Home > Have Yourself a Merry Little Scandal (The Lairds Most Likely #7.5)(172)

Have Yourself a Merry Little Scandal (The Lairds Most Likely #7.5)(172)
Author: Anna Campbell

“Such a shame our matchmaking didn’t fall on fertile ground this time,” said Antoinette. “I was so sure he and Miss Reeves made a good match, but you were right, Fanny, though I hate to say it. Lord Yarrowby probably will make her the better husband. She looked positively radiant when her father announced their betrothal last night. Did you say something, Venetia?”

To Fanny’s surprise, Venetia was gripping her chair in some agitation. The girl also seemed to have trouble formulating her sentence before she finally got the words out. “Who did you say Miss Reeves is going to marry?”

“Lord Yarrowby. I thought everyone had heard the news. Her father announced it last— Goodness!”

It was an exclamation echoed by all three remaining ladies as they watched Venetia rise in such haste that her chair toppled to the ground.

Even more surprising was that she made no attempt to right it.

And that she was running.

Yes, running across the enormous Aubusson carpet toward the door.

“Venetia!” exclaimed Lady Indigo, rapping her stick on the ground. “Where are you going? Come back this moment!”

“I’ve got to stop Sebastian!” the girl cried out, wrenching open the doors and disappearing into the corridor, leaving Fanny and Antoinette gaping at Lady Indigo.

“Sebastian?” It was Antoinette who repeated his name on a question. “Why would she want to stop Sebastian?”

Fanny rose, as the answer that seemed too outlandish to countenance came to her.

Lady Indigo rose also.

And Antoinette.

In a party of rustling skirts and piqued curiosity, they went to the large windows that looked out over the driveway.

The driveway where they could see the horses pulling Mr Wells’s carriage gaining speed.

The driveway where they now saw the small, slight form of Miss Venetia Stone in a most unladylike, and most unexpected fashion, sprinting after the ponderous equipage that was rolling down the gravel driveway toward the stone gates at the entrance to the park.

“Dear lord, what has come over Venetia,” murmured Lady Indigo. “I think she has finally lost her mind.”

“Oh Antoinette, did we miss what was right under our noses,” gasped Fanny as they continued to watch the extraordinary sight of Venetia putting on enough speed to reach the carriage and beat upon the windows.

“Where’s my quizzing glass!” cried Lady Indigo. “What’s going on?”

But neither Fanny nor Antoinette had any intention of leaving the scene of such entertainment to fetch Lady Indigo’s quizzing glass, instead regaling her with the extraordinary events now unfolding.

“The carriage is slowing!” cried Antoinette.

“It’s stopped, and someone is getting out,” Fanny said.

“Who’s getting out?” demanded Lady Indigo.

“It’s...it’s Sebastian, of course!” Fanny squinted, clasping her hands on a gasp as she squealed. “And he’s kissing her. Goodness! In front of the coachman and...my lord...in front of Mr Wells. Yes, he’s just got out of the carriage too.”

“And he’s still kissing her!” Antoinette cried. “And now he’s just untied her cap and thrown it away.”

“But he’s still kissing her!” said Fanny. “And running his fingers through her hair. Such beautiful dark-brown hair.”

“Good lord!” breathed Lady Indigo after some moments during which they all watched, transfixed, through the window. “He can’t still be kissing her! What is Mr Wells doing? He surely must be trying to make them stop.”

“He’s just standing there,” said Fanny. “Oh, and now they’ve stopped. And Mr Wells is shaking Sebastian’s hand.”

“Oh my!” cried Antoinette. “Now Mr Wells is embracing Venetia. Would you believe it?”

“I would not!” Lady Indigo looked enraged. “It’s outrageous! I said it before, and I’ll say it again. Venetia has lost her wits together with all sense of decorum. She will be severely punished.”

Fanny exchanged glances with Antoinette. “I think,” she said, “that might not be possible.”

“What do you mean?” Lady Indigo asked sharply.

“Venetia is getting into the carriage with Sebastian and his father,” said Fanny.

“And they’re ignoring the gardener who is running after them holding out Venetia’s cap,” said Antoinette. “So, I think they’ll ignore you, too.”

“I’m afraid so,” agreed Fanny with feigned regret. She smiled at Lady Indigo. Then she smiled at Antoinette. “I think that Sebastian has finally found the girl with the dark-brown hair he’s been looking for all this time. His long-lost true love.”

 

 

About Beverley Oakley

 

 

Beverley Oakley an Australian author who grew up in the African mountain kingdom of Lesotho, emigrated to South Australia when she was young, and married a Norwegian bush pilot she met while managing a safari lodge in Botswana’s Okavango Delta.

Beverley writes historical romance laced with mystery, scandal and intrigue. She lives north of Melbourne (overlooking a fabulous Gothic lunatic asylum) with the same gorgeous Norwegian husband, two daughters and a rambunctious Rhodesian Ridgeback.

 

Visit Beverley’s website to sign up for her newsletter (and receive a free book)

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And if you enjoyed The Courtship Caper, you can read the rest of the series here, on Amazon

 

 

Duncan’s Christmas

 

 

by Ellie St. Clair

 

 

Chapter 1

 

 

London, 1855

 

 

“I despise this city.”

Duncan McDougall folded his arms across his chest as he peered out the window into the inky London night. It was disconcerting, staring out onto the city beyond and seeing lights dotting his view every way he looked. Night was supposed to be lit by the moon and stars, as his Highland hills of home were — certainly not by the machinations of man.

A snort resounded from behind him. “Is it the city you have ill feelings toward or the reason you are here?”

Duncan sighed as he lowered his arms and turned around to face his friend.

“I must confess ’tis a bit of both, Niall,” he said, sliding into the uncomfortable wooden chair next to him. “No man steals from a McDougall and gets away with it.”

“No man steals from a Highlander, you mean,” Niall corrected him. “Especially right out from under your very nose. You usually have better instincts, Duncan.”

Duncan fixed a dark look upon him, and Niall shrugged, unaffected, unlike most who found themselves set upon by the McDougall glare.

“A simple observation.”

“An Englishman ran away with my betrothed,” Duncan said through gritted teeth. “I promised Campbell I would find his daughter and return to Aldourie with her. I’m a man of my word.”

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