Last Night's Scandal

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Last Night’s Scandal

Loretta Chase

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Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Teaser Chapter

Acknowledgments

About the Author

By Loretta Chase

Copyright

About the Publisher

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Prologue

London

5 October 1822

My Lord,

You
must
Burn this Letter after reading it. Should it fall into the Wrong Hands, I shall
be once again Exiled to the COUNTRY, to one of my Carsington step-uncles’

Domiciles, where I shall
most certainly
be placed in ISOLATION. I don’t mind
Ruralizing in
Small Doses
, but to be LOCKED IN and forbidden any Social
Intercourse of any Kind (for fear of my forming Unsuitable Acquaintances or Leading
Innocents Astray) is
intolerable
, and
will surely
lead me to Desperate Acts.

I am Watched
constantly
. The only way to send you a proper, Unexpurgated and
Uncensored Letter is to write in my Secret Place and arrange with Certain Persons—

who must remain Nameless, the Undertaking being
uncommonly dangerous
—to put
this Epistle among the Diplomatic Dispatches.

I should not undertake this Perilous Enterprise merely to note that it is
Exactly One Year
since we set out upon our
Most
Interesting
Journey to Bristol. Nor should I
endanger my Freedom merely to Convey the Usual Harmless News a Young Lady is
permitted to communicate to a young Gentleman of her acquaintance—even if he is
practically her
Brother
or at least a Cousin of sorts. I am driven to Subterfuge
because it is my DUTY to Inform you of a
further change in your Circumstances
. We
Children are supposed to
know nothing
of these Matters, but I am not Blind, and the
fact is, your Mama is
expecting
again.

Yes, it is shocking, at her age, and the more so as it’s scarcely a year since your
first brother was born. Little David, by the way, is turning out amazingly like you,
outwardly at least. Babies are chameleon-like in the Early Stages, but his Looks
seem to have settled. His Hair is growing in fair like yours and his Eye color seems to
have resolved itself to the same
unusual
shade of grey. But I digress.

I was always Mystified by your Mama’s sudden FERTILITY after
thirteen barren years
. But Great-Grandmama Hargate says that your parents’
lengthy
visits
in Recent
Years to what she calls their
Cottage
Love Nest In Scotland
, explain everything.

Great-Grandmama says the Haggis & the Scottish Whiskey
Did the Trick
. She said
the combination always had a
prodigious
effect on Great-Grandpapa.
I know what she meant by “prodigious” because I happened to come upon her Secret Collection of
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Engrav

I must make short work of this, if it is to get safely into the Dispatch Bag. The
Ordeal will require my slipping out of a Certain Relative’s House
Unnoticed
and
finding a Hackney. Luckily I have Allies. If I am caught, IMPRISONMENT IN THE

COUNTRY awaits me—but as you know, I regard my own Safety and Happiness as
of
No Consequence
in the Pursuit of a Noble Cause.

Yours sincerely,

Olivia Wingate-Carsington

Thebes, Egypt

10 November 1822

Dear Olivia,

I received your letter some days ago and should have answered sooner, but my
studies and our work consume all my time. Today, though, Uncle Rupert is away
ejecting a party of Frenchmen from one of our excavations—for the third time. The
scoundrels wait for our servants to clear all the sand away—weeks and weeks of work.

Then the devious Gauls produce a firman from a nonexistent kashef or such, which
they claim gives them sole rights to the site.

I can break heads as well as the next fellow, and would have gone, but Aunt
Daphne tied me to a rail of the dahabeeya (a type of Nile boat, quite commodious)
and told me to write to my family. If I write to my parents, it will only remind them I
exist, and incite the usual irrational urge to have me home to watch their histrionics
until they forget why they wanted me and send me away to yet another dismal school.

Since, as Lord Rathbourne’s stepdaughter, you qualify as family, no one can
logically object to my writing to you instead. I find myself torn regarding your news. On
the one hand, I am very sorry to learn that yet another innocent child will be thrown
into the parental tempest. On the other, I’m selfishly glad to have siblings at last, and
pleased that David is thriving.

I don’t see why anybody should mind your apprising me of my mother’s
pregnancy, but then I’ve never understood the strictures placed on females. It’s worse
here for women, if that’s any consolation. In any case, I hope you suffer no
imprisonment for enlightening me. Your temperament is not suited to rules, let alone
captivity. This I learned firsthand during the adventure you refer to.

Of course I recall vividly the day on which I suddenly and unexpectedly—two words
I shall always associate with you—departed London with you.

Every moment of our journey to Bristol is as deeply incised in my brain as the
Greek and Egyptian inscriptions on the Rosetta Stone, and bound to endure as long.

If someone, centuries hence, happens to dig up my corpse and anatomize my brain,
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he will find, etched there in unmistakable characters: Olivia. Suddenly. Unexpectedly.

You know I leave sentiment to my parents. My thinking must be guided by facts.

The fact is, my life took a remarkable turn after our journey. Had I not gone with you, I
should have been sent to one of the many schools in Scotland run on Spartan
principles—though to be fair, the Spartans were soft by comparison. I should have
had to put up with the same sort of infuriating narrow-mindedness prevailing at other
schools, but under even more sadistic conditions, such as impenetrable Scottish
accents and hideous weather. And the bagpipes.

In thanks, I enclose a small token. According to Aunt Daphne, the scarab beetle
sign is said as “kheper”—with the “kh” pronounced like the German “ach.” The
hieroglyphic signs have several meanings and uses. The scarab signifies rebirth. I
look upon this journey to Egypt as a rebirth.

It’s turned out more exciting than I’d dared to hope. Over the centuries the sand
has swallowed whole worlds, which we’ve scarcely begun to uncover. The people
fascinate me, and my days are mentally and physically stimulating, as they never
were at home. I’m not sure when we’ll return to England. I hope it isn’t for a very long
time.

I must end here. Uncle Rupert has returned—all in one piece, we’re pleased to
note—and I cannot wait to hear about his encounter with those worthless slugs.

Yours sincerely,

Lisle

P.S. I wish you would not address me as My Lord. I can hear you say it with that
provoking hint of mockery in your voice, and I can see you making an excessive sort
of curtsey—or perhaps, given your confusion regarding what girls may and may not
do—a bow.

L

P.P.S. What
Engrav
?

Four years later

London

12 February 1826

My dear L,

Felicitations on your EIGHTEENTH BIRTHDAY!

I must be Quick with this, because I’m about to go into Exile again, to Cheshire
with Uncle Darius this time. That will
teach
me to take a Little TATTLETALE like
Sophy Hubble to a Gaming Hell.

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How I wish your recent Visit home had been longer. Then we might have
Celebrated this
Momentous Day
together
. But you are
far better off
in Egypt, I know.

Too, had you lingered here, you might not have been permitted to return to Egypt
at all.

Not long after your Departure, we had a CRISIS with your Parents. As you know, I’

ve always
protected
Adults from the Truth. I gave Lord and Lady Atherton to
understand that Plague in Egypt was
not
the GHASTLY & FATAL CONTAGION one
associates with Medieval Times, but merely one of the minor Ailments travelers
often
experience. But mere
Weeks
after your ship set sail, some Busybody Told Them the
Truth! They became HYSTERICAL, going so far as to DEMAND the Ship be
recalled

! I told them it would kill you to turn back, but they said I was
over-dramatizing
. I! Can
you credit it?
Talk of the pot calling the kett
But I must stop. The boy is here.

No time to Tell It All. Enough to say that Step-Papa has Dealt with the Matter, and
you are SAFE
for now
.

Adieu, my Friend. I wonder if I shall ever
see you
again, and— Oh, drat. Must go.

Yours sincerely,

Olivia Carsington

P.S. Yes, I’ve dropped “Wingate,” and you won’t wonder why when I tell you what my
Paternal Uncle said about Mama. If Papa were alive, he’d disown them, and you know

—Curse the boy! He will not wait.

O

In a village ten miles from Edinburgh,Scotland

May 1826

No one had lived in Gorewood Castle for two years.

Old Mr. Dalmay, whose health was failing, had had to move out a few years before that, into a modern, warmer and drier house in Edinburgh. His agent hadn’t yet found a tenant, and the caretaker, who’d had an accident last spring, still wasn’t back. That was why the restoration and repair work, which had been going on for as long as anybody could remember—which was to say, for all the time Mr. Dalmay had lived in the castle—had gradually slackened.

That was why, on this spring evening, Jock and Roy Rankin had the castle to themselves.

They were scavenging, as usual. They’d learned the hard way that the splendid stones on the battlements didn’t survive the more-than-one-hundred-foot drop to the ground below. The castle basement, being filled with rubble, offered easier pickings. Someone had already tried to steal a piece of the stairway. Their employer would pay well for the remaining stone blocks.