Year of Living Scandalously, The by London Julia

Author:London, Julia [London, Julia]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Pocket
Published: 2010-10-18T16:00:00+00:00

Grayson Christopher, the Duke of Darlington—better known as Christie to his family and friends—was surprised when Declan appeared at Darlington House in London. Granted, Declan was known for disappearing from time to time, but he rarely appeared without sending word.

When he did appear at Christie’s doorstep, it was in the middle of a summer storm. He was wet and bedraggled, and apologized for appearing so unexpectedly before asking Christie if he had any of the good Irish whiskey Declan had given him during a previous visit.

Of course Christie did, and he and Declan sat in his study—Christie’s charming wife, Kate, and his infant daughter Allison had retired. Christie chatted congenially about their mutual friends and his life, but Declan couldn’t concentrate. He felt slightly distant, as if his thoughts were not entirely within those four walls.

“May I impose on you?” Declan asked when the hour grew late. “I’ve let my town house to friends,” he said, referring to the small town house he kept in Mayfair.

“Yes, of course,” Christie said. “Stay as long as you like, a month, two months—”

“Not as long as that.” Declan laughed. “A few nights only.”

Christie gave him a curious look. “Then what?”

“Then?” Declan echoed. He had no idea. He laughed. “Then,” he said with a shake of his head.

“We must have a gathering whilst you are here,” Christie said as the two men made their way upstairs for the night.

“No, no, please don’t trouble yourself,” Declan said quickly.

“It is no trouble, and quite honestly, my wife will be disappointed if we do not,” Christie said, and clapped him on the back. “Prepare to be introduced to young ladies desiring a match with an Irish earl.”

Saturday evening, Darlington House was host to a little more than one hundred or so guests. The large French doors had been thrown open to the terrace, and paper lanterns had been lit around the large, expansive park. It was a beautiful evening, and everyone seemed to be in fine spirits, including Declan.

The ballroom was filled with beautiful women, chief among them, Miss Nell Adams, the year’s most celebrated unmarried woman. Declan had long believed that Miss Nell Adams was the infamous “little bird,” as described in the Times on-dits, who’d kept Lord Frampton company a year or so ago while his wife had toured the ancient ruins of Italy. The identity of the young lady had been kept quite close, as she was, it was rumored, merely a debutante. She would be completely ruined if her name was ever known, and Frampton certainly would not speak of it. But among the gentlemen of the ton, speculation was rife.

Last summer, Declan had, by chance, met Miss Adams at an assembly and had instantly suspected her, for she was far too easy and even a bit forward in her attentions to him, particularly considering that she was barely out. His suspicions were only heightened now; he’d been invited to dine at the Brockton residence Tuesday evening, as had the Adamses, and Miss Nell Adams had touched Declan’s arm and suggested she would welcome a call from him.

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