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

The night before

E liska Czerninová held her head high as the other young women clustered on the far side of the parlor, giggling over the men.

The house party had been going for four days—long enough for the young women to decide which men were best to flirt with, who would be most willing to steal a kiss, and which was the poorest and least eligible among them. There were around eighteen guests, most handpicked and invited by her cousin, Evelyn Huston-Ives. A few of the older, married couples were friends or business acquaintances of her uncle, the baron. Most of them were heading off to bed soon, as it was nearing midnight.

That would leave the young, unmarried men and women mostly unchaperoned, for most of the mothers had become complacent about propriety, as it was the fourth evening and no one had acted inappropriately thus far.

Eliska held back a smile as she smoothed her green skirts and adjusted her seat in the velvet red settee. These English and their rigid expectations of respectability. She was half English, yes, but she’d been raised mostly in Prague, her father’s home, and Europeans weren’t quite as stuffy about things as the English.

“Did you see how Mr. Grey was looking at Flora over dinner? Like he was starving and wanted to gobble her up!” The leader of the group, Victoria, giggled as she twirled one of her sausage curls.

“I thought he was looking at the soup tureen,” another girl put in. Her fan fluttered just below her limpid blue eyes. Poor lass, she still belonged in the schoolroom if Eliska had anything to say about it, and was outmatched when it came to the other girls’ matchmaking and flirting.

Eliska eyed the gathering as their skirts swayed near the fireplace. They’d chosen that area because it was in direct view of the parlor doors. On the second night, Victoria Glumley had declared the fireplace a perfect framing, a display that naturally drew the eye, and therefore she would stand there. When the young men entered the room after smoking cigars or doing whatever men do, they’d find four lovely young misses arranged with their best figures on display, like a painting.

Eliska debated joining them tonight. She hadn’t the first two nights because it had seemed so affected and, well, obvious what they were doing. But she also hated sitting on the settee by herself, sticking out like a sore thumb.

She’d thought she knew English culture well enough. Her mother had been English. They’d visited her mother’s family several times over the years. Eliska had even attended a house party before—but now she realized it wasn’t a true English house party. It had been a family gathering during Christmas. Surprisingly different from a group of friends and acquaintances in rainy spring.

“Girls, cease your fidgeting, please !” A large, middle-aged woman harrumphed in a nearby chair. A glass of something alcoholic dangled from her fingers. Her pink cheeks were flushed and black eyes bright, evident to all the young women she’d had quite a bit to drink already. “The men will come when they come. Stop fluttering like a bunch of moths.” Her black cap slid down her forehead, threatening to spill into her eyes.

Victoria and three others gave Schoolgirl a look of censure, as if it was her fault her companion was a boor.

Schoolgirl blushed. “Yes, Mrs. Baker.”

The other girls should be thanking her, Eliska thought privately. Their mothers had all gone to bed because they thought Mrs. Baker would be a strong moral influence. But by this point in the week, all the young women knew in three more drinks she’d be fast asleep.

You’ll never make new friends if you don’t exert yourself . Eliska sighed and stood, ready to find a spot by the fireplace with the others. She was a long-term houseguest, just going along with whatever the baron decided to do.

The Cowper twins, who were night-and-day images of one another with their dark brown and white blond hair, eyed her and then the limited space around the fireplace nervously. They shuffled a few inches to the right. Those fashionable crinolines pressed against each other, causing Flower, Schoolgirl, and The Twins to fight for their balance.

Victoria, however, tall with a bosom made to drive men mad, arched a perfect golden brow at Eliska, halting her approach.

Eliska was twenty-three years old. She spoke four languages, could navigate both English and Austro-Hungarian nobility, had dined with Habsburgs, survived a cholera outbreak unscathed, only to become an orphan. She still wore half-mourning sometimes. Victoria Glumley was no match for Eliska.

Poise, my dear, poise and dignity. Her mother’s words in a crisp upper-class British accent echoed in her head.

You are a Czernin, her father had told her many times. You are descended from people strong and clever enough to be Czech nobility in an Austrian kingdom.

Though Eliska was a bit uncertain how to traverse this situation without the rest of the guests automatically assuming the odd foreigner to be at fault if things went badly. Before she could get her feet moving again, the door to the parlor banged open and five young men bounded in, reeking of cigar smoke.

Immediately all the women fluttered their eyelashes and smiled.

Eliska inwardly shrugged and went back to her seat on the settee.

“Perfect timing!” Mrs. Baker exclaimed, tipping back her glass and draining it dry. “Could one of you men refill this for me?” She waved it in the air, the crystal catching and refracting light from the sconces.

Eliska bit back a smile as she looked at the men, wondering which would capitulate tonight.

The men, all young, wealthy, and eligible , as Victoria put it, glanced at each other. Their neckties were loosened, even a waistcoat button or two popped open. Evelyn Huston-Ives, the heir to the Erswich barony, looked at his four friends.

Evelyn waggled his auburn eyebrows. After a brief, wordless conference, Mr. Fairplace sighed and stalked over to the tipsy Mrs. Baker and plucked the drink from her hand. “What can I get you, madam?” he asked politely. “Sherry?”

“Brandy,” came the definite reply.

Mr. Fairplace had already half turned, but he paused and looked back at the woman. “B-brandy?”

“Yes. The strong stuff.” Mrs. Baker nodded, her double chin wagging, and folded her hands across her stomach. Her black crepe dress looked matte in the gaslight.

Mr. Fairplace shrugged and walked toward the drink table on the far side of the room.

Eliska glanced at him as he passed by. He was, she had gathered, considered something of a poor relation to the baron. Not that she could judge. He was of average height but had broad shoulders, with brown hair and sideburns. It was quite dashing, she had to admit.

Well, she amended as she watched him pour, he wasn’t a poor relation. She’d overheard Evelyn say before the party how Mr. Fairplace’s older brother was not only a knighted war hero but a wealthy businessman. Their only sin was to be peripheral players of High Society, jockeying for position from the outside.

“His mother is a member of a junior branch of the Huston-Ives,” Evelyn had explained. “Father’s second cousin.”

And Eliska was the baroness’s niece. Orphaned, inheritance tied up in the complex Czech-Hungarian court system, and now living with her mother’s sister in Great Britain until something more permanent could be arranged. She’d received a letter only last week from her father’s legal firm, informing her of yet another procedural delay. Maybe I should go back. Stay with old friends and request an expedited filing. Or whatever they’re called .

A delighted shriek caught her attention.

“Oh, marvelous!” Victoria clapped her hands and beamed up at the men like they’d set the stars in the sky. “I just adore parlor games.”

“Do, let’s!” Schoolgirl smiled shyly.

“Now we just have to decide on what game to play.” Lord William Percy was dazzling. Tall, thin, with a perfectly groomed blond mustache and skin-tight trousers, he was everything Eliska had imagined a British aristocrat would be. And he was the fourth son of a marquess.

“Reverend Crawley’s Game,” blurted a heavyset, brown-haired friend eagerly, darting a glance atFlower girl.

Eliska and everyone else gathered in a circle in the middle of the room, which was difficult with the women’s full skirts, and stuck both hands in the middle.

“I say,” exclaimed Mrs. Baker from her chair, swaying heavily to one side. “Is this quite appropriate?”

“Absolutely,” Evelyn assured. “Perfectly respectable. Everyone grab someone’s hand. As long as it’s not the person beside you, it can be anyone.”

One twin stifled a giggle. “ Any hand?”

“Yes. We’re creating a knot and then the goal is to untwist us.” One man gave his male friends a rather smug look. Look what I’ve done for us, it said.

“Oh, I don’t think Mama would approve—” Schoolgirl began, but one of the other girls shifted and Schoolgirl gasped, jerking her foot backward. “But I suppose we can try anyway,” she offered feebly.

Eliska reached blindly through the mass of grasping hands and caught two: one slender with long nails and the other was large, a bit…hairy?...with blunt nails.

A twin whispered, “How risqué!”

“Mmm,” Evelyn said. “I think I’ve got the prettiest two hands in the room.”

“Mr. Huston-Ives!” Victoria exclaimed in censure, but her eyes sparkled.

“Everyone holding hands?” the leader confirmed. “Brilliant. Now, we untwist the knot.”

The group immediately examined the twenty hands linked haphazardly in the middle. “Perhaps if we just…”

“I think Miss Cowper should kneel down and crawl under the group and pop up between Mr. Fairplace and Lord William,” said the Scottish friend.

Both twins dropped to their knees, then glanced at one another in confusion. “Which Miss Cowper?” they asked together.

Soon enough everyone’s bodies and arms were twisted together. The Flower girl was somehow stuck underneath a tangle of hands, kneeling while giggling. Schoolgirl was twisted backward, gripping a male hand so hard her knuckles were turning white. The Scot had discovered, to his dismay, he was holding Lord William’s and another man’s hands, but had consoled himself by cozying up to Victoria, who had her front pressed to his left side, holding on toFlower girl with one hand and Evelyn with the other.

Eliska, who had first thought this was a rather tame game by Continental standards, quickly found herself trying to maneuver toward Lord William, who held her left hand, and a twin, who was bent over backward to fit under two other arms raised like a high bridge.

“Erm, hello.”

Eliska looked up to see Mr. Fairplace sidling close, facing outward and arms pulled taut. He kept sidling, close enough to brush against her skirts. This game was not tame, not even by Continental standards.

Mr. Fairplace halted, leaning awkwardly backward so he didn’t get too far into Eliska’s personal space.

“Keep moving. This angle is pulling my arm from its socket,” hissed one of the men.

Mr. Fairplace gave Eliska an apologetic look and shuffled even closer, until Eliska wondered if her crinolines would be bent when she took them off tonight.

And then he came so close that he leaned over her, just a breath away.