The Bluestocking and the Dastardly, Intolerable Scoundrel
by Jenni James
Trifecta Books
Book design and layout copyright © 2016 by Trifecta Books
Cover design copyright © 2016 by Jenni James
This is a work of fiction, and the views expressed herein are the sole responsibility of the author. Likewise, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are represented fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events or locales, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means whatsoever without written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Copyright © 2016 by Jenni James
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Coming Soon: Sneak Peak
About the Author
This book is dedicated to Bailey McKayle, my own beautiful redheaded bluestocking.
And to Lacey Lamb, who without this perfect name, the book would not have been the same.
Acknowledgements:
To my most favorite Regency author, Judith A. Lansdowne. Without her delightful books, I never would have found my voice in clean literature. I love you. Thank you for your kindness and friendship.
Dear Reader,
As I embarked on this new and adventurous journey of writing Regency romance, I wanted to create a series that would showcase my love of England and the joys I’ve felt while imagining her during the Regency period. For this very first book, I’ve gone out on a limb and chosen a real woman in history, though her name has been changed. She was an heiress, which was rare at the time, and a hidden bluestocking as well. It fascinated me to have a woman be so independent. Hence, the wonderful Lady Lacey Lamb was born, and what I envision her own romance must have been like. I hope you enjoy this new endeavor of mine and escape into a world that leaves you a bit happier and more hopeful than when you started the book.
Love,
Jenni James
CHAPTER ONE:
Lady Lacey Lamb, Viscountess Melbourne, was in high fidgets as she paced indignantly across the intricately woven rug in the library of her newly purchased townhome on Green Street. “Are you certain it was my name the insufferable swines were bandying about?”
She swirled around to face her second gardener, a respectable Mr. Toppens, who had only this moment returned from the errand she had sent him on earlier that morning. The old garden was in shambles, and one could not think when one’s garden was in shambles, which is why it was imperative she bring up all of the gardening staff to the new home immediately. Toppens had been to fetch the seedlings she arranged to be picked up and had come back not only with the seedlings, but also with the most hideous piece of shameful gossip that had crossed this threshold yet.
“Yes, my lady. I came directly home soon as I heard.” He fidgeted with his hat and stepped from one foot to the other.
“Thunderation!” she grumbled as she spun on her heel again, her brown muslin gown spinning with her. “Abominable. Unspeakable toads.”
“Now, calm down,” Pantersby, her normally sympathetic butler, attempted to soothe her. “You do not know the whole of it yet. It could be mere gabblemongers having a laugh at your expense.”
“My expense! That is what causes me the most ire. No matter how anyone chooses to look at this, it has been done at my expense.”
Both men jumped as she flung the small book she had been clutching upon the chiseled table before her.
This would not do. She was not some horrific shrew of a woman who shouted the place down. Placing her hand to her throat, she took a deep breath to calm the roaring of anger in her ears and struggled to ask coolly, her voice shaking a bit unevenly, “Tell me again, Toppens. What precisely did occur outside of White’s?”
Toppens glanced anxiously at Pantersby and cleared his throat. “Lord Alistair Compton was in the midst of the throng.”
“Are you confident it was him?”
“Yes, my lady. It was his height, standing a good head and shoulders above the rest—could not have been anyone else but he.”
She nodded and closed her eyes. “Continue.”
“He and a right large group of nobs came out of White’s all boisterous and lively like, the whole lot of them laughing up a storm—never heard so much racket in my life. So, as I was waiting for the line of coaches to ease up a bit—seems as though everyone is coming to town today—I looked over and saw them all. And they were loud as crows, they were, shouting to the skies how as their betting at White’s would give Lord Compton ten-to-one odds to get you, Lady Icey Lamb, Viscountess Melbourne, to fall dreadfully in love him by the end of the Season.”
Apprehension gripped her chest as Lacey took another deep breath. This could not be happening. This simply could not be. “Icey? They think I am made of ice? Merely since I refuse to become a flirtatious chit in their presence? Now, because I declined to stand up with that buffoon Compton at Lady Huffington’s ball, they must place wagers as if I were some token to be won? Infuriating villains. How dare they?” Lacey would have found another book to throw, but stopped herself. There was no need to ruin a perfectly magnificent library because of a bunch of nodcocks.
“’Tis why I came straight to you, my lady. I supposed you must know immediately to put this to stops.”
“Yes.” Her eyes lit up on the older silver-haired man. “Pantersby, is there anything that can be done?”
“Apart from castrating the lot of them?”
Lacey gasped and threw her hand to her mouth to stop the surprised giggle that was attempting this very moment to show itself. “Pantersby! Why, I never!”
He stood prim and proper, his uniform sharp, though one mischievous side of his mouth turned up the merest bit. “Yes, my lady?”
She gave in and a smile broke out, then a chuckle. Pantersby always had a way of helping her find the lighter side of any situation. But this was a larger mess than she had ever been in. Nonplussed, she sat down upon the nearest chair, her brown skirts in a wild array, as she took in the gravity of the situation. “Why can I not have peace?” She sighed. “This is precisely why I cannot abide le beau monde or the Season. I loathe coming here. A bunch of false gossipy twits trying to outdo each other in the most repulsive display of the marriage mart. Little gels with their hopeful mamas, wistful to catch the lucky looks of a mere stranger.” She let out a very unladylike groan. “It is the most pitiful excuse of an existence there is—and I must endure it year after year.”
“Well, if I may be so bold?”
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She waved her hand. “Go ahead, Pantersby. You are most welcome to say whatsoever comes to mind, for nothing can be as dreadful as this. And Toppens, you may go. I thank you for the information. Though shocking, I am more grateful to have it than not.”
Once the second gardener left, Pantersby continued, “You have two options here.” He took a step forward. “You can pack up and run to the country again, as you are usually wont to do—this will force Lord Compton to forfeit his outrageous bet.”
“Or?”
“You gird up your armor and stay to commence a battle.”
Intrigued, Lacey sat up. “How so?”
“You teach that youth a thing or two about manners, for one. A bluestocking does not become a prestigious bluestocking because she is a simpleton. No, my lady, you have an opportunity to school the brat and set him down a peg or two.”
One slim finger thoughtfully tapped her mouth. “I do have the upper hand, thanks to Toppens.”
“That you do.”
She scrunched her brow. “But I despise petty games like this.”
“You can learn to enjoy them, you know.”
“I can?” She stood up. There was no reason she should be in sulks over this. “So I can. And I will.” She walked over to Pantersby and nodded once before stepping past him into the gallery. “I shall teach this dastardly, intolerable scoundrel the foolishness of placing one’s bet before his comrades.” A small grin began to form itself upon her features once more as an indignant brow arched. “Society may come and go as they please and attend their silly soirees and galas. I am here for Parliament alone. Women cannot yet attend, but the newspapers are quick in London, and my brother, Lord Melbourne, will continue to tell me the Whig ondits. I will have all the fascinating knowledge I need to entertain myself. However, this need not mean that I should be put out between sessions.”
She walked to the center of the vestibule, placed her simple, unadorned bonnet atop her fiery red hair, and tied the bow rakishly to the side. Then she allowed Pantersby to slide her green woolen pelisse about her shoulders. “Please have Jameson bring the curricle around.”
“Are you to go out alone, my lady?”
Lacey sighed as she tugged on her kid-leather gloves. “Do you think I ought not?”
“You know very well what I think. ’Tis too dangerous for you to be out and about without Mrs. Crabtree, or a footman at the least.”
“If men can banter my name willy-nilly all over the place, I see no reason why it is not permissible to grant me the opportunity to defend myself and do the equivalent.”
“You are not going to White’s! ’Tis a gentleman’s club. Please say that you are not.”
Lacey closed her eyes and took yet another deep breath. Life was not just, and Pantersby was fortunate that she esteemed him as family or that outburst would have harmed him greatly.
“Begging your pardon, ma’am. I do not know what came over me.”
She took her reticule from the same side table where all the rest of the folderols had been and then met his eyes. “Do not worry. You are only attempting to make me see reason. To remind me of these confounded rules of town. No, I had not one notion to attend White’s and place my own wager, making a fool and mockery of Lord Compton. Why should I ever do that?” Lacey tugged forcefully on her pelisse and gestured for Pantersby to open the door for her.
“No, I will allow my brother to avenge my wrongs. And as surely as I speak the truth of the matter to him, he will most certainly place the bet for me, and then Lord Compton and I will be on even ground, no?”
Pantersby gave a smug grin. “No, Lady Lamb. Not one whit of you shall be on even ground with such a man. Indeed, you are, and always will be, scores above him.”
“Thank you, Pantersby.”
He opened the door to the drudgery of London’s finest attempts at weather and sent a footman scurrying to the lady’s side to await the curricle.
“And what of the wager? Have you thought of a sufficient reply to his?”
Lacey smiled at the bottom of the steps of her new townhome and said, “Why, it will be to guarantee that he shall tumble topsy-turvy and head over heels in love with the Icey Lady Lamb.” She chuckled at Pantersby’s face above her. “The best part is, Pantersby, I have enough to my name that I can easily lose the despicable wager. Lord Compton, I believe, is such a wastrel of man, he does not. Either way, he fails, and perhaps next Season, he will learn to be a bit less of a libertine and more of a gentleman. Why, his mama may thank me when this is all through.”
CHAPTER TWO:
Lord Alistair Compton, second son to the Marquess of Northampton, knew the moment he stood at the entrance of the Percevals’ ballroom there was trouble afoot. Nearly eighty pairs of eyes fell upon him as the room tittered to a disconcerting stop. Whatever could be amiss now? He had definitely caught himself up most unwittingly in another grist for the mill. Pausing at the threshold of the grand ballroom, he gave a saucy grin and bowed low, showing off a handsome full head of raven-colored hair.
Instantly, fans began to flutter, and the orchestra started a quadrille. Though the dancers began to disperse once more and lead each other out upon the gleaming wooden floor, many gazes stayed fastened upon him.
Lady Perceval came to his rescue first, bustling up the side of the ballroom and past several whispermongers to greet him. “Why, Lord Compton, thank you for attending my sad little crush!” She chortled gaily up at him, her flushed, plump cheeks matching her rose-colored gown to perfection.
“I am most happy to be invited.” He bowed over her hand and then asked, “Where is your husband? I do not see Henry anywhere amongst the throng.”
She whipped open a fan and then hissed behind it. “He is trying to make up the damage done to you, sir.”
Ah, just as he supposed. This was all to do about him. “And what damage is this?”
“Alistair!” She gasped, her fan quivering. “You do not know? Oh, good heavens. It is all that anyone is speaking of this moment.” Pasting a smile on her face, she tugged upon his arm and nearly hauled him out of the room back into the hall where he had just been. Her eyes searched frantically up and down the large gallery. “Where is my wretched husband? He is never around when one needs him most.”
“Shh…” he chided her. “There is enough gossip going at the moment—no need to sully your names as well. Henry is most likely hiding away in his study. I will go up and see if I can find him and ask what all this business is about, shall I?”
“His study? Yes. Yes, you are most likely correct. Go to him immediately.” She shooed him with her hands. “I mean to obtain some semblance of normalcy down here, though I doubt I will be able to above half.”
Georgianna Perceval was ever good at producing Cheltenham tragedies at the drop of a hat. This was probably nothing worse than a common misconception blown into ridiculous proportions. Compton chuckled as he made the steps two at a time up to the curmudgeon’s hiding spot. He knocked twice before gently pushing the door open. “What is the meaning of this? I came to find one rapscallion and discovered three instead,” he said as he looked between the lot of his companions sitting around Henry’s table. “What great travesty could have happened to have you all here at once, instead of below dancing with the ladies?” Perhaps it was a bit more grave than he imagined.
“You,” Lord Atten grumbled as he stood up and held out his chair for Compton. “Come and have a seat, old man. You will most definitely need it.”
“Old? Twenty-six is merely one year older than you,” he retorted as he sat into the high-backed chair. He glanced between Lord Hamson and Lord Perceval, both not quite meeting his eyes. “Whatever it is, it cannot be as appalling as your frowns. Now out with it. Which one of you will tell me why the world is staring at me as if I were an ape with two heads?”
Hamson rubbed his jaw. “In all the years I have seen stakes placed at White’s, I have never come across something like this.”
“Nor I,” sa
id Perceval.
“What is it? Are you attempting to drive me mad? What could be so scandalous as to leave you all utterly shaken?” Compton leaned back in his chair, taking on an air of nonchalance to cover the anxiousness growing within him.
Atten smirked. “It is best to say it than to piddle about as we are. Alistair, Lady Icey Lamb has placed her own atrocious wager in response to yours.”
“Devil it!” Compton leaned forward. “I cannot imagine that even she would be so brazen.”
“It was not her exactly,” grumped Perceval as he shifted in his seat. “Nay, she had her brother Melbourne do it for her. Many are implying that she went to White’s herself, but could not gain entrance, so she got her brother to do her dirty deed.”
“And how did she find out?” Compton looked at all three, his countenance taking on a little smile. “I have to say, I am a bit chuffed. I would not have thought she had the pluck to do such a thing.”
“You are laughing? Do you see this? Did I not say the same? Compton would laugh once we told him.” Hamson smirked. “Well, you laugh now, for your head will be deep in the briars soon enough.”
Compton let out a small snort, attempting to cover the chuckle lurking beneath. “Come now! Behold these scowls! How can none of you find this the least bit humorous? You have all become dead bores. Can you not comprehend the larks we can have with such a one as Lady Ice?” He stood up and did laugh heartily. “I can see from your expressions. I take it she has counter-wagered, no doubt saying it will be I who tumbles in love at her feet, no?” He could not keep his chortles down. This was too much.
“You are chirping merry. Look at you!” Hamson gasped as he attempted not to smile.
“No, I assure you, I have had nothing, not so much as a stitch of sherry today.” He could not halt these absurd laughs. “I must say, I approve her aplomb, the preposterous chit. How remarkable that she would throw such a tosser.” He gave a boyish grin as he sat back down in the chair. “Now tell me. What plans have we to thwart the enterprising minx? For you know, there is not one thing that satisfies me more than a challenge with a worthy opponent.”