Page 3 of A Game of Scandal

“And so would I,” Cassie said.

“And I,” I put in. “If we’re putting the matter to a vote.”

“The motion is carried, then.” Iris slipped a hand through Cassie’s arm and the through mine, guiding us firmly towards the front door. “We solemnly swear to never become respectable.”

CHAPTER TWO

Cassie may have been snared in the net of social responsibility, but I was still a free woman – at least for the time being. Careful to avoid Max and Izzy, I skirted the edge of the ballroom, where people were milling, drinks in hand, waiting to go through to the dining room for the wedding breakfast.

I had a brief window in which to plot my escape, otherwise it was going to be nothing but speeches, and fancy, fussy plates of food, and being inevitably seated beside an “eligible bachelor” who couldn’t even spell Pythagoras. In this crush I’d hardly be missed – except by my family, of course, but it would come as no surprise to them that I’d chosen to remove myself.

The ballroom was quite spectacular, like a wedding cake itself, all gilt and marble, with pale duck-egg blue walls, and, soaring above us, a ceiling covered in clouds and rosy cherubs. It was beautifully decorated, garlanded with boughs of holly and fat red roses that carried a heady perfume, and flickering candles that made the scene feel festive.

This was, I recognized, a prime opportunity for small talk, and as such was to be avoided like the plague. In the last year or so, something had shifted in the way people looked at me. It was as if a sign had gone up over my head that read: For sale: single heiress, sister of a duke. I was constantly being measured as marriage material, and, because what mattered most in the eyes of society were money and breeding, I found myself in the uncomfortable position of being considered a “good catch”.

Never mind the things that made me me. Never mind that I could recite pi to over eight hundred digits, or that I loved apple pudding and riding bicycles, that I hated prunes, or that my fingers were always freckled with ink. None of those things mattered. I was a pretty jewel in a cabinet, on display for gentlemen to appraise and then bid upon.

In social situations I had to behave impeccably, because that’s what was expected of me. And because I loved my family, because I cared about what they thought of me and what other people thought of them, I really did try my best. But it was exhausting, and I constantly came up short. Like a puzzle piece that had made its way into the wrong box, I simply didn’t fit.

For one thing, I didn’t like crowds. This was something of a hindrance if one was supposed to be a dazzling social butterfly. It wasn’t only the small talk, which I found hard work; it was the press of people. The sound of all the voices, the way they seemed to clamour for attention in my brain. The noise and the energy of it was overwhelming, which only added to my discomfort.

“Lady Felicity,” a regal voice called, and I fought to keep the grimace from my face as Nicholas Wynter’s grandmother – the Dowager Countess Wynter – stepped out in front of me, neatly blocking my getaway. I quite liked the old dragon, but nothing escaped the woman’s beady eye. I felt at once that she knew every wicked, uncivil thought that had ever crossed my mind. She also definitely knew that I was trying to sneak out of this room unseen.

“Lady Wynter.” I smiled politely. “How lovely to run into you.”

The woman gave a small harrumph, which I took to mean that she was perfectly aware I was wishing myself far, far away.

“The ceremony was delightful,” I tried, giving myself over to polite chit-chat, already experiencing the numb, creeping feeling that went with it.

“The ceremony was overlong.” The dowager countess’s lip curled into a sneer. “But what can one expect from a parochial little church like that? The vicar was hardly a talented orator. When I think we could have held the wedding at St George’s, with all the pomp and circumstance, and Bertie in attendance … well.” She finished on a huff, her ice-blue eyes snapping. “My new granddaughter-in-law certainly knows her own mind.” Despite her attempt at sounding displeased, I heard the grudging approval in her voice.

“I thought the two of them looked very happy,” I said gamely. “They’re a beautiful couple.”

“They are that,” the dowager countess agreed. Her gaze drifted speculatively over me – a thorough once-over. “And you, Felicity Vane, have got a look of your mother about you. You’ve blossomed into an attractive young lady, though I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you that.”

“I don’t,” I said placidly, “but thank you anyway.” While I wasn’t a patch on Iris Wynter, I was aware that my appearance was more than acceptable by society’s deeply conventional standards. I’d inherited my mother’s willowy figure and her poker-straight silver-blonde hair. My face was symmetrical, which I understood helped; my eyes were a dark blue that tipped towards violet in certain lights. (This I knew thanks to a rather flowery description from a friend of Max who had made a brief attempt at flirtation when I’d been dragged to a party two weeks ago. It hadn’t gone well.)

Lady Wynter gave a short bark of laughter. “Good girl. Can’t stand those niminy-piminy misses who act as though they’ve never seen themselves in a mirror before. And your dress is excellently made too. The colour sets off your complexion.”

“That’s all down to my sister-in-law,” I said.

The dowager countess’s eyes narrowed. “I suppose she and your brother have you shopping for a husband?”

I stilled. My smile became strained. “I would say … we’re in negotiations over the matter.”

“Hmmm.” I couldn’t tell what the noise meant. “Well” – again I was treated to a penetrating glare – “I’m sure I shall follow your coming season with interest.”

I didn’t know if that was a threat or a promise, but I wasn’t about to hang around and find out.

“I look forward to it,” I said weakly. “Oh, I think I see an old friend – please excuse me.” And with that I turned and took to my heels as decorously as possible. The knowing chuckle that followed me made me think I hadn’t been as subtle as I hoped.

Keeping my eyes cast firmly down, I managed to make my way out of the room without being cornered by anyone else, and I headed along the twisting corridor, opening doors as I went until I found what I was looking for.

With a sigh of pleasure, I took in the library. It was enormous, stretching up two floors high, every shelf groaning under the weight of books. The room was fairly empty of furniture, though I spied a high-backed chair in front of the huge stone fireplace. Wasting no time, I dragged it over to one of the bow windows. There was just about enough space in there for me to sit and pull the curtains closed in front of me. It wasn’t foolproof, but it would be a hiding place of sorts – one that might provide respite if Max came looking for me.

Working quickly, I scanned the shelves until I found a book to read. The mathematics section was sadly out of date, but I found a promising-looking, well-thumbed hardback called A General History of the Pyrates, which was about the adventures of Mary Read and Anne Bonny. I had a particular fondness for pirate stories, and it seemed to me that if anyone might have solid advice on how to handle an overbearing older brother, it would be two fearless female outlaws.

I curled up happily in my chair; the drawn curtains created a cocoon, while the cold light from the window spilled over my shoulder. I gave a sigh of satisfaction. Hidden away, alone, with a book: this was how you enjoyed a party.