Chapter 1

London, England, 1816

"And you're certain it was Lady Sandra Allington you saw with the stable hand?" Lily said, holding her quill poised, as the maid nodded.

"That's right, Miss. I knew it was her – I've seen her in the mews before. She always wears red – I think it's their sign. He came straight out and beckoned her into the stable with him," the maid replied.

Lily smiled. This would make a tantalizing story for her readers and be worth enough to keep her in new dresses and fine living for a month. She scribbled down the details in her pocketbook, nodding, as the maid continued to divulge the unfolding scandal of one of London's richest belles and a stable hand who worked in the stables of the Duke of Bicester.

"And you saw her come out, did you?" Lily asked.

The maid – whose name was Ellen – shook her head.

"That's the thing, Miss. She stays the whole night. Right there, in the stables. The two of them together. It's wicked," she said, even as she left no detail of what she had seen untold.

"Are you certain? They sleep there, in the stable?" Lily exclaimed, her eyes growing wide with delight at the thought of the slanderous things she could write about Lady Sandra Allington.

Lily was always interested in scandal. She made it her business to be. It was her business. Her days were spent collecting titbits of gossip – salacious stories about dukes and duchesses, earls and countesses, and even princes and princesses. Her sources were numerous – a network of maids, footmen, grooms, and carriage drivers. Lily would pay them handsomely for whatever information they could provide her with, and she, in turn, would write it into the scandal sheets for the various editors who were willing to pay large sums for the downfall of aristocratic men and women.

"My bedroom looks out onto the mews, miss, and I can hear the gate being opened – it squeaks terribly. I saw her go in, and it wasn't until the early hours I heard the gate squeak again – long before the other stable hands came to see to the horses," the maid said, looking pleased with herself.

They were meeting in a coffeehouse – Sloane's of Mayfair – and it was here Lily conducted much of her business. She was always discreet, and few knew her true identity. She used false names, played her informants off against one another, and was always careful to give just as much information as was necessary so as not to divulge her sources.

"Poor Lady Sandra, or, rather, poor Lord Frederick – he's going to be quite upset when he reads about his betrothed's infidelity," Lily said, shaking her head, as she closed her notebook.

"You'll ruin her then, miss?" Ellen asked.

She had a glint in her eye, and it was clear she had relished this opportunity for revenge. That was often the reason information came Lily's way – a dismissed lady's maid, a scolded footman, a carriage driver made to wait in the rain. There were many reasons why Lily's informants did as they did, but Lily's own purposes were purely financial. She did not care whether her words were enough to break the betrothal between Lady Sandra and Lord Frederick, and blackmail was never something she engaged in. Lily wrote facts, and if the facts were harmful to those to whom they related, so be it.

"I won't publish immediately. I need something else. Keep an eye on the mews, see who comes and goes. I'd not be surprised if she'd told her friends about the stable hand's services," Lily said, smiling, as the maid nodded.

In Lily's experience, where one scandal lay, others were waiting to be unearthed. A woman like Lady Sandra would not wish to share her prize, but men were fickle, and if the stable hand could boast of one aristocratic conquest, he could surely boast of others, too.

"I'll keep watch, miss, but… I'd need further compensation," Ellen said, and Lily smiled.

She reached into the pocket of her dress and took out her purse. Everyone had their price, and Lily was fortunate in being able to offer considerable incentives for the rendering of her informants' services. She held out ten shillings, and Ellen's eyes grew wide.

"Will that be enough? I want you to keep watch, Ellen. Tell me every coming and going. Record how many times Lady Sandra makes her nighttime rendezvous with the stable hand, but watch for other young ladies, too – there's bound to be some. I'm going to keep an eye on Lord Frederick, too. Perhaps Lady Sandra isn't the only one of the pair to be…otherwise engaged," she said.

The maid smiled, taking the ten shillings, and rising to her feet.

"I'll return at the same time next week, miss. You won't be disappointed, I promise you," she said, and nodding to Lily, she hurried out of the coffeehouse.

Lily smiled, writing the last of the details in her pocketbook, and beginning to compose the opening sentences of her next scandal page.

"Lady Sarah Allington and the stable hand…no, the lady amidst the horses. Or perhaps…an equine scandal," she thought to herself, finishing the last of her coffee and collecting her things together.

The afternoon was drawing on, and Lily had everything she needed to begin composing her next piece. Ellen would add further details next week, and the piece would be worth anything up to ten pounds – enough for Lily's expenses and to help her father in prison.

"Poor Father. He's been treated so unjustly," she thought to herself, as she paid for the coffee and stepped out onto the bustling street outside.

Her father was in prison – sent there over a dispute at a gentleman's club involving the fixing of cards and dice. He had always protested his innocence, and Lily knew the aristocracy had been responsible for his downfall. They had conspired against him – the gentlemen of the club – and because her father was a good and noble man, he had taken the punishment others deserved. It was for this reason – amongst others – Lily wrote her scandal pages. She wanted to take revenge on the society responsible for her father's downfall, and she had brought about the ruin of many men and women, whose secrets she aired in the pages of the penny periodicals in which her work was published.

"But enough for today. I've got everything I need," Lily said to herself, as she hailed a carriage to take her home.

Lily lived with her mother in a house close to Saint Paul's. They lived a comfortable life – thanks, in no small part, to Lily's earnings. Her parents were separated, and Lily's mother had nothing to do with her father, blaming him for so many of her woes. Lily found herself in the middle of their dispute, but she had always sided with her father – much to her mother's discontent. But there was little her mother could do or say about it, given her reliance on Lily for the roof over her head and the food on her table.

"I don't like you writing those awful gossip pages," she would say, but Lily would merely shrug and wave her hand dismissively.

It was not easy for a woman to earn a living through independent means. A novel might be written, or a painting sold, but a woman was so often dependent on a man, and given Lily had no intention of marrying, this was not an option. She had fallen into her current occupation quite by chance – a stray word from a lady's maid about her mistress' affair with a count from Florence having given her the idea of writing about it – but now she could not imagine doing anything else.

"And why shouldn't I?" she thought to herself, relieved to have some way of making money, as the carriage pulled up outside the home she shared with her mother.

Having paid the carriage driver, Lily made her way up the steps and let herself in. It was early summer, and the hallway was pleasantly cool. She was met by the maid – Jean – a young girl of just fourteen, whom Lily's mother had taken sympathy on after her own mother had died, who took her coat and informed Lily her mother was in the drawing room.

"I'll have some tea, Jean," Lily said, and the maid bobbed into a curtsey as Lily made her way through the hallway to the drawing room.

Her mother was sitting by the window, reading, and she looked up at Lily, raising her eyebrows, as Lily took out her pocketbook and went to the writing desk in the corner of the room.

"Must you write those awful pages in here?" she asked, without so much as a greeting.

"Those "awful pages" ensure we've got a roof over our head and food on the table, Mother. What else am I meant to do?" Lily replied, shaking her head.

It was always the same. Her mother did not seem to understand the precarious nature of their position. With her father unjustly imprisoned, they could not rely on any man to provide for them. Lily had wanted only to be a dutiful daughter, and she was determined to do whatever it took to ensure she provided not only for herself, but for her father, too.

"It's not nice, Lily. I worry about you – traveling all over London to gain your information. And what happens if you're discovered to be the one writing all these dreadful things?" her mother said, shaking her head.

"But I won't be. No one ever connects my name with any of the things I write. I'm careful about it, Mother," Lily replied, taking a piece of paper, and dipping her quill into the inkstand.

"Careful? I'd call it devious. You're becoming more and more like your father every day," Lily's mother replied.

This was always her trump card. Lily's mother liked to play the victim. She had married Lily's father when she was young, but the marriage had not been a happy one.

"I regret the day I ever married you," Lily had once heard her mother shout, and her father had retorted in kind.

"And I regret it, too, Emily," he had exclaimed.

Who was in the wrong and who was in the right was a matter of debate. Lily's father was often absent – away on business, or with friends – and Lily had grown up hearing her mother lament his absence and curse him for leaving them destitute. But Lily's father told a different story – her mother was a drinker and could even be violent. She spent the money he gave her on gin, and was often drunk, making her intolerable company.

"That's why I was always away. I wanted to take you with me, but it just wasn't possible," Lily's father had explained, and in this atmosphere of division, Lily had felt torn between the two.

Her mother was still a drinker, secreting gin around the house, and when she was drunk – which she often was – she would throw things and rant and rage about Lily's father.

"He drove me to this, he did this to me," she would say, and Lily would retreat to the safety of her bedroom, locking the door and writing her next scandal sheet.

This was how they lived, but as time went on, Lily had come to favor her father over her mother, siding with his explanation of what her mother was like. She was determined to see her father freed from prison, and until that day came, she would continue to take revenge on the society responsible for his incarceration.

"You can't trust any of them, Lily, and you owe them nothing. They'd spit on you if they passed you in the street. I should know – I've spent my whole life around such people. They're treacherous, self-serving, and concerned only with their own interests," Lily's father had said, shaking his head angrily.

Lily knew her father had been badly treated in the past. He had been the land agent for a duke – a wicked man who had made his life a misery – and his imprisonment now was the result of just such aristocratic arrogance. The nobility were all the same, and Lily despised, just like her father

"I'm more than happy to be like my father, Mother. What's the alternative?" Lily replied, and her mother scowled.

"He lies to you. He lied to me, and he's lying to you, too. I know what he's really like, and I can see the same in you. I don't want you be like him, Lily – making a business from ruining other people's lives," her mother said, but Lily had heard enough.

It was not she who ruined the lives of those she wrote about. They had already done so by their actions. Lily was always careful to check her facts, and she never published anything without a corroborating source. As far as she was concerned, those involved had brought it on themselves. They were responsible for their own downfall, and if the fact brought it about, so be it.

"My father didn't ruin anyone's life. They ruined his," Lily retorted, even as her mother rose to her feet, her face flushed red with anger.

She threw her book across the room and pulled out a handkerchief, dabbing at the tears running down her cheeks.

"Oh, Lily, can't you see what he's done to you – the same as he's done to so many others, too. It's not true, none of it's true. He tells lies, he manipulates. He's driven me mad, quite mad," she said.

"You're drunk, Mother. Go to bed and leave me alone. I've got writing to do – or would you prefer it if we lived on the streets? Then where would you get your gin from?" Lily said.

Her mother fell silent, shaking her head, as she left the room in tears. Lily sighed and dipped her quill into the inkstand. She would write up her notes from the day, the beginnings of her scandal sheet now forming in her mind. But first, she wrote to her father – just as she did every day. Her mother was wrong about him, and Lily trusted him implicitly. He had never lied to her, and she was certain he never would.

"My dear father, what a day it has been…" she began, writing down the details of the things she had discovered, and asking her father's advice as to how best to proceed with the information she had learned.

Her father always knew the best way to use whatever she had come to know, and there were times he advised her to hold back on publication, waiting for just the right moment to strike.

"I'll see them all ruined – all of them," Lily thought to herself, knowing the price of her information was high.

But as she finished writing to her father, Lily could not help but wonder what the future held, knowing the true prize still lay ahead.

"The Duke of Lancaster," she said to herself, knowing it was he her father wanted revenge on, and feeling determined to see it wrought.