Do You Want to Start a Scandal
Page 4“I should hate to see how you treat a man you admire,” he said.
“At this rate, I’ll never have a chance to admire anyone.”
“Don’t be absurd.” He retrieved the dropped drapery cord. “You are young, pretty, and possessed of both cleverness and vivacity. If a few tangled reins in Rotten Row convince every red-blooded gentleman to avoid you, I fear for the future of this country. England is doomed.”
Charlotte went soft inside. “My lord, that’s kind of you to say.”
“It’s not kindness at all. It’s simple observation.”
“Nevertheless, I—” She froze. “Oh, goodness.”
They’d been discovered. The door to the library was flung wide.
Edmund Parkhurst, the eight-year-old heir to his father’s baronetcy, stood in the doorway, pale and saucer-eyed.
“Oh, it’s you.” She pressed a hand to her chest with relief. “Edmund, darling, I should think you would be in bed.”
“I heard noises,” the boy said.
“They were nothing,” Charlotte assured him, approaching the lad and crouching to look him in the eye. “Just your imagination.”
“I heard noises,” he repeated. “Bad noises.”
“No, no. Nothing bad was happening. We were only . . . playing a game.”
“Then why have you been crying?” The boy nodded toward Lord Granville, who was still clutching the drapery cord. “And why is that strange man holding a rope?”
“Oh, that? That isn’t a rope. And Lord Granville isn’t a strange man. He’s your father’s guest. He arrived this afternoon.”
“Here, I’ll show you.” The marquess moved forward, holding out the length of braided velvet—no doubt hoping to calm the boy’s fears. He didn’t seem to realize how unlikely it was that a tall, imposing man could pacify a frightened child who’d never seen him before in his life.
“Edmund, no. There isn’t any—”
“MURDER!” he shrieked, running down the corridor. “MURDER!”
She looked at Granville. “Don’t stand there. We have to stop him.”
“I could tackle him in the hall, but something tells me that wouldn’t help.”
In the space of a minute, Sir Vernon, their concerned host, had joined them in the library. Followed by the worst possible person—Mama.
“Charlotte,” she scolded. “I’ve been searching everywhere. Is this where you’ve been?”
Sir Vernon quieted his son’s hysterics. “What happened, my boy?”
“I heard noises. Murder noises.” The boy leveled a pointed finger on a straightened arm. “From them.”
“There weren’t any murder noises,” Charlotte said.
“The boy is confused,” Lord Granville added.
Sir Vernon put a hand on Edmund’s shoulder. “Tell me exactly what you heard.”
“I was upstairs,” the boy said. “It started out with a squeaking. Like so. Eek, eek, eek, eek.”
Charlotte slowly died inside as the boy began an uncanny reenactment of the passionate sounds of the past quarter hour. Every sigh and wail and groan. There could be no doubt as to what activity the boy had actually overheard. And now they would all conclude Charlotte and the marquess had been engaging in that particular activity.
While grunting.
And using ropes.
“Then there was a terrible growling, and I heard a lady scream. So I ran down to see what was the matter.” He turned his accusing finger to the window seat. “That’s where they were together.”
Sir Vernon looked visibly disturbed.
“Well,” said Mama. “I certainly hope Lord Granville means to explain himself.”
“Pardon me, madam. But how do we know it’s not your daughter who needs to explain herself?” Sir Vernon looked to Lord Granville. “There has been some talk in Town.”
Charlotte cringed.
“Sir Vernon, you and I should speak privately,” Lord Granville said.
No, no. A private conversation would doom her. Everyone needed to hear the truth, here and now.
“It isn’t true,” she declared. “Any of it.”
“Are you calling my son a liar, Miss Highwood?”
“No, it’s only . . .” Charlotte pinched the bridge of her nose. “This is all a misunderstanding. Nothing happened. No one was murdered or assaulted in any way. There wasn’t any rope. Lord Granville was tying back the drapery.”
“Why was the drapery untied in the first place?” Sir Vernon asked.
“There’s something on the floor over here,” Edmund said.
When he held up the object for inspection, Charlotte’s heart stopped.
It was a garter.
A scarlet ribbon garter.
“What about this?” Edmund turned the ribbon over, exposing a patch of stitching.
The garter was embroidered with a single letter.
The letter C.
Charlotte exchanged frantic glances with Lord Granville.
What now?
Her mother spoke loudly. “I cannot believe that Lord Granville, of all gentlemen, would behave in such a shameless and shocking manner toward my daughter.”
Mama, no.
“I can only conclude he must have been overcome with passion!” her mother loudly declared. To Charlotte, she whispered, “I’ve never been prouder of you.”
“Mother, please. You’re making a scene.”
But of course, a scene was just what her mother wished to create. She would jump at the opportunity to cause a scandal, if it meant affiancing her daughter to a marquess.
Oh, Lord. Charlotte had tried to warn him, and now her worst fears were coming true.
“I’m telling the truth, Mama. Nothing happened.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Mama whispered back. “What matters is that people will think something happened.”
Charlotte had to do something, and quickly. “It isn’t my garter! I’m still wearing both of mine. Here, I can prove it.” She bent to gather the hem of her skirts.