Page 5 of Just Think of the Scandal (The Fairplace Family Novellas #2)

The next morning

After the discovery

A ll Eliska wanted was to lay her head on the desk before her, cover it with her arms, and sleep for a thousand years.

Her head hurt. Her eyes hurt. Her joints hurt. How could this much of her body ache when she wasn't ill?

The grandfather clock in the far corner of the room ticked and tocked, and it felt like a spike pounding into her head.

Uncle Erswich huffed on his side of the desk, and the god-awful stench of cigar smoke wafted through the air. Eliska groaned and went to lay her head down when she realized she already had, and it was as dark already as she could make it with her arms covering her head.

A scratch came at the door. Eliska shuddered at her uncle’s loud call to enter. She didn’t bother raising her head as the soft footfalls of a servant came forward and she heard the rattle of a tea set on the polished wooden desk.

“Pour yourself some tea,” her uncle said brusquely. “It’ll make you feel better.”

Eliska hesitated, then remembered he was currently the only thing standing between her and homelessness. She reached for the silver teapot and fixed herself tea, though she privately wished for strong coffee. These British and their tea.

As soon as she’d finished stirring in the cream and sugar she picked up her cup and shut her eyes against the glare of the room. Eliska had a vague sense that her life was falling apart—again—and she should be far more frantic. But her head hurt too much to think of anything beyond sleep. God, she just wanted sleep.

Poise and dignity. Clever and strong.

The door opened again, this time without warning.

Eliska kept the teacup to her lips, breathing in the hot fragrance. Even if tea wasn’t her favorite, the scent was comforting. It reminded her of her mother.

“Ah, you’ve finally deigned to join us.” Uncle Erswich’s snide remark cut like a dagger into Eliska’s skull. She fought back a moan.

Heavy steps sounded, then clothes rustling and a loud thump just to Eliska’s right.

She slit her eyes and turned her head just a fraction, not too fast to make the room spin, and saw Mr. Fairplace slouched in a chair, one elbow propped on an arm and cradling his head in one hand.

“Baron,” he greeted. Mr. Fairplace slanted a look at Eliska, and she saw the same bleary expression with the same red-rimmed, bloodshot eyes that she wore. “Miss Czerninová.”

“I gave you five minutes, and you took ten.”

Mr. Fairplace straightened a little, and a cup and saucer rattled in his other hand.

Eliska smelled coffee. The good kind. Why had he gotten coffee? What did she need to do to get a cup? And damn it, how did he look so fresh, besides his eyes?

Mr. Fairplace’s clothes were freshly pressed, his hair roughly combed, and she bet the inside of his mouth didn’t taste like something had crawled inside and died overnight.

“Forgive me, my lord.” Mr. Fairplace took a swig of his coffee. “I didn’t think it would be respectful to show up in your study for this conference in last night’s clothes.”

“Or smelling of last night’s whiskey,” the baron harrumphed. “After this I’m having a word with my butler and my son. That whiskey is not to be released unless I am present.”

A short, tense silence followed. Eliska wondered if she’d be asked to return to Prague. Or sent away to a drafty old house to live with a great aunt she didn’t yet know existed. Prague fit with her plans nicely.

“I have a problem,” her uncle announced, drumming his fingers on the edge of his desk.

Eliska opened her eyes more fully and stared at the tall, rotund man on the other side. Sunlight gleamed on the bald pate of his head, while his graying mutton chops were thick and full.

“My lord,” Mr. Fairplace began. “Appearances are not what they—”

“Let me speak.” His voice did not thunder or boom, but was so low and heavy Eliska imagined it might cause an earthquake.

Mr. Fairplace fell silent.

“I have a problem. At my son’s urging I agreed to a house party before hunting season started. I let him invite his friends, as I invited my associates. I also encouraged my niece, newly arrived in England, to participate.”

Eliska winced.

“I thought: Evelyn’s friends can be a bit fast. But Theo’s always been a good influence on him. So when I was called to another estate for the day, I decided to trust that nothing too terrible could happen in my absence.”

Eliska resisted the urge to fidget.

“I return home early this morning, but before I can retire for a bath and rest, Lady Colton accosts me in the foyer. And do you know what she says?” The baron’s bushy eyebrows rose.

Eliska couldn’t tell if this was a rhetorical question or not. After a short pause, her uncle continued.

“She tells me that she was awoken in the middle of the night by all sorts of goings on in the hallway, and that when she went to see what was wrong, she witnessed my cousin’s son, the one who I thought was a good influence, leaving the room of my niece. Half dressed. Hair askew. Reeking of whiskey.”

Eliska froze. She had blurry, uncertain images from the night before. She’d wondered how she’d ended up in bed when the last thing she could remember was reading a book and drinking straight from a bottle in the upstairs drawing room.

When a maid had come in and woken her at half eight that morning, flustered and wringing her hands, Eliska had groggily rolled out of bed and changed into a nightgown. Which, now that she was more alert, she reflected made no sense. She should’ve put on new clothes. But then, she’d never drunk so much in her life. After the nightgown, she’d thrown a wrapper on and followed the beckoning maid out the door and into absolute pandemonium.

Once she’d realized what her uncle was shouting about, she almost cast up her accounts. Mr. Fairplace hadn’t ravished her! At least…she didn’t think so. She’d been fully clothed. Though she still didn’t know how she’d gotten into her own bed.

Eliska’s head throbbed, and she swore she’d never drink again. Not even so much as a tipple.

“You, sir, have compromised my niece. Exposed her to ruination. The entire house party knows you’ve stolen her innocence.”

Eliska blushed furiously. How was this happening? She’d never been caught up in anything scandalous in her life, and now by the end of the week the majority of the British aristocracy would consider her a fallen woman. She’d never be able to show her face in England again.

Her aunt and uncle were absolute sticklers for propriety, even by British standards. What if they made her leave? The Czech courts were dragging their heels now that revolution against the Austrian monarchy was surging ahead. Eliska put a hand to her stomach, bile rising in the back of her throat.

“I did not compromise Miss Czerninová,” Mr. Fairplace said firmly. “Nothing improper happened last night.”

Eliska’s shoulders relaxed with relief.

But Lord Erswich gave Mr. Fairplace a look. “She is not an upstairs chambermaid. Nor a governess. You cannot whisk this away as if it never happened. My niece is a lady. Her mother is descended from earls, and her father, Count Czernin of Moravia, was one of the few Czech nobles in the Bohemian lands. His family has produced ministers and courtiers for the Habsburgs for hundreds of years. And now she resides with me until her inheritance is sorted out.”

Pride surged in her breast at her recited lineage. Her family had, for two hundred years, balanced precariously between Czech heritage and Austrian noble society and thrived. She might be the only remaining direct descendant of the Czernin title, but she would not let her ancestors down. She turned in her seat to look at both her uncle and Mr. Fairplace.

Mr. Fairplace slumped further into his chair. If he went any lower, she thought, his head would be on the seat. He gave a heavy sigh, then sat up straighter than a board. He set his coffee cup down and turned to face her directly. Mr. Fairplace leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands. “Miss Czerninová,” he began formally.

Eliska tensed at the change in his tone.

“It would be an honor if you would accept my hand in marriage and make me…the happiest of men.” His eyes, slightly less bloodshot, stared so intently into her own she fidgeted. How did he discomfit her so?

Eliska blinked, quite certain she’d misunderstood. Her English was impeccable and she barely had an accent. But somewhere between the English and the wine from last night, she’d taken a turn and was unable to hear clearly. Her breath stuttered.

“Well, Elizabeth?” her uncle prompted.

She looked wildly between the two men, body heating and heart pounding. “Is this a joke?”

Mr. Fairplace pulled back, affronted. “Upon my honor, no.”

The baron sighed. “Elizabeth, you will marry Mr. Fairplace to save your reputation.”

“I—I,” she stuttered, finally putting the pieces of the morning together. It truly was this dire. Her tongue was thick, her mouth dry. Her body overheated, but everything else felt completely numb.

Mr. Fairplace sighed, rubbing his hand across his face. “I realize that these circumstances are not…ideal—”

Eliska wasn’t able to hold back a snort.

“—and that I do not appear as if I have much to recommend myself.” He glanced down at his clothes and gave her a wry smile. “However, we can spend our engagement getting to know one another. I’m sure we can come to some accord before we wed.”

Eliska didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. To some accord? What did that mean? A polite, quiet marriage where they steered clear of one another to keep harmony? Except when we make babies. Her face heated at the thought, and she hoped neither man could guess where her thoughts went. Making babies with Mr. Fairplace will not be a burden. He was dreadfully handsome, and last night during the parlor game she thought her heart would beat right out of her chest while she was practically in his arms.

She softened, even listing toward the man who might become her husband. The air felt thick and full of possibilities.

The baron cleared his throat. “You will wed tomorrow.”

Both Eliska and Mr. Fairplace jerked and stared at him in alarm.

“T-t-tomorrow?” Eliska demanded.

He nodded, albeit sympathetically. “The sooner the better. I will not play with Elizabeth’s reputation, as it is already suspended by a single fraying thread. When this house party ends, I want those gossiping busybodies to carry tales of a marriage, not a midnight rendezvous and shoddy betrothal.”

“But my lord,” Mr. Fairplace attempted.

“Besides, there could be a child. The sooner the better, I say.”

“There is no child!” Eliska and Mr. Fairplace blurted together.

“We’ll find out in a few months, shan't we?” The baron drummed his fingers on the desk again. “I’ll need to travel to London to request a special license from the archbishop. Theophilus, you will come with me. It’s time to take responsibility for your actions. We’ll catch the 11:25 train from the village and arrive in London in time for a late lunch.”

Oh God, this was happening so fast. “I haven’t said yes,” she reminded them.

Mr. Fairplace eyed her. “If you refuse me Society will be cruel.”

“To me or to you?” she shot back, though she knew she was being petulant. Of course she, as the woman, would face the steepest consequences.

“I have no wish to be known as a man who would use a lady and then spurn her. It would impact my life a little,” he admitted. “But here in Great Britain, Miss Czerninová, you would be disinvited from every event. Your marital prospects would wither. Gentlemen would assume the basest things about you and treat you like a dox—a potential courtesan.”

“If you have any sense of self-preservation,” her uncle rumbled, “you will wed him tomorrow in the village church.”

She’d never get her inheritance if the magistrate heard about this. He’d put it so deeply in probate she’d never retrieve not just the money, but her family’s holdings and heritage. All she had left. Eliska sighed, accepting defeat. “Very well, Mr. Fairplace. I shall make you the happiest of men and marry you.” She rubbed her temple with her free hand. Everything felt like it was happening to someone else.

“Don’t sound so excited about it,” Mr. Fairplace teased.

Surprised he could jest right now, she looked at him.

He flashed a wry, mocking smile.

“Good.” Lord Erswich thumped the desk with his fist, clearly happy that one matter of business had been decided upon and was ready to move forward. “We leave in half an hour.”

Eliska rather resented how quickly he moved on from a decision that would alter the course of her entire life.

“Should I pack an overnight bag, or…?” Mr. Fairplace did not seem much more pleased than Eliska about the turn of events. “And perhaps we can spare a moment at the post office to send a telegram to my mother?” His tone was biting, and his eyes snapped with frustration. “She’ll be most put out to miss my wedding.”

The baron of Erswich glared across the desk at him, as if to say, That’s your own fault.

Eliska groaned and poured herself a second cup of tea. She didn’t quite feel human yet, but she thought she could keep some buttered toast down.

Her uncle barreled to the door. “Well, Theophilus?” He paused with his hand on the doorknob.

“I’m going to spend a few moments with my fiancée,” Mr. Fairplace said mildly.

The baron harrumphed but left, leaving the door wide open for propriety’s sake.

Eliska looked at the man who would be her husband tomorrow, a frisson of alarm shooting up and down her spine.