“Oh, but she did,” drawled Lady Melbourne as she sauntered in, a note in her hand. “But never fear, my dear, I’ve just received an invitation for a house party at Lord Worth’s estate. I wonder why that is?”
Penelope blushed but made no reply.
Yet, as Lady Melbourne gave a sly smile and waved the note, one thing was very clear, the adventures of The Scandalous Daughters Society had only just begun.
The End
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Acknowledgements
Many thanks to Teresa and Scott for their hard work and contributions to this tale. Also, a huge thanks to the other ladies who decided to write about scandalous daughters!
More from Eva Devon
Did you love Sleepless in a Scandal?
Try Eva’s Must Love Rogues series where the prince is not always quite so charming!
Book 1
Chapter 1
1805
The Trent Estate
Miss Harriet Manning was not pleased at all. Which was quite odd because, in general, Harriet, or Harry to her friends, was the most amused and happy of people. But when one was faced with seeing the man, not gentleman mind you, that one had lost her virginity and stupid, stupid heart to five years ago, displeasure really did seem to be the only appropriate emotion.
At this very moment, bad sport that it made her, she hated her dearest cousin. The blasted girl had to go and marry her virginity stealer’s brother. In no time, the whole confounded wedding party was going to arrive to romp in so called bliss at the coming nuptials.
Oh, and she positively loathed her usually marvelous uncle. How could she not? The cantankerous man had arranged for a week of fete to celebrate the advantageous marriage! A week. Seven days. One hundred and sixty-eight agonizing hours in his presence, or fairly near to it anyway. The daytime interactions would be impossible to avoid, but she had no intention of being within a mile’s distance of his person when they all headed off for bed.
In fact, she very well might lock herself in and convince her cousin to rope her to her massive and immovable mahogany bed. It wasn’t as if Emmaline didn’t already think she was terribly odd.
Yes. Tying her to the bed might be quite necessary, because she didn’t really trust herself not to march down the hall and sever that man’s favorite appendage.
Or even more dangerous, make use of it. She couldn’t quite forget how skilled he’d been, especially considering he’d been in the first flush of manhood. Oh, but the way he had stroked her—
“My, your skin is quite flushed.”
Harriet whipped around, her skirts whisking the perfect white and blue woven rug. Embarrassment burned her already horribly hot cheeks. Her past sins emphatically at the forefront of her thoughts, looking her cousin in the eye was out of the question. Quickly, she cleared her throat, looking about the newly furnished French-style salon, trying to focus on anything other than him. “Yes. Perhaps I should move away from the fire.”
Emmaline bobbed her blonde-curled head towards the ornately carved Carrera marble fireplace and narrowed her perfect, pretty, blue eyes. She tapped the bouquet of gardenias in her hand against her full, pink, India muslin skirts. “Dearest there isn’t any fire.”
A strained laugh rippled from Harry’s throat. “Of course. Of course there isn’t.”
Emmaline set her flowers down on the embroidered chair and eyed Harry dubiously. “Are you certain you’re quite all right? You look. . .” Her sand colored brows scrunched together in contemplation. “Well, I don’t know exactly, but you look like you’ve been caught doing something quite naughty.”
Harry pursed her lips. “When have I ever done anything naughty?”
Emmaline’s eyes widened and she glanced up towards the ceiling, clearly beginning to recall a very long list. “Well, there was the time--”
Harry held up her hand, already knowing that, in truth, Harriet and naughty were synonymous. “Please, if you begin, we shall be here all day and into the night.”
Harriet was not exactly reputed for her pristine behavior. She knew this. If everyone were being truthful, she was more likely to be in trouble than out of it. Emmaline adored this particular fact about her cousin, for she had never once put even the tiniest of her toes into the waters of mischief.
Emmaline giggled. “True, but at least that would pass the time.”
A look of pure delight lit Emmaline’s face. “Can you believe that Edward will actually arrive today?”
Harry threw herself into one of the striped, ivory silk chairs. It was remarkable the thing didn’t collapse on the spot since it looked so like a spun sugar confection. “No. Truly.” She let out a sigh. “It seems just yesterday that they all went off to war.”
“I know. I know.” Emmaline lowered herself daintily in the opposite chair. “I never thought he’d ask for my hand.” She glanced at the massive emerald weighing down her delicate fingers. “Not after such a long separation.”
Harry grumbled inside, really quite irritated that her own Hart brother had not come looking for her. She never expected he would. It had been her heart not her brain that had let her hope she might see his face at her doorstep after his return from war. Her brain had been vindicated in its cynicism and her poor heart had finally been put to rest.
Then again, why should she wish to resume the company of such a disagreeable boob she didn’t know? Shaking her head, Harry tsked. “How could Edward not? You know how he loved you before.”
“He liked me,” Emmaline said firmly, smoothing her already perfectly smooth skirts. “He didn’t love me.”
“Yes, well, liking is something.” Her Hart brother, he who she couldn’t quite yet bring herself to name, had dropped the ball at liking and certainly had never progressed to loving. Even if he had proclaimed the emotion zealously. One who loved could not do what he had done. Or what she had done for that matter. Neither of them had played the field of love with particular grace.
Now, loathing was the only sentiment that seemed to exist between them in the few short encounters they’d had during Emmaline and Edward’s recent and brief London courtship.
Emmaline chewed at her lower lip for a moment then said rapidly, “Promise me you shall be nice to Lord Garret.”
Harry narrowed her eyes. “That was certainly out of the blue.”
Emmaline threw up her hands, the folds of nearly transparent ruffles at her elbows fluttering. “I know how you two behave.”
Blinking innocently, Harry inquired sweetly, “Whatever are you talking about?”
Emmaline rolled her eyes. “The two of you are like two caged beasts snarling at each other. And while it can be very amusing watching you two, blood is not something I ever imagined at my wedding.”
With as much indignation as she could muster, Harry blustered, “I would never--”
Emmaline arched a brow, as if to say now don’t you dare lie to me even if you are my elder.
“Well, perhaps just a trickle.” Harry jumped to her feet and crossed to her cousin. She pouted, a hugely exaggerated version of Emmaline’s own winning ability to bring men to their knees. The truth was she wanted to rip a hunk of flesh from the man’s nefarious hide. Still, she doubted that would quite do. At least not at Emmaline’s wedding. “You wouldn’t deny me that, now would you?”
As she always did when weighing out possibilities, Emmaline nibbled on her lower lip which gave a good display of seriously thinking the matter over. “A trickle couldn’t hurt. And he is such an ass.”