↫Mischief in Mayfair↬

Lady Aston was an impeccable hostess at the Aston ball just the other night. What a splendid affair for such a prominent family to open their doors to the ton for the evening. Readers, I even heard that the Duke of Trent danced with the Earl of Severin's daughter, Lady Rebecca, twice. Twice, my friends! I daresay we should hear of a proposal by the end of the week, no?

"Lady Humphries, I really wish you would reconsider."

Scarlett tapped her foot impatiently on the floor, wishing her publisher would cease his pleading and leave.

"I'm not going to publish rumors that would indicate that Princess Victoria is a bastard," Scarlett replied bluntly.

Mr. Beckett huffed, folding his arms across his chest. He was apparently so irritated that he didn't even flinch at Scarlett's language. "You have written political articles for Mischief in Mayfair before, Lady Humphries. I do not see the difference. The Ton's Talk has already published a piece addressing the rumors. You have to keep up if you wish to keep your readers."

Bristling, Scarlett replied, "The difference is that my previous political articles were to discredit a malicious king. Supporting this type of slander against Princess Victoria could alter the life of a child and our future queen."

Scarlett also knew that Lord Clemonte was working with his connections at The Times to publish a piece in support of Queen Adelaide and Princess Victoria. There was no proof of anything, after all. Scarlett didn't want to do anything to counteract that article.

But rumors had begun to fly about London regarding the father of Victoria, particularly noting how quickly Adelaide and Theo had married after Prince George's death, as well as the unusual choice in husband for a queen.

But Addie felt confident that Leo's idea for the monarchy to ignore the rumors might be successful. All gossip died eventually if unfounded.

Mr. Beckett's mouth flattened into a thin line.

"My reputation as a gossip columnist is simply not worth the reputation of our monarch," Scarlett continued to argue.

"Just to play devil's advocate," Damien broke in, glancing up from the book he was reading in the corner. Scarlett had almost forgotten that he was there. He'd arrived that morning to pay a visit. For some reason, he'd yet to leave, sitting in that nook for most of the day. "It isn't as though you, single-handedly, would ruin her reputation," Damien continued. "Everyone is already speaking of it."

His tone was offhanded, and it annoyed Scarlett.

She couldn't entirely blame these men before her for thinking the way they did, though. They didn't know the little princess personally like Scarlett did. They didn't realize the adorable way she blinked upwards when someone cooed in her ear or tickled her toes.

Scarlett straightened her spine. "I have single-handedly ruined other reputations, and I refuse to do it any longer."

Damien shrugged and stuck his nose back into the novel he was reading.

But the frown on Mr. Beckett's face grew. "I simply don't understand, Lady Humphries. Just the other week, you wrote that piece about Lord Farrington and his son without batting an eye."

Gritting her teeth, Scarlett bit out her next words. "Yes, and that was a mistake. It was untrue and nearly cost me my friendship with the earl."

Damien's head snapped up at that, and Mr. Beckett's eyes grew wide.

Scarlett frowned, looking back at them. "What?"

"Does Farrington know you're Madame Mischief?" Damien asked, searching her face with his eyes.

"Yes," Scarlett replied hesitantly. It wasn't like she could deny it after what she'd just said.

"What the hell were you thinking?" Damien cried.

The room was quiet for a moment. Scarlett bit her lip, frustrated by the accusation in her friend's voice. But she couldn't explain anything while Mr. Beckett remained in the room. Thankfully, the publisher broke the silence.

"Well, that article about Lord Farrington seemed to boost the interest in your recent issues, Lady Humphries. That type of gossip is precisely what people want to read. But I cannot make you write anything, my lady," Mr. Beckett gave a little nod and then clapped his hands together, rubbing them before standing. "I shall leave you to decide."

Scarlett stood as well. "Thank you, Mr. Beckett. We shall be in touch, I'm sure."

As soon as he was gone, Scarlett rounded on Damien. "Must you cause a spectacle when I'm conducting business?"

Damien threw his hands up. "I'm sorry, Lettie. But why would you tell Farrington your biggest secret?"

Scarlett plopped back down into her chair and threw her head back against the cushions, looking at the ceiling for a moment in contemplation.

Her friend, on the other hand, continued his chastisement. "I don't know if you realize how angry Farrington is going to be when he learns that someone else has won the bet. What's to stop him from releasing your name to the public in retaliation? Do you know how many enemies you would have if your identity was discovered?"

When Damien was finally done spewing at her, she leveled her gaze. With a humorless chuckle, Scarlett said, "He won the wager, Damien. Technically."

Her admission was met with a blank stare. A gaping, void stare.

"What do you mean by that?" Damien asked slowly when he'd finally overcome his shock.

"Oh, you know what it means, Damien," Scarlett shot back. "But you needn't worry. He doesn't realize he won. I told him you had already done so." She waved her hand at him dismissively. "So he is already aware of the situation regarding the wager, and I do not worry that he will release my name."

Damien stared blankly at her again. Then he gave his head a little shake. "I don't—I don't know what to say. How did Farrington react, then? And why aren't you worried?"

Scarlett pursed her lips. She did not wish to speak or think about this. God, she wished...well, it didn't matter what she wished anymore. "I am so tired of secrets, Damien. I am so tired of the lies and deceit. There are things that I've been involved in the last two years that you don't know about."

His brows furrowed as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "What are you talking about?"

"I cannot get into it right now," Scarlett said. "Dr. Abbott is going to be here at any moment. He's my next caller."

Damien's brows drew closer together. "Why is Dr. Abbott coming?"

"Because I've had breathing episodes every day," Scarlett said quietly.

"Every day?" Damien asked, his voice soft as he repeated her words in disbelief.

"Yes."

Everything had been getting worse. Scarlett's chest seemed to continually be tight. She could barely concentrate on her writing without becoming distracted by it or something else. Or rather, someone else. Leo always strayed into her mind, invading all of her thoughts. And yet, she was distraught over money—the lack of it. And so Scarlett forced herself to focus. She needed to keep writing. She needed to organize the household and help the servants wherever she could. She needed to keep up. With everything.

Damien had grown rather quiet. He just kept glancing at Scarlett with a bewildered sort of expression. As expected, Dr. Abbott arrived only minutes later, and Scarlett told him about what she'd been experiencing.

"My lady," he finally said after listening to everything Scarlett had to say regarding her symptoms. "You need to rest. I can tell that you are not yourself."

"I am not myself because I can hardly breathe," Scarlett snapped.

Dr. Abbott pursed his lips. "I think perhaps you are giving yourself the vapors with your worrying, my lady."

"My condition is not caused by my delicate feminine nature," she protested.

"Scarlett does not have a delicate nature," Damien agreed, lowly.

Scarlett was thankful for his support, but at the same time, she was wondering the truth of the matter. For the first time in a long time, Scarlett felt very delicate. This week had broken her, so clearly she wasn't as strong as she'd thought she was.

"I am still going to prescribe bed rest, my lady," Dr. Abbott insisted.

"What about...breathing exercises? To strengthen my lungs?" Scarlett asked, thinking back to what Dr. Daniels had said.

"Perhaps it would help. But only if your asthma was the real concern here."

Scarlett scowled. Dr. Abbott seemed to notice. "I did bring that new medication I had mentioned previously, should you ever need it for cases of real emergencies. Are you interested?"

"Yes, I think so." She didn't really feel she had an option at this point.

Dr. Abbott reached into his bag, withdrawing a small bottle. "You only need a small dab on cloth. Then press to your mouth and inhale."

"Inhale?" Scarlett repeated, hesitant.

"Yes," Dr. Abbott affirmed. "You must breathe it into your lungs for the full effect. Your breathing will slow, and it might cause you to fall asleep."

"I suppose that makes sense."

The physician nodded again, asking Scarlett briefly if she had any other questions. Annoyed with his denial of her symptoms and everything else that had happened that day, Scarlett was more than happy to dismiss Dr. Abbott without any further delay.

As soon as he left, she threw herself back on the settee.

"Can I get you anything?" Damien asked, his voice gentle and soothing, reminding her of why they'd been friends for so long—reminding her that he deserved the truth as well.

"No," she said, "but I owe you an explanation."

Damien hesitated. "I don't know if we should discuss it now. You have had a long day already. Rest might not be a bad idea, Lettie."

"I was involved with a group of individuals who plotted to help Adelaide return to the monarchy," Scarlett revealed, ignoring Damien's reply.

He froze, staring at her open-mouthed. "What? You mean, you committed treason?" he finally sputtered.

"I mean that I supported the one woman who could rid us of a murderous, ruinous king. The one woman who was the rightful queen."

Damien dragged a hand down his face. But when he looked up, his brown eyes were understanding, and Scarlett breathed a sigh of relief.

"That's why you won't write anything bad about the queen," he inferred. "And you've written so many things in her favor."

"And that's why Leo knows that I am Madame Mischief," Scarlett added.

"He was involved as well?"

Scarlett nodded slowly. "But I am trusting you not to say anything about this to anyone, Damien."

"Of course not, Lettie. I would never," he rushed to say. "I am loyal to Queen Adelaide, after all. I want to ask who else was involved, but I shall withhold myself. I wouldn't have thought Farrington to care about such things."

Scarlett pushed away Damien's comment about Leo. Instead she relaxed further into the settee, relieved to have that secret off her chest. She had been keeping that from him for so long, and it had been clawing at her.

A knock sounded at the door, causing Scarlett to jerk upright.

"Oh dear," she groaned. "Who is that now?"

The door creaked open, and a feminine voice called out. "Scarlett?"

Scarlett whirled around, glancing at the doorway of the parlor. She knew that voice.

"Scarlett, I need to speak with you. Honestly, this is becoming ridiculous!" Emilia cried. The viscountess strode toward the room where Scarlett and Damien were sitting. She was wearing a navy cloak, and her golden hair was swept up in a simple chignon.

"Oh!" She halted as soon as she saw Damien sitting in the corner. Then she narrowed her eyes at him.

"Emilia, what are you doing here?" Scarlett had grown close to Emilia over the last year or two, but the woman had never shown up at her home unannounced before.

"I'm here because I don't buy this," she said, pointing back and forth between Scarlett and Damien. "I don't buy this at all. And for goodness' sake, have you heard the news?"

"What news?" Scarlett asked, instantly fearing whatever Emilia had to say.

"How have you not heard?" she asked. "You're supposed to know all the gossip the ton has to offer!"

"What news, Emilia?" Scarlett repeated more forcefully.

Emilia leveled her with a stare, raising her brow slightly. "Leo's considering marriage to the Duke of Warwick's daughter, Lady Penelope."