Page 7 of One Scandal Too Many (Havenwood Academy #1)

T he afternoon sunlight streamed into the upstairs room where Miss Spencer held her class on deportment and dancing. They had deportment twice a week and dancing three times, on different days. Miss Spencer was a pretty young woman with pale blonde hair that was almost white and eyes the color of a blue summer sky. Her tiny stature kept her from being intimidating. Not that any of the students were difficult, especially with her. She was sweet-natured and polite at all times.

Miss Spencer was the only daughter of a diplomat. She had traveled to many different countries with her family, but she longed to remain in England. That was why she had taken the position as a teacher at the Havenwood Academy. Normally, this class was one of Charlotte’s favorites, mainly because she adored Miss Spencer. However, she had no desire to properly learn everything regarding deportment.

“Today, we are going to practice how to respond to awkward social situations,” Miss Spencer began. “There are times that they are unavoidable, and you will need to know how to extricate yourself with ease and grace.”

Charlotte barely refrained from rolling her eyes. There were far more instances of social disgrace than she liked—her own scandal being one of them. Not that it had been terrible. She hadn’t been caught with a rogue and ruined. But she had done something potentially disastrous, both to herself and her family. Her father had let her know that in no uncertain terms. She was the family disappointment, and she had to pay her penance.

“I’m going to give you an example of a situation, and I’d like you to tell me what you would do,” Miss Spencer began. “Are there any questions so far?”

No one spoke up. Charlotte didn’t blame them. She had her own reasons for remaining quiet. Mainly, she had no desire to have everyone staring at her as she spoke. She never liked having all the attention focused on her. A classroom setting was no different.

“No one?” Miss Spencer lifted a brow. “All right, then. Let’s begin.”

Miss Spencer went through a series of scenarios, and some students gave ideas as to how they should respond. Charlotte remained quiet. Her mind wandered far too often, and it kept stopping on one thought, or rather one person—the Marquess of Easton.

“Now that I’ve given you some examples, I want you to keep a few things in mind.” She glanced at each lady in the room before she began to speak again. “A lady is always in control of her emotions. Any outburst is unacceptable. It is best to keep yourself reserved and present an icy politeness. This will help in your endeavor to weather any situation.”

“What if that tactic fails?” Lady Georgina Williams asked. Charlotte was surprised. The shy girl had actually decided to participate in class.

“Remember to remain calm,” Miss Spencer told her. “Think before you do anything. Take several breaths if necessary, and make sure you’re poised at all times. Once you have control over yourself, then make an appropriate response.” She smiled. “Even if that response is to walk away. I know the urge to give in to the vapors might seem appropriate, but do try not to faint or demand smelling salts. I’ve always thought that as crude as some other awkward situations.”

Charlotte could not agree more. She had always thought a lady giving into bouts of hysteria gauche—though she didn’t think that proper deportment was always necessary either. She had no desire to hide her emotions from everyone. Charlotte would much rather remain true to herself. Otherwise, why bother at all?

“Now I want you to form groups of three,” Miss Spencer told them. “I am going to give you all an assignment to work on together. Next class, you will present your project and see what we can learn from each other.”

Jaclyn walked over to her and frowned. “We need a third.”

Charlotte and Jaclyn always did group projects together. However, they always had difficulty finding others to join them. She didn’t know why. They were not mean to anyone. They were just... close. “We should invite our new roommate to join us.” She waved at Georgina.

The timid girl strolled over to them. Georgina had been with them for a couple of days, and she had not opened up much. That should change with time, but they didn’t have much to work with at the moment. “Hello,” she greeted them.

“How are you adjusting?” Jaclyn asked her.

“It’s all right.” Georgina stared at the floor. They had to do something with this girl. Her shyness would make things awful for her.

“Have you had many awkward social situations?” Charlotte asked Georgina. “Is that why you were sent here?”

Georgina didn’t speak for a few moments. “Yes,” she mumbled. “That is part of it.”

Charlotte met Jaclyn’s gaze, and they spoke without saying a word. They both agreed in that moment to help Georgina. The girl was frightfully timid. The ton would destroy her. “What can we do to help you?” she asked her.

“There’s nothing.” She glanced up and nibbled on her bottom lip. “My father insisted I have a season. I...” Georgina frowned. “It didn’t go well. I locked myself in my bedchamber and refused to eat. I wanted to go back home to the country. The ton, the season... it isn’t for me. I hated it.”

“Because you’re so shy?” Jaclyn asked.

Georgina sighed. “Yes. I was, am, a wallflower. Almost no one asked me to dance, and those that did...” She shook her head. “I couldn’t talk to them. I mumbled and sometimes tripped over my own feet.”

“That would be disastrous.” Jaclyn took Georgina’s hand in hers. “But we can work on all of that. This school will do wonders with your awkwardness. This class is designed to make sure you never feel like that ever again.” She smiled. “And you have me and Charlotte now too. We will work with you, and before you know it, you’ll be the belle of the ball.”

“I doubt that,” Georgina said. “I’d still be a little shy, I’d think.” Her cheeks pinkened a little as she kept her attention on Jaclyn and Charlotte. At least she had stopped staring at her feet. That was a start.

“Perhaps,” Charlotte said. “But no one can be gregarious all the time.”

She liked Georgina. She would be a nice addition to their school, and Charlotte could always use another good friend. Between her and Jaclyn, she’d always have someone she could lean on. Not that Georgina offered. At least, not yet. But she didn’t doubt for one second that they would be grand friends in no time at all.

“Now that we have this assignment,” Jaclyn said. “We will have more time to become more acquainted.”

“We should go to the garden,” Charlotte said. “It’s a beautiful day, and we can discuss what we are going to present to the class.” She laid a hand on Georgina’s shoulder. “And do not fret. We will take the bulk of the presentation. We will only have you do what you’re comfortable with.”

“Thank you,” Georgina said. “I do appreciate your kindness.” She gave them a small smile. “If only others in the ton had been that generous.”

“They take their deportment seriously,” Jaclyn said, then rolled her eyes. “That icy exterior has to be what everyone sees. Otherwise, we might know that people have actual emotions inside of them.”

Charlotte hated a lot of the dictates that society demanded of her. She did not want to be proper all the time. Why couldn’t she have more choices? She hated that her father had so much control over her too. When he had decided to send her to Havenwood, she’d hated him for it, but now she was glad. The school was preferable to her own home. At least at Havenwood she was accepted and given the support she had always needed. Her father, and even her brother, had never bothered to tell her she was wanted or loved. She hated them both sometimes.

“She’s right,” Charlotte told Georgina. “They’re just as culpable as we are, and under the right circumstances, they would fall prey to those emotions they try to hide.” She shrugged. “I’m all right with being imperfect. A little bit of a flaw never hurt anyone.”

And maybe one day she might believe that. She was going to have to accept that she could make mistakes. There was not much that she could do to change her past. All Charlotte could do was keep moving forward and hope that her future had nothing but good things in store for her. That was a dream, of course, but why not hope for the best?

“All right,” Jaclyn said. “Let’s go to the garden. That was a wonderful suggestion.” She practically beamed with excitement. “I cannot wait to begin. This will be so much fun.”

Charlotte shook her head. That was Jaclyn. Her cheerful nature was one of the things she adored about her friend. It was going to be a pleasant afternoon. And for a few moments, she had managed not to think about the marquess. Of course, that had been short-lived. He was always there lingering in her mind. As if he’d been branded there and she had to live with him forever. God help her, that actually appealed to her.

*

Declan lounged on a chair in his game room and stared at his two friends. Foxmoore and Amberwood were embroiled in a grueling game of billiards. They were both inebriated, so it made it all the more interesting, both for him as a spectator of the farce, and for the two players.

They were playing by candlelight, which meant usually a shorter game and a smaller amount scored to win. Except neither one could manage to meet the lofty goal of six points to be declared the victor. Declan sipped on his brandy and stared at the billiards table. Amberwood leaned over the table with his cue stick primed to strike his gleaming white ball. He currently had two points. If he could pot the red ball without sinking his white ball, he’d gain three points. He wouldn’t win, but he’d be close. So far, he hadn’t been successful, and when he was, he would lose points as easily as he gained them.

Foxmoore wasn’t faring any better. It wasn’t his turn to shoot, but he only had three points. He was at least closer to perhaps winning, but he’d been hitting losing hazards equally as much as Amberwood had.

“Be careful ol’ chap,” Foxmoore said. “Would hate for you to strike your cue ball with the red ball, and then smack into my ball. Would be a shame for your ball to pot into that corner pocket. You would be at negative one point then.” He grinned. Mischievousness gleamed in his eyes as he spoke. “By all means, help me win.”

“Bugger off,” Amberwood said as he lined up his cue stick. He slid it across the table with ease considering his drunken state. The cue ball slid across the table and hit the red ball. Luckily for Amberwood, it did not slide into Foxmoore’s cue ball and then fall into a pocket. Instead, the red ball rolled into the pocket, leaving his cue ball on the table.

“Nicely done,” Declan said. He tipped his glass of brandy in Amberwood’s direction. “Now to not lose any of those points you gained on your next turn.”

The duke glared at him. “I don’t need any comments from the spectator. I’d like to see you do better.”

Declan grinned. “I’m not nearly as foxed as you are. I might have already won if I were playing.”

Amberwood rolled his eyes. “A likely story if I’ve ever heard one. A fairy tale at the very least.” He nodded toward Foxmoore. “It is your turn. See if you can win this game or give me a chance to boast my prowess.”

“You’re delusional,” Foxmoore said. “You’re living in that fairy tale world, not Easton.”

The only reason Declan had started drinking was to erase thoughts of Lady Charlotte Beckett from his mind. That and his mother’s continued harping about having a house party. He shuddered at the thought. He hated the idea of having a myriad of guests traipsing around his home. Just having his mother there was one person too many. Foxmoore and Amberwood were welcome to stay as long as they wished. They didn’t annoy him by walking into a room.

“We will see about that,” Amberwood told the earl. “After you take this shot.”

Foxmoore lined up his cue stick to strike his ball. The red ball was back on its starting point on the table. He needed three points to win. If he only struck Amberwood’s cue ball and the red ball, he’d gain two points. That would not gain him the win. He needed a winning hazard, which meant not repeating what Amberwood had earlier. If he only gained two points, Amberwood would have another shot at winning.

“Watch and learn,” Foxmoore said. He struck the cue ball. It slid across the table but veered in the wrong direction. It hit the red ball like he’d intended, but not with enough force to sink it. Instead, it rolled around the table and spun for several seconds.

“I’m waiting,” Amberwood drawled. “But I’ve learned nothing I should take note of.” His grin was smug as hell, and Declan was surprised Foxmoore did not give in to the urge to strike it off his face in protest. “It looks like you have gained zero points this round. My turn. Let me show you how to handle this.”

Amberwood stared at the table as if he was ascertaining the best way to hit the ball to gain the points he needed. He already had five. Why overthink it? A two-point shot would win it for him and finally end this seemingly never-ending billiard game. He had many choices, but the easiest was to take a lower point winning hazard. All he would have to do was pot Foxmoore’s cue ball without sinking his own.

Amberwood lifted his cue stick and slid it across the table. He leaned over and studied the angle, then took aim. With ease that belied his inebriated state, he guided the stick over the table and struck his cue ball. It raced across the table and collided with Foxmoore’s ball. It jockeyed across the table and fell into a pocket. Amberwood’s cue ball rolled along the side and then slowed just before it would have potted in a nearby pocket.

“And that, my friend,” Amberwood said smugly, “is how it is done.”

“And it only took until the candles nearly turned to nubs in the candelabra,” Declan drawled. “We might need to replace them if we wish to remain in the game room much longer.” To be fair, they hadn’t been new candles to begin with. But still, he grinned. Times with his friends were what made days like this worth living. Declan couldn’t imagine anything better.

Foxmoore lifted a brow. “I doubt you would have fared better.”

Declan mock saluted him. “Never claimed I would.” Though he might have; there was no way of knowing with any certainty. “However, that does not make my observation incorrect, either.”

Amberwood lifted a brow. “Has your mother calmed any since her arrival, or is she still being her usual pleasant self?”

“If by pleasant you mean a constant nag who fails to listen to me,” Declan began, “then yes. She is that.”

Laughter echoed throughout the room as both of his friends gave in to their amusement. He glared at both of them. They had no idea what it was like to have a mother like his. She was a test on his patience just by breathing.

“She’s never been difficult with me,” Foxmoore said. “Though I am not her son, so perhaps this is the missing ingredient in our exchanges.”

He rolled his eyes. “Well, my mother does wish to have a house party,” Declan announced. “I could tell her to start planning it and add your mother to the guest list.” He met Foxmoore’s gaze. “I’m sure she would be happy to make the addition. Your mother is a gift.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Foxmoore said with an edge to his tone. He didn’t like the idea of his mother being near any more than Declan did.

“I’d dare much, as you know.” He lifted his brandy and took a long draw. “I’d invite both of your mothers if it suited my purposes.” He grinned. “Lucky for the two of you, it does not. As I would rather poke my eye out than agree to a house party.”

Amberwood’s lips tilted upward. “Are you certain?” He went over and poured himself another spot of brandy and took a sip. “Because it would give you a reason to invite those marriage-minded misses at that unfortunate school nearby. You could have your pick from the scraps of society.”

And just like that, the image of Charlotte entered his mind. He didn’t consider her a castoff. He didn’t understand why her family had sent her to the finishing school. What could she have done to deserve that sort of exile? Perhaps he’d ask her the next time they spoke. He hadn’t really thought about that before. He’d told her to stay away, and so far she had. Declan was a little disappointed and wasn’t ashamed to admit that to himself. There would come a time when they spoke again—he’d ensure it. Because he was bloody obsessed with the chit now.

“I don’t need to invite those ladies to attend anything.” He glared at Amberwood. “That would be like welcoming trouble into my home. Who would willingly do that?” Only him... for one brazen woman he wanted desperately, but knew he shouldn’t.

The duke shrugged. “It was just a thought.” He had an absentminded expression on his face, and suddenly Declan wondered if this was about him or Amberwood’s interests.

“If you want me to,” he said in a devilish tone, “I can have that house party. I would hate to disappoint my two dearest friends. Just say the word, and I can have my mother begin the planning.” He frowned. “Hell, if I know my mother, she’s already started and is going forward with it hoping she’ll convince me it is in my best interest to have that blasted party.”

He cursed inwardly. Damn it all. Declan was going to have to talk to his mother again. He just knew this was going to be a horrid conversation too.

“Do not bother on our account,” Foxmoore said. “I’d rather not have to deal with marriage-minded misses.” He yawned. “And on that note, I’m off to bed.” He nodded at Amberwood. “Excellent game. We must have a rematch. Tomorrow if possible.” Then he left the room in search of his bedchamber.

Not long after that, Amberwood made his excuses, leaving Declan alone with his own thoughts—and they were not necessarily good ones. Especially when they centered around the minx who had invaded his garden and his growing desire for her. He sighed. Perhaps it was time to just accept his growing fascination with the brazen girl. Either way, he couldn’t do much about it tonight, so he’d just do as his friends had: go to bed and pray his dreams were not haunted by the beautiful Charlotte. Otherwise, he might not have a restful night, and he desperately needed one.