“What’s that?”

“Having his name linked with hers in the gossip columns. Get your quill, Millicent. We shall write about him and mention you.”

***

Rare late afternoon sunshine filtered through the tree leaves and sliced through the open windows in Chandler’s book room. He sat at the fine rosewood desk that had been his father’s and his father’s before him, trying not to look at the empty shelf where the gold raven should be perched.