Chapter Seven

"Falls, Frolics, and Fernication," Emily read aloud from the front page of the newspaper. She kept her voice calm, as befitted a lady. "The readers of this newspaper will be familiar with the risks that those who gather ferns on our beautiful cliffs undertake. None more so than Lady E— and Lord M—, who fell down an old disused mine shaft along the cliffs. Trapped in a dark hole, they didn't mention how they passed the night when this journalist enquired. They emerged, disheveled but unharmed. We do not speculate about why they weren't looking where they were going when searching for ferns."

She put no intonation onto the words, as though she had no idea what the innuendo was. If she had, she might've been sick. Years of being dignified every minute of the day, denying herself the pleasure of going for a good gallop, then an innocent fern hunting trip was turned into a lascivious tale worthy of Fanny Hill.

"We do not speculate about what sort of fronds might have been found. Though we do note that such fern gathering does occasionally involve some frolics that do not become esteemed personages, like the daughter of a duke."

What had happened was bad enough, but this made it sound positively sordid.

"I'll sue them for libel." Her father clenched his fists.

"No." Markshall's brows lowered with annoyance. "That would only draw out the scandal. This will be chip-paper tomorrow."

There was no case for libel. What did they directly say that wasn't in some way true?

"Fernication, though?" her father griped. "Journalists have no idea how to write properly these days."

"The article continues." Emily waited for Markshall and her father to look back at her before she read on in a monotone. "This frolic has a fortuitous ending, with the affianced couple being rescued in the morning with a cherry picker. Though we hope that no forbidden fruit were picked in this fern hunting expedition." All the hairs on her arms seemed to stand up. Did they really mention fernication, forbidden fruit, the most notorious rake in London, and her, in the same article?

"Well, on that I can concur." Her father glared at Markshall.

"It's spring. There's no fruit yet. The flowers are just being pollinated," Markshall replied, with all the appearance of naivety. "There are no cherries being picked now. Certainly not by me."

Her father's expression further darkened. Pollinated flowers... How ferns reproduced, via their spores, was not terribly well known. Flowers though, with their phallic stamens, were an obvious allusion.

"The Ladies' Association of Fern Enthusiasts and Hunters," Emily hurried on because surely nothing in this article could be as bad as fisticuffs between her father and Lord Markshall. She needed the worst to be revealed and then they would face it. "Colloquially known as the Lady Hunters, established in 1871…" She scanned down the column. "The rest is quite innocuous." Except that it was putting scandalous nonsense right beside details about women's fern hunting. "Or at least, usual. The dangers of pteridomania, how women shouldn't over-exert themselves, how the actual collection of ferns is beneath ladies of quality and they should restrict themselves to embroidering fern patterned fancy-work."

She put the newspaper down. That horrible journalist. Her stomach descended further. This would set back her ambitions to extend the Lady Hunters group by months, or maybe years.

"You are going to allow this to stand?" Her father rounded on Markshall. "What about reputation?"

"My reputation is being upheld." Markshall shrugged. "I'm a rake, I've acted like a rake. And Lady Emily's reputation is safe. They mention our engagement."

"Our false engagement," Emily corrected him.

Neither of them should forget that. This was the best way to prevent Connie's debut, in just a few weeks, being jeopardized. She'd wrecked her own chances of marrying and having a family, but she would protect her sister's happiness. Even if Connie sometimes seemed to resent Emily more than a sister ought, given the concern Emily lavished on her.

"Your what?" Her father snapped around to glare at Emily.

Markshall gave her a look that said, ‘This was your idea, you explain it'.

"You know that since..." Breathe. She could do this. "Since James, I have had no desire to marry." She'd said it. "I suggested we keep up a fa?ade of an engagement for a few weeks."

She didn't deserve to marry, and she wouldn't rely on any man's faithfulness. Especially not Markshall's, given how he'd ruined that poor girl and broken hearts.

"It will take more than a few weeks," interrupted Markshall.

Her father's brow wrinkled in concern as he regarded her. "Is this what you want?"

"I don't have many appealing options. Who will receive me, or more importantly, Connie, after this article gets out? We'd be shunned."

"Was this your idea or his?" Her father turned to look suspiciously at Markshall, no doubt wondering how exactly this had happened. It looked an awful lot like an irresponsible man trying to wriggle out of his blunder.

Markshall looked at her with hooded, satirical eyes.

"It was my idea, Papa. I don't think Lord Markshall and I would suit." The most notorious rake in the country and the perfect lady. They were obviously not a match.

There was a flicker of something in Markshall's eyes. For a second a lump formed in her stomach. But her phrasing was suitably euphemistic. She didn't want to reveal his shame, but she couldn't forgive any man who abandoned a woman. Marriage was out of the question. There were no circumstances under which she would ever love such a man.

"I've done my duty. I've offered for Lady Emily. We are to be engaged until she breaks it off in some fit of pique in a month or so. Are we quite done here?" Markshall examined his cuffs. "I'd like to get back, as I'm expecting a telegram."

"Well." Her father nodded with thoughtful resignation. "If we are to maintain this charade, you ought to come for a family dinner tonight."

***

Back at his house, Jones wordlessly handed him two notes.

Dear Lord Markshall,

Excellent point, thank you for bringing it to my attention. Your support would be valuable if you could come to London.

Lord Selby.

Lord Selby was clearly desperate for back-up to ensure that this quite radical House of Commons bill, proposed by the Tories no less, also went through the more conservative and privileged House of Lords. Of course, it was ironic to call the members of Parliament radical or liberal. This wasn't a workers' union. But compared to the hereditary peers... It was all relative.

Markshall flicked Lord Selby's note into the fire and read the second. As usual, it was a copy of what Jones had sent on his behalf.

Dear Lord Selby.

I believe little girls are similarly flammable and equally good sweeps as boys.

Yours, etc. Lord Markshall.

Oscar smiled. "I think sometimes you are as good at being me as I am, Jones." He threw this telegram the same way as the last.

"Better, as I am available to send and receive telegrams at all times of the day and night, my lord."

"Maybe you can attend to this evening's duty for me, too. I must attempt to charm my wife-to-be's family over dinner." That or disgust Emily even more thoroughly so she would curtail their engagement before it hurt him as much as he deserved.

A false engagement. Why had he agreed to such a thing? Apart from because it was the only right and sensible course of action, as Lady Emily had said. Why did he feel so wretched about it then?

"You're not leaving for London tonight, my lord?"

Jones had understood the same from Lord Selby as he had. "Tomorrow morning. You had better unpack my formal frock coat."

"May I ask, my lord, what happened?" Jones nodded, not even pretending that he hadn't already packed in anticipation of Oscar wanting to leave immediately. "You're usually very particular about not getting into compromising situations with young ladies."

"I thought you weren't going to ask," Oscar grumbled.

Jones knew about Oscar's past, but hadn't seen it. He knew Oscar as a man who lulled Tory lords into a sense of complacency while he worked towards liberal principles. A mole, a spy of sorts for real politicians like Lord Selby. He'd only ever seen Oscar play at being a rake.

Lady Emily had made him lose his head. Following her had been destined for disaster. And he wasn't sure why he had done it. There were prettier ladies. Younger and sweeter women who would soothe his soul and forgive his sins and he avoided them all. Why become obsessed with a spinster who elegantly put him down?

"Just put out some clothes, Jones." He didn't want to talk about what had happened. He wasn't sure if he himself understood.

***

"What brought you to this part of Devon, Lord Markshall?" Emily's mother asked. The ladies had retired to the drawing room, and Markshall and her father had joined them soon after. Emily was watching each interaction with a calm smile that belied her sore shoulders.

"I suddenly had the urge for sea air refreshment, Your Grace. Like the Queen, I have a house for just that purpose. Though it isn't as large as Osborne House, my garden ornaments are stone, not concrete." He smiled charismatically as he showed off his wealth to her mother. "And yourselves?"

It was odd he'd chosen a house on the far side of Plymouth. Brighton was so much more convenient to London and much more fashionable. This was a long way for fresh air.

Her mother told how they had agreed to Emily's request for a new county to find different ferns in. In truth, it was an annual trip away from Cumbria she organized with the Lady Hunters and then persuaded her family to facilitate. Her father was always too kind-hearted to say no.

Lord Markshall had been deference and charm all evening, listening to her mother talk about her waifs and strays charity back home, nodding as she explained how the girls were trained as domestic servants. His comment about it being very convenient that such charity provided well-trained maids-of-all-work at a very reasonable rate of pay was accepted by the rest of the family without a question. Though it had caught at Emily's mind as a little ambiguous. It made the enterprise seem a bit more self-interested than she was used to thinking about her mother's charity.

But he had attended with seeming interest as Connie told him about the plans for her coming-out ball and her presentation at court.

"It has to be a spectacular, memorable ball," Connie was saying. "I want to have a good time. I can't wait to be out and not have my family monitoring my every move." She shot Emily a dark look.

Emily had heard Connie's petty grievances too many times to do anything but feign attention while her mind wandered to ferns. She needed a better location for their trip tomorrow. Somewhere with lots of rock outcrops and shady woodland where rare ferns could still be found despite decades of pteridomania.

"Hugo is reading philosophy at Oxford. He will be down for the holidays after exams in a couple of months." Her father loved to boast about his only son, two years Emily's junior.

She could go further west, towards Cornwall. But then there might be more old tin mines and that was a peril she'd not repeat.

"Will he be in London for the season, Your Grace?" Markshall seamlessly went from placating Connie to enchanting her father. "Or come down here?"

"Oh, no, we only have this house for another week. Hugo will join us in London then come back to Cumbria later." Her father smiled. He loved being back in Cumbria. "And yourself? Are you staying here until summer?"

Markshall shook his head. "I visit quite regularly, but I'm more drawn to the lights of the city. I am previously engaged to see some friends in town tomorrow evening and must leave in the morning."

Leaving? A bolt of alarm went through her.

"But my lord, I don't think you have considered that it is necessary for you to attend to your intended at this delicate time." Her mother was looking at him like he was galloping towards an eight-foot fence.

He couldn't leave her to face the gossip and the journalist alone. She might not want to marry him, or indeed to know him, given what he was. But she didn't want to be asked about their so-called love affair without him. What if she said something he later contradicted?

Markshall nodded deferentially to her mother. "Lady Emily would be welcome to join me in London. Perhaps you might all accompany her."

"I'd like nothing more than to accompany you." London? That hotbed of tittle-tattle? Was he insane? "But what effect do you think that might have on the current situation of our notoriety?"

"No one will have read colloquial little newspapers like the Devon Evening Post in London." He waved away her objection. "We can tell our own version of events."

Her mother was nodding in agreement. "An excellent notion, my lord."

"But if everyone knows about it in London..." She trailed off. She and her father had agreed that the false part of the engagement was best kept between themselves, rather than shared with her mother and sister. She wanted to say that when they broke off the engagement, it would be that much more public in London. On the other hand, they might be able to disguise its inauspicious beginnings, which was an advantage.

Her sister's coming-out ball was scheduled for three weeks' time. If she went to London now and broke off the engagement in a few weeks, that would taint Connie and her debut. They would have to keep up the whole pretense for weeks more. Possibly until the end of the season. Concern tickled her spine.

"I don't know." There were the Lady Hunters to think of too. They were only a few days into their weeklong trip. "I need to stay here. I have more ferns to find before the beginning of the season."

"If that's all." Markshall shrugged. "There are plenty of fields near London."

"Of course." She bristled at his dismissive tone. "Though I have a duty to the Lady Hunters."

"Miss Green can look after the group," her father interjected. "We've been saying you ought to relinquish a little control." He turned to his wife. "Why don't you go ahead with Emily?"

Her parents exchanged a barely concealed glance of consternation about leaving her father to the stress of dealing with Connie. Out of the corner of her eye, Emily saw Connie notice.

"I'll follow with Connie after a few days," her father added, "so she can have the dancing lesson booked for her at the end of the week."

"I'll write to Mrs. Burnham about leading the group for the remainder of the trip." Not Miss Green. Emily's smile felt as brittle as Wardian case glass.

"That's decided then. We will go to London tomorrow." Her mother nodded happily. "It will give Emily and me a chance to visit the modiste before Connie takes all her attention." She raised her eyebrows.

"Yes." Emily tried to sound as though she were happy at the prospect. How was she going to manage weeks of being engaged to Lord Markshall, when he was going to act as though he were truly her loving betrothed, knowing what she did about him? Moreover, how was she to resist him at his most charming?