11. A Scandal with a Scoundrel - Chapter 1

London, England.

March 1819

There was a stench in the overcrowded office, one that had Lady Winifred Musgrave, nearly gagging. Sitting in her husband’s cousin’s solicitor’s office was not her idea of a jolly time, and Winnie needed air immediately. She would rather be anywhere but in the office with a man who took pleasure in ripping her future from her.

No doubt he was already counting the commission he would receive from the duke.

Mr. Harris’s manner was casual, offhanded even, and if she didn’t know any better, Winnie would have sworn they were discussing something mundane like a stroll in Hyde Park or the current Prime Minister. Anything other than the loss of her home.

“I’m afraid, my lady, that you, your mother, and aunt must vacate Brown Manor in three months. Since you are not with child, you may not be allowed to stay.” The balding, bulky solicitor delivered the blow simply, with a hint of glee. “The terms of your marriage agreement were clear—everything that your father bequeathed to you during your marriage belonged to your husband. Now that Mr. Musgrave is deceased, everything belongs to the Duke of Richmore.”

Blinking several times, Winnie forced back the tears that threatened to fall. One tear, one lip quiver, and men believed they owned you, and Winnie swore to never be another person’s property again.

After being married to Graham Musgrave for seven years, she was perfectly acquainted with being treated like an object and not a person. Her husband Graham Musgrave—God rest his soul—had been a despicable wastrel of a man who was handsome, confident, and entitled. Born the only male relative to the Duke of Richmore, he’d moved through the world as though there were nothing or no one he could not have. It had been a wonder, really, that he had wanted her at all. Winnie was beautiful, to be sure, but she possessed a quiet beauty that was nothing like her husband’s preference.

Often Winnie would stay up late wondering why such a man chose her, and the answer was simple: her robust inheritance. Though Graham had the Richmore’s powerful name, he did not have the Richmore funds.

Now Winnie was sitting in front of an indifferent solicitor in fear of losing the only thing her father bequeathed her to a man she had never met. It was no wonder that the next words out of her mouth were a complete fabrication.

“I am with child.”

Winnie held her head high after she spoke, careful not to show any signs of weakness. One twitch, smile, or any movement would give her away. Instead, Winnie looked Mr. Harris directly in the eye and silently challenged him to rebuff her.

He blinked several times, his mouth gapping open like the fish she used to catch with her friends in Nottingham. She would’ve laughed if she weren’t trying to keep her composure.

“W-well…Are you certain?” he asked.

The problem with everyone in the ton knowing your husband was a whoremonger, Winnie then realized, was that she would be thoroughly questioned when word reached society that she was with child. So, she had better be convincing.

Tilting her head to the side, Winnie observed the portly man, deliberately raising an eyebrow. It was her body, after all; of course, she was certain—certain her husband hadn’t touched her in their entire seven-year marriage.

At four and twenty, Winifred Musgrave was a virgin.

But that was a piece of information that Winnie had kept to herself. Graham had died a fortnight earlier, alone. She had rarely seen him at all, except once in the last six months. He only stayed an hour to berate her on her spending habits and reiterate what a poor excuse of a wife she was.

Winnie was thankful that her husband’s last visit was before his untimely death. It did not matter that she barely spoke a single word to him. The only thing that mattered was that he visited. There was no opportunity for anyone to know what went on between a husband and a wife.

No one except the servants, perhaps, but Winnie knew the staff at Brown Manor was loyal to her. Her father had purchased the home in Surrey for her mother to entertain on weekends during the season. It was close to London, but still outside of the city. They had gifted it to Winnie upon her marriage.

It was a haven when her father passed away, and her mother’s health took a turn. The servants had cared for her, her mother and her eccentric aunt, like they were family. Every servant at Brown Manor had known Winnie since she was a girl.

Now, Brown Manor belonged to the Duke of Richmore, and she was determined to do anything to get it back.

“Of course, I am certain,” she said, finally answering the solicitor’s question.

Mr. Harris cleared his throat. “You must be examined by a doctor of His Grace’s choosing?—”

“I mustn’t do anything. I will not have some strange doctor poking around me, harming my child.” She crossed her arms, feeling the truth of her statement.

She had learned early in her marriage that the key to being an excellent liar was believing it. Graham was the best liar Winnie had ever met. Her husband could lie and smile like a stage actor. So much so that he convinced her father to trust him with a girl of seven and ten.

Winnie dared not smile or even fidget as she waited for the shocked man to say more. She held tight to her indignation because if she were truly with child, Winnie wouldn’t allow a strange doctor to examine her.

“His Grace will insist on an examination.” Mr. Harris patted his balding head with a handkerchief. He was sweating profusely, his eyes shifting around the room as if he was waiting for the duke to burst in and demand she be inspected right there on the solicitor’s desk. “In order for you to remain in residence and receive a widow’s portion, you must be examined.”

Richmore. She had never met the man in seven years of being married to his heir and only relative. Now she would lose everything to him.

Winnie knew the bloody marriage settlement like she knew her own name. She had perused it for amendments or exceptions, to no avail. Much like Winnie, her father had been seduced by Graham’s silver tongue, bright smile, and promises to love and adore Winnie. It was all a lie told to a dying man who desperately wanted to ensure his daughter’s future and possible happiness. Neither result had come to pass, and if Winnie’s father was still alive, the dual weight of his failure would have crushed him.

Now it was Winnie facing the prospect of being crushed, and she would not allow it. Not without a fight.

Having enough of the solicitor’s company, Winnie stood, knowing exactly what she must do. No one would take anything else from her again, especially not a dead man she hoped was rotting in his family’s tomb.

“Yes, of course. But I will choose the physician and the time. My condition is sensitive. I will not risk my child.” Retrieving her black bonnet from the empty chair beside her, Winnie placed it on her head, refusing to cower. “The settlement clearly states that if a child, boy or girl, is formed from my union, that the child will inherit Brown Manor and that we both will be provided for. I am well aware that my late husband squandered all of my dowry, but Brown Manor belongs to us.” Winnie placed her hand on her abdomen; perhaps she was the stage actress in the family after all. “Good day, sir.”

Winnie walked out of the office, into the dark hallway, down the stairs, and out the door. The smell of the city was stifling, but it was far better than the oppressive air in the solicitor’s office. The streets were crowded with the working class, and Winnie longed to be amongst them. Perhaps she could open a dress shop of her very own one day, not needing to worry about what she would do to survive.

Seven years as Graham’s wife had kept her sheltered and afraid, but no more. Now at four and twenty, Winifred Musgrave would live her own life. To make that possible, she knew exactly what she had to do.

Dear God, she hoped it worked.

* * *

Winnie took a deep breath as she stepped out of the carriage in front of the large three-story Georgian mansion known as Pleasure House. It sat isolated in St. John’s Woods, a sought-after but scandalous neighborhood of North London. She had never visited her oldest and dearest friend, Kitty Delcour, in her home and place of business in the nine years they had been separated as girls. Usually, they would meet at Brown Manor for stolen hours of tea and gossip, as if no time had passed at all.

Winnie strolled up to the red door, and it opened smoothly as if she was expected; she wasn’t. The two ladies had been closer than sisters, but their lives went in separate directions. Winnie took the respectable route as a wife to the heir to a dukedom and Kitty as the incomparable courtesan of the ton.

Handing the curious butler her card, Winnie tried to contain herself as the occupants of the house stared at her in curiosity. She knew a lady would never venture to Pleasure House in the middle of the day, but her business could not be deterred. Winnie needed Kitty for her plan to succeed.

“Right this way, madam,” the butler said, leading Winnie deeper into the mansion.

Following the butler, she took in her surroundings. Dark burgundy curtains adorned the windows of each room they entered. Sensual paintings and sculptures of people in various sexual acts cluttered the walls and empty spaces.

Pulling at her black pelisse, Winnie tried to ignore what seeing such things did to her, but she could not ignore the longing in the pit of her abdomen. She had not once in her seven-year marriage felt a desire for her husband. He was handsome, charismatic, and seductive with everyone but Winnie. Her wedding night had been uneventful. Her then husband dropped his mask once the doors of their bed chamber closed.

Deep in his cups, Graham handled Winnie roughly, before passing out completely, leaving a young Winnie bewildered. A blessing she had thought, but as the years went by and Graham’s attempts lessened, she blamed herself for never gaining her husband’s special attention and consummating her marriage.

Openly staring as Winnie passed through the halls, ladies stopped their pursuits to gape at her. She was shocked to find the women doing very normal things like knitting, playing cards, and reading, quite unlike what she expected ladies of their profession to do.

She tucked away her surprise and focused on trying to keep up with the long strides of the butler. The man was built solidly, a perfect specimen for protecting a houseful of vulnerable women from the gentlemen of London society, and he moved through the house with alacrity.

Reaching a light-blue sitting room that differed vastly from the rest of the house, Winnie stood in the center of the room, playing with her fingertips. It didn’t take long for the doors to open, and her friend strolled in with purposeful strides, her eyes full of worry.

“Winnie! What are you doing here? I was coming to see you in a fortnight!” Kitty practically shouted as she rushed to Winnie, taking her by the hand.

Kitty Delcour had beautiful dark skin, proof of her African heritage on her grandfather’s side. She was dressed in a provocative green gown that displayed her ample bosom, small waist, and curvy hips. Long, dark, silky hair was swooped high above her head in loose ringlets, completing the image of a sultry seductress.

“I know, but I need your help, and it couldn’t wait.” Taking a deep breath, Winnie closed her eyes, wondering for the first time in hours if her idea was foolish. But it didn’t matter; she had no other choice. She might lose everything, but she could fight.

“What is it? Is it Richmore?” Kitty asked. “He can’t throw you out on the street. We’ll stop him.” Leading Winnie over to the light-blue sofa, Kitty waited patiently for her to speak.

“I need you to invite me to your next party.” The words were heavy on Winnie’s tongue, but her mind was made up.

Kitty, also known as Madame Delcour, was famous for her parties. They were scandalous, attracting every manner of depravity, and Winnie was actively asking for admittance. Winifred Musgrave—who had never been touched by her own husband of seven years and only knew the mechanisms of the marital bed—was asking for admittance to a den of sin.

Shaking her head, Kitty released Winnie’s hand. “No. Absolutely not.” Kitty stood, turning toward Winnie, her dark skin glowing and her eyes ablaze. “You know nothing of this world, Winnie. You’re not a courtesan!”

Winnie’s heart thundered in her ears. If Kitty denied her, all would be lost. “I’m well aware.”

“You’re not aware of anything! The men of the ton are not what they seem in ballrooms and at tea. Some of them are cruel and take pleasure in punishing those weaker than them. You’re asking me to allow you into a lion’s den.”

“I trust you to protect me as you protect your girls.” Winnie stood, walking over to Kitty, who had paced. “You will point out a suitable gentleman, and I will…” She cleared her throat several times, unable to really say what she wanted. “…bed him.”

Kitty’s mouth fell open, her hands cradling her head. “Have you lost your mind, Winifred? Why do you want to do this?”

It was an honest question. A lady would not willingly offer herself up to a stranger, but it was the only way Winnie could keep Brown Manor and secure her future, and perhaps to gain the one thing her insipid marriage never could provide.

“It’s the only way.”

“What is it, Winnie?” Kitty’s dark eyes were wide with fear.

She hadn’t dared say the words out loud; they sat too heavily on her heart. For years she had watched others around her, peaceful no matter the circumstance. This was her last hope.

Releasing the breath she was holding, Winnie whispered, “Having a child.”

Winnie watched with batted breath as her friend processed the statement. She had not thought about the implications of her little white lie. Her only thought was of her mother and aunt, who were old in years, her mother’s illness constantly keeping her bedridden for days at a time.

“Have you gone mad?” Kitty asked, a perfect eyebrow raised in challenge.

Winnie expected such candor from the other woman. They had always been the sort of friends who shared everything, even after Kitty’s life had unexpectedly changed. Based on Winnie’s request, she was hardly surprised by Kitty’s reaction.

“I have not,” Winnie replied. “In fact, I believe for the first time in my life I’m thinking clearly.”

“Thinking clearly?” Kitty’s head whipped to face Winnie; the movement so sharp that Winnie feared her friend could have injured herself. “Your plan is to gain admittance to one of my parties, seduce a gentleman, and become with child by said gentleman? A man you have never met or know anything about?”

Winnie didn’t care about a connection or a love match. She only cared that her mother, aunt, and every servant at Brown Manor had a home.

“I admit it does sound rather mad,” she said, “But if this plan of mine succeeds, not only will I secure a home for my mother and aunt, but I’ll have a child, Kitty. A child of my own whom I would love and care for with every inch of my soul.”

Her arms ached at the thought of a babe secure in her arms. Winnie had been lonely for so long that once the seed was planted earlier in the solicitor’s office, she could not turn away from the possibility.

Kitty took a seat on the sofa, her eyes wide as she stared up at Winnie. “Winnie, be sensible. Richmore is not a man that you want to deceive. He will become suspicious that his heir’s estranged wife suddenly is with child, not to mention if that child is delivered later than expected.”

Winnie had to admit that Kitty had an excellent point, but Richmore was no concern of hers. Once she was securely and well with child, the man simply would ignore her as he had done for the last seven years.

“Kitty, you are my oldest and dearest friend. You’re the only person I can trust with this.” Winnie knelt in front of her, taking her by the hand. Everything depended on her securing an unknowing gentleman in a safe environment. “Please.”

“Very well. I’ll help you.”

Winnie jumped up, hugging her friend, a sense of hope throbbing through her.

“Thank you, Kitty!” Winnie took a seat on the sofa, feeling jubilated and refreshed.

“I must warn you, it may not work.” Her friend’s voice was gentle, as if speaking to a wounded animal.

Looking down at her black gloves, Winnie sighed. “Yes. I am aware.”

Kitty squeezed her hand. “I want you to be realistic here, Winnie. We both know you’ve never been with a man. This may not save Brown Manor.”

This was not what Winnie wanted to hear. She needed Kitty’s encouragement to be told her plan would work, but she kept silent.

“I have heard of a group of widows that help other widows in need,” Kitty continued. “Go to them for help against Richmore. Do anything other than go through with this mad idea of yours.”

Winnie had heard of the Widows League and how they aided women like her, but this was something she needed to do on her own. Her plan would work. It had to.

Facing her friend, Winnie held her back straight and her head high, ready to proceed. “My mind is set. Now…when is your next party?”

“Sennight,” Kitty said, causing Winnie’s heart to pound in her chest.

Winnie had not thought it would be so soon, but really, she could not waste a single moment. The sooner she became with child, the better.

A sennight, seven days.

In seven days, Winnie would give the performance of her life on the oldest, most intimate stage—the bedroom—in order to stop Richmore from stealing the only home she had and saving her future.

There was no other choice but to continue.