Page 1 of Just Think of the Scandal (The Fairplace Family Novellas #2)

May 1864

Blatherwycke Hall, Warwickshire

H e was drunk. Very drunk. That was the only explanation.

“I can scarcely believe it!” one shrill, female voice cut through his mental haze like a serrated knife.

Theo winced at the pain. Perhaps the after-alcohol headache? Or both? He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, then tried again to view the scene around him.

Three or four matrons stood clustered together like weeds in a garden, bristling with moral outrage. Behind him stood several darkly-dressed figures, silent as execution witnesses. Theo tried to turn to better recognize them, but his head spun and he nearly cast up his accounts on the Aubusson rug.

Where was he? There were the revolting puce walls, the interlocking diamond pattern of the rug. Ah, he recognized the rug. An upstairs corridor in his second cousin’s country manor. But why?

“Just think of the scandal!” another shrill voice hissed.

Theo winced and rubbed a throbbing temple. Perhaps this was all a fever dream. He vaguely recalled going up to bed late last night—truthfully, the wee hours of the morning. And then he’d been unceremoniously yanked from his soggy, wine-induced dreams by rough hands and hauled into the corridor.

The bunch of harpies were still shrieking.

“Theophilus St. John Fairplace!” a deep voice boomed. It reverberated up and down the hall. The harpies fell silent. Theo imagined the frames on the wall rattled. His own knees were close to rattling.

This could not be good. Theo blinked rapidly, wishing he could sober up. Where was coffee when you needed it?

The row of men behind him hissed in sympathy.

“Sorry, old chap,” one whispered. Theo finally recognized a voice. It was Evelyn Huston-Ives, his third cousin. The man who’d invited him to this house party. Suspicion mixed with anger stirred in Theo’s veins. Whatever had happened, he was sure Evelyn had something to do with it. He always was a rogue.

If that were Evelyn, his third cousin…Theo swung his head around to face the booming voice.

That was the Baron of Erswich, Theo’s second cousin once removed. Evelyn’s father. A man without a shred of humor.

Isn’t he supposed to be gone on business? Theo racked his memory, trying to recall yesterday. Yes, Theo was fairly certain the baron had been called away for a day, because all the young men had seen that as an opportunity to get sossed on the good liquor.

“ What do you have to say for yourself, Theophilus?” the baron bellowed, hands uncharacteristically on his hips. His graying mutton chops quivered with rage and his normally pale skin was now red.

“Umm,” Theo began eloquently.

Evelyn finally stepped forward, clapping a hand to Theo’s shoulder. He didn’t seem nearly as fishy about the gills, Theo noted sourly. “Father, I don’t think the situation is as dire as what you believe.”

Theo gratefully nodded.

The women gasped and looked to the baron, waiting for his retort.

“Not dire ?” the baron repeated. He stared incredulously at his relations. “I left for one day of this blasted house party, and you bucks couldn’t behave yourselves for one day ? Theo, I expected better of you.”

Vaguely, Theo became aware that other doors down the corridor were opening and heads popping out. Perfect. A larger audience. He wondered if he’d be escorted from the manor before learning what he’d done.

Lord Erswich flung a meaty hand to his side. “This is not nothing. She is family and under my care.”

Theo’s eyesight finally came into focus, and he peered in the direction his cousin pointed.

A young woman leaned against the green wallpaper, clutching a pale blue wrapper around her nightgown. Her thin ankles emerged from the last ruffle, and her toes scrunched in the rug.

Theo blinked against the flickering gaslight.

Her hair, a pale strawberry gold, hung over one shoulder in a mussed braid, and her face was so bloodless Theo knew she had to be terrified. Still, she didn’t shake or swoon. In fact, her face was raised, jaw set, ready to face complete social ruination.

“Uncle,” she started, voice quaking but adamant. Her German-Bohemian accent was melodious. “He didn’t—we didn’t—”

One of the women snorted. “I know what I saw.”

Theo glared at her. They weren’t harpies; they were vultures. Ready to feast on this young woman’s downfall and spread the gossip for their own entertainment.

The implications finally crashed on top of him, and for a heartbeat he couldn’t breathe. The shock and horror of the situation built up until it was a roaring in his ears.

The baron stuck a thick finger toward him, jowls shaking. “My study. Five minutes.” He beckoned to a maid hiding in a nearby alcove. “Take Miss Czerninová back to her bed chamber to compose herself.”

If only Theo had five moments of peace. That, a quick bath, and a cup of bracing coffee, and he would be able to remember last night and prove to everyone he didn’t ravish Elizabeth Czerninová.