Scandal's Daughters

Chapter 2

Lord William Marksborough, Marquess of Talbot, loathed balls. He hated the posturing. The overheating. The mothers and their sheep-brained daughters. But most of all he hated squiring his sister to such dos.

Surely, one day, some day, any day soon, his sister would find a proper husband. She’d been proposed to five times. Between her and William, they’d rejected the prospects. His sister wasn’t going to marry just any fool. Of that he was sure. She needn’t cast herself away on a bad match and he’d seen too many bad matches to let his sister throw herself away.

Still, it meant he was stuck, wadding through feathers and fluffy-gowned ladies almost nightly during the Season. There wasn’t enough wine in the world. So, generally he didn’t bother with it. Better to keep his head and avoid entrapment himself.

After all, he was a very good prospect himself. He knew it. London knew it. Certainly all those mamas and their daughters knew it.

It was a bit like playing a childhood game of Sardines, desperately trying to avoid being found.

His sister had a chaperone. So, as soon as he’d brought her, he found a quiet corner and kept away from the determined, marriage minded set until they could all leave and he could head to his club or go out to a place that was a might more pleasant for him and his friends.

Tonight was no different.

He’d ensconced himself in a room not too far from the ballroom but far enough that it was lit only by firelight and was satisfactorily quiet, enabling him to sit in the open window. He could look out at the dark garden, contemplate life, and do a bit of reading in the faint, flickering, reddish light.

Footsteps thudded down the hall and he pulled the velvet curtain to hide himself.

The door opened and said footsteps trotted in.

There was slight panting and then another set of footsteps followed the first in.

Oh bloody hell, he hoped he wasn’t about to bear silent witness to a tryst, but then again the panting didn’t sound at all amorous and then, suddenly, there was a female exclamation of dismay.

“Lord Trumbold, go away!”

“What a chase, you delicious filly. Now, hold still.”

William groaned inwardly. Why? Why did such things have to happen in the room he’d hidden in?

But then the crack of a slap cut the silence.

A growl of anger came from the man and there were sounds of a scuffle.

“Little slut,” the lord growled. “I’ll teach you to lead me on.”

“You’re drunk, my lord,” she replied tersely.

Before another word could pass, William whipped the curtain open.

They didn’t notice, so engaged were they in their altercation.

Red faced, jowls quivering, and ponderous on his bandy legs, Lord Trumbold held the young woman pinned with her arms behind her back.

The older, corpulent lord was breathing down on the girl, his intent clear.

Unaware of William’s presence, the old lord slurred, “No one turns me down. Especially not a trumpeted tart with a father who’ll bugger anything that stands still.”

As Trumbold lowered his head, clearly ready to smear his lips over hers, William readied to attack.

But before he could cross the room, the girl lifted a slippered foot and stomped on Trumbold’s boot.

As the old man groaned, she leaned forward and bit his arm.

A yelp of dismay passed Trumbold’s fleshy lips but he didn’t release her, surprisingly strong for such a drunk man.

“Your father owes me ten thousand pounds, girl,” he sneered. “And you’re going to pay by marrying me or here and now pleasing me. Makes no difference.”

She spat in his face.

In those quick seconds, William found himself admiring the girl’s pluck.

William slipped out of the dark shadows and said coldly, “Unhand the lady.”

Trumbold swayed then laughed. “Lady? Do you know who this is?”

“No,” William said flatly. “We haven’t been introduced. But I know you, you sick old bastard. Let her go.”

Trumbold blinked and swayed again. “I say, who’s there?”

Bad eyesight was apparently on the list of the man’s shortcomings.

William stepped further toward the firelight.

“Talbot,” he slurred.

And with that, somehow the girl got her hand free and she popped Trumbold’s jaw.

Much to William’s shock, Trumbold fell like a bulbous tree.

She brushed her hands off then stepped over the body. She turned to William. “Do you think we should call a physician?”

He stared at her, transfixed.

Black hair coiled about her head and her eyes, a strange violet-blue shone with no fury but rather a sort of plucky acceptance of the bad behavior of men. Her simple, but beautiful, white gown slipped over her body in the sylphlike fashion of the day.

Voluminous but dampened fabric couldn’t hide her silhouette in the firelight.

She was rather average in height, but the curves of her body couldn’t be ignored.

The girl, woman, was lovely. And more so for the way in which she’d so easily shucked off her discomfort.

William tore his gaze away and stared at the body of the fallen lord. “I doubt you’ve killed him.”

“Pity,” she replied with the faint curl of a lip.

“His death would have led to a good many questions,” he couldn’t help pointing out.

“I’m accustomed to questions and courts.”

“Are you, by God?” he declared, amazed at her admission.

She bit down on her lower lip as if regretting her confession then she sighed and continued “No use pretending otherwise. I’m Lady Felicity,” she raised her chin defiantly, “The Earl of Penworth’s daughter.”

And then she stuck her gloved hand out towards him as if daring him not to shake it.

Given the oddity of the situation, he allowed himself a low whistle of amazement. He assessed her again.

She had the look of that blackguard, Penworth.

But it never would have occurred to him she’d have the courage to face the ton after her father’s flight.

He took her hand and gave it a firm shake. “My admiration, Lady Felicity. You’re a tough little thing, aren’t you?”

If possible, she stood a little taller. “Life has made me such, but I do not think I am bitter.”

“No,” he said with increasing admiration. “I can’t say that you are.”

And she wasn’t. Quite the opposite. She didn’t appear angry. She just seemed to have the air of one who got on with things.

“May I ask how the devil you’re here?” he asked with unintended bluntness. The last he had heard, the Drake sisters had been summarily tossed from society.

Her brows rose ever so slightly at the rudeness of his question. “Do I have the plague? Should I be banished, sir?”

He coughed. “Do forgive me, that’s not—“

Her brows rose a trifle higher.

“Well, yes then,” he said truthfully. “I am amazed that you’re brazening it out. Most women don’t have the guts, you know. Their friends are usually ready to shred them once they’ve been ruined.”

She smiled. “Brazening it out? I quite like that. And you must have a very low estimation of women.”

“I? Never say so. They are delightful creatures though not very constant. Except for my sisters. My sisters are all wonderful”

She gave him an odd look. “I’m sorry you feel thus about women, but I am glad you do admire your sisters.”

He smiled slowly, suddenly wishing to see if he could ruffle her so calm feathers. “I adore them. However, the weaker sex has its shortcomings, but then men aren’t saints.”

Her whole body tensed and she looked like she was about to give him a blistering set down. “How true, my lord.”

Hmmm. That wasn’t the response he was expecting. He’d been certain that the word weaker would have had her giving him a good talking to but then. . .

“Ah,” he said. “You’re husband hunting.”

“Being of the weaker sex, I am amazed you think women can hunt at all, my lord. Surely, we wait, cowering, to be conquered and taken?”

He choked on a laugh. “I’ve seen what happens to men who try to conquer and take you, Lady Felicity.”

She gave half a smile and looked down on the still passed out body of the old lord. “So, you have.”

“He deserved it,” William said, his admiration once again growing for her more and more. Truthfully, while his mother was quite troublesome, he liked strong women. They were far preferable to the silly lot waiting to catch him once he was willing to be caught.

“Yes, he did,” she said firmly. “He wouldn’t leave me alone, you see. And while I do wish to be married, I could not face marrying him.”

“Why not?” William couldn’t help asking. For some reason, he wished to ask her questions which would declare the strength of her fiber. “He’ll shuffle off his mortal coil soon enough and then you'd be free.”

She scowled. “While I might make a merry widow, the chance you’re suggesting I take is not worth it nor is it amusing.”

“No. No, it’s not,” he acceded. “He’s a bounder. But there are many young ladies who’d take him. Perhaps he likes a challenge.”

“I have heard that some men do.”

“So I have heard, too,” he said, unable to hide his distaste.

“But not you?” she queried.

“I like my ladies very willing.”

“And have you had many?”

William stared at her, wondering how the devil he’d managed to meet such an odd person. “For a young lady on the marriage mart, and with a father like yours, you ask very dangerous questions.”

She blanched. “I know. It’s very difficult to stop myself.”

“Why?” he asked, genuinely wishing to know.

“Because my father didn’t raise me to be one of the sheep.”

“The sheep?” Realization dawned on him. “You mean like the other ladies.”

“I mean like everyone in the ton,” she explained before she paused. “Well, not everyone. There are a few people he admired and thought to have a few wits. Not many mind you. But a few.”

“You know, there’s something pleasant about being a sheep,” he pointed out.

She sighed. “I know.”

“Do you?”

“Sheep are protected, cared for, no trials or tribulations. They simply go wherever they are told. But. . .“

To his surprise, he found himself leaning forward, waiting to hear what she would say next. “Yes?”

“Sometimes that somewhere is over a cliff.”

“Your father is the one who suffered, it seems to me, not the sheep.”

“True.” She let out a resigned sigh. “He was very foolish.”

“To do what he did?”

She met his gaze and said with absolute conviction, “To get caught.”

The moment those words passed her lips, William knew he was in a very dangerous situation. Very dangerous, indeed. Because as lovely as Lady Felicity was, he had a feeling that nothing could ever get in the way of her goals.

And her goal was marriage.