Once Upon a Scandal

November 15, 1824

MY DEAR Remington,

I had Mrs. Davidson bake six Banbury cakes for you. You should be receiving them shortly, although I cannot promise they will arrive intact. Let us hope they do. Venice, as you describe it, sounds so divine. You will be happy to hear that Grayson intends on visiting you there in the next few months. I am livid, knowing I am unable to join him. Why is it he can go anywhere he pleases with whomever he pleases, whilst I remain confined in the library with Mrs. Lambert until my coming out? I prefer experiencing the world as opposed to learning about it through texts. What is worse, while I wait for my coming out, I am being forced to read and re-read a certain etiquette book, How To Avoid a Scandal. Although there is a vast amount of valuable advice to be found within its pages, the art of being a true lady, as is defined by this book and, I suppose, society, is rather horrifying to behold. I do believe I shall find myself ostracized for breathing the wrong way.

Now with regard to your bed … Though no one knows of our correspondences, except for Grayson and my lady’s maid, who both sneak your letters in and then sneak my letters out, I was compelled to ask Mrs. Lambert a few questions—questions that came about after I had read what little is stated about matrimonial duties in my etiquette book. Mrs. Lambert refused to answer, and instead forced me to write the words “I am a respectable lady” four hundred and fifty times. As I do not wish to be forced to write “I am a respectable lady” four hundred and fifty more times, I demand you elaborate as to what truly does go on between a man and a woman.

Yours faithfully,

Victoria

December 5, 1824

MY DARLING Victoria,

Where is a gentleman to begin? I should never have mentioned my bed at all. Being a gentleman, I shan’t go into too much detail, just enough to ease your curiosity and save you from further punishment. When I mentioned my bed, I was referring to the art of love. It involves no pretenses and consists of breath, passion and pleasure that in time will lead to the creation of precious life within your womb. There is far, far more than this, I assure you, but I am unwilling to scorch the tip of my quill or this parchment. Simply know that I am looking forward to our wedding night and think about it more often than a gentleman should. As a result of this restlessness within me, I have been distracting myself in many new ways. I travel to the plains often and carve every tree I pass with your name, so even though you are not here, everyone will still know of you. Fortunately, by overseeing the last arrangements for Cornelia’s wedding I have been fairly occupied. She is thrilled, as it is a good match. I now know I shall be returning to England in a little less than two months, shortly after the wedding. I cannot wait to see you and sweep you up into my arms and scandalize everyone. By the by, many thanks. I received all six Banbury cakes. To my distress, all six had become one enormous crumb. After eating what I could salvage, I took the rest to the Piazza San Marco and shared my crumbs with all the birds. They were all rather appreciative, and now, every time I visit the piazza, the birds seem to remember me and ardently flock to me expecting more. I am therefore asking you to send more Banbury cakes for my new Venetian friends. Christmas will be here soon. How odd to know I will not be celebrating it in England.

I am and will forever be yours,

Remington

December 25, 1824

MY DEAR Remington,

A Merry Christmas to you and your family. I confess Christmas is never as merry for me or Papa as it should be. Our Victor died on Christmas morn, now two years past, and so our celebration today was shadowed by his empty chair and untouched setting at the table, which Papa insists we set for Victor the way we always have done for Mama. I could hardly eat having to stare at those two empty settings. I found Papa lingering in the doorway of Mama’s empty bedchamber. It saddened me so, and achingly reminded me of how much he truly loved her. Though I tried to comfort him, he waved me away and preferred not to speak of it. It made me realize how much I have become like him, always waving others away. You would have adored Mama and Victor, and I know they would have adored you. They were very good at giving advice and forever voicing the brighter aspect of everything. Much like you.

Now as for this naughty business involving your bed, I cannot help but believe anything involving you will be divine. Even if it is naughty. Mrs. Davidson will be sending along another six Banbury cakes for your Venetian friends. You should receive them shortly after this letter. I would write more, but I confess I am exhausted after having spent the entire evening crying over Victor. I promise to write much more next time. I also promise to be more cheerful.

Yours faithfully,

Victoria

February 28, 1825

MY DEAR Remington,

I did not write because I have been waiting to hear from you. I realize you are probably very busy with your new life. I can only fathom how tedious it must be to orchestrate a traditional British wedding set in the heart of Venice. I imagine it would be like trying to eat crumpets with macaroni. I confess, though, I am disappointed you did not write even to wish me a merry Christmas. Grayson has informed me you haven’t written anything to him in two months, either. He worries. As do I. Please write and assure us both that you are well.

Yours faithfully,

Victoria

March 2, 1825

MY DARLING Victoria,

Please forgive my lengthy silence. I did not know how to go about writing this letter. In an effort to increase my funds and offer you a better prospect upon my return, I invested far more than I should have into a Venetian venture that has closed its doors due to corruption. As a result of my stupidity, I am ruined. My secretary and bookkeepers are trying to make sense of whatever finances I have. Though they all assisted in placing this investment, one cannot predict where greed hides and festers within seemingly respectable establishments. Although the men responsible for the corruption have been found and named, the money they swindled from me and others is all gone. I hope they hang every last one of them, as I was not the only one affected by their greed. I have been advised to sell my estate and furnishings in West Sussex as well as everything I have here in Venice, lest whatever meager finances I do have disappear. I am overwhelmed by this imposing weight. Cornelia does not blame me, but she does nothing but cry. What is worse, plans for her wedding were terminated after it was made known how ruined we truly are. Aristocracy is so heartless and superficial in its affections. The dowry that was supposed to be allotted to Cornelia has been put toward our debts, though little good it has done. My stepmother is in complete denial. She still goes out and purchases extravagant things we cannot afford and refuses to return them despite my pleas. Creditors have been demanding payments for weeks. Payments I do not have. There is one measure of hope left, which I am considering. I was offered a rare opportunity to financially redeem myself, though it is far beneath my position in life. I would be nothing more than a servant, but it would eliminate my debts and ensure that my stepmother and Cornelia will live comfortably again. This position, however, would require a contract and obligation to stay in Venice for another five years. The thought of not seeing you for a year, yet alone five, is unsettling and agonizing. But what am I to do? Allow my duties toward my family to fall away? I was the one to place this hardship upon them and I must be the one to right it. Their well-being and happiness depends upon it. I wish you were here to advise me, as my thoughts are pulling me in directions I do not wish to go.

Ever yours,

Remington

April 6, 1825

MY DEAR Remington,

Out of desperation, I presented your letter to Papa and begged him to let us marry before my coming out. I regret ever turning to him at all. I have never seen him so unwilling to listen to reason. He overturned every piece of furniture in my room and despite my pleas, retrieved and destroyed all of your letters. It was like watching my own soul burn in the flames of hell. Though he insists I cannot associate with a ruined man, I assure you that nothing, not even my father, will keep us apart. I informed Grayson of everything and begged him to travel to Venice in my stead. He is very grieved and will be leaving within a week. My uncle, kind soul that he is, has graciously gifted a very generous sum for you, which we hope will eliminate all debts. Wait for him to arrive and do not bind yourself to anything that will keep you from returning to England. Until I receive word from you or Grayson, I whisper for your good fortune into your mother’s ring and patiently bide my time.

Yours faithfully,

Victoria

May 15, 1825

MY DARLING Victoria,

Your devotion to me is humbling and beyond anything I deserve. I could never separate you from your father. Never. The man has already lost a wife and a son; do not bring him more pain by forcing him to lose a daughter. I understand your father’s concerns and, like him, refuse to bind you to a ruined man. You will have nothing if you marry me, and you deserve far, far more. You deserve a man who will be able to oversee your happiness in a way I no longer can. Though my own hand trembles at scribing this, I must release you of your affections. I cannot be selfish in this, even though I desperately want to be. You are eighteen now and have most likely begun your first Season. I beg of you to submit to finding a husband worthy of you. If you love me, Victoria, which I know you do, all I ask is that you honor me for the rest of my days by keeping my mother’s ring on your finger. That way, you and I will forever be wed in spirit. I hope you will understand and forgive me for having already taken the position long before Grayson arrived. My financial circumstances were simply too dire. I hope that you will continue to write as it is all I will have left of you. For although I am releasing you of your affections, I assure you I am not releasing myself of mine.

Ever yours,

Remington

June 28, 1825

REMINGTON,

Despite a successful Season that resulted in eight offers of marriage, I have refused them all. My father threatens to send me to a convent at every turn, but, devoted fool that I am, I keep informing him that no other man will ever love me as much as you. Am I a fool to think that? I am beginning to think I am. Grayson has at long last sent word from Venice and has informed me that you are doing quite well on your own and that you actually had no need for my uncle’s money at all. I am confused as to what position you have taken that would have enabled such a miraculous financial recovery. Was there ever a position? Were you ever in need of funds? Or was it an excuse to rid yourself of your obligations toward me after a better prospect had presented itself? Grayson refuses to elaborate, but I fear you have placed a pretty mask upon the ugly face of deceit. If this position you refer to has caused you to abandon your noble intentions and wed another, I beg of you to inform me of it. If there is no other, and you are merely living beyond your means, live with what is only necessary, and marry me. I do love you, Remington, and ask that you love me by being faithful and truthful. To admit to the love I feel for you in ink whilst offering to abandon my father to be at your side in Venice is the sacrifice I am willing to make for you. What will be your sacrifice?

Victoria

August 1, 1825

VICTORIA,

Your words of love overwhelmed me and filled me with a new hope I had not felt in months. Wretched though it is, I am committed to five years here in Venice. Neither you nor Grayson could ever truly understand the difficulties of poverty and narrow circumstance. Neither you nor Grayson could ever understand how it forces even the best of men to poison everything they believe in merely to ensure the well-being of those they love most. You are a greater fool than I if you think I could ever betray you by wedding or loving another. My soul will forever be yours. No matter what path I take in this life, I will remember all that we have shared and vow, in your honor, never to marry, regardless of what does and does not happen. Though I want to tell you what has become of me and what it is I have committed myself to, I cannot and will not, lest you judge me. I prefer death itself, Victoria, over having you judge me. Due to recent events beyond anything I can control, we cannot associate. Do not even breathe my name. If you oppose me in this, rest assured, I will not reply and will burn every correspondence you send upon its arrival. Understand that I only do this because I love you and seek to protect you and your good name. Live well and without regret and remember you will always be loved by me. Always.

Yours ever,

Remington

September 26, 1825

REMINGTON,

Grayson refuses to inform me of your whereabouts or what has become of you. He claims he has been sworn to secrecy. I worry to no end and despise you and him for betraying me in so cruel a manner. With the Season over, I do nothing but stare at books whose words hold no meaning. At night, I cry, feeling that I have buried yet another person I love. Why would you condemn me to a life without you? Why would you condemn me to never knowing what has become of you? Does pride truly mean more to you than I do? I only wish to understand you, not judge you. Within my soul, I knew this would happen. I knew from the moment I gave in to this stupid passion I felt for you that you would only disappoint me and shred what little remained of my heart. I simply thought that after having endured all the losses I have, I would have been more prepared for the pain you are forcing me to swallow. And yet I am not. This is beyond anything I ever wanted to feel again. At the very least, write and assure me you have not been harmed. I fear for you and the life you have fallen into.

Ever faithfully and always yours, Victoria

DESPITE THIS and fifty-two other letters Victoria sent over the next two years, Remington was true to his word and never replied. Not once. And with each unanswered letter, the love she had once dared to feel for him faded with her disappointment—till soon, she was sure there was no love left at all.

SCANDAL THREE

Always seek to honor thy mother and thy father. For by honoring them, a lady, in turn, honors herself.

How To Avoid a Scandal, Author Unknown

April 4, 1829

London, England

A MUFFLED groan startled Victoria out of a dreamless sleep. Flint jumped down from her lap onto the floor, scampering toward her father’s bed, and whimpered. Victoria stumbled up out of the upholstered chair. Gathering her full skirts, she bustled toward the bed, thankful for the few candles still flickering in their sconces.

She lowered herself onto the edge of the feather mattress and slid a trembling hand up the length of her father’s arm, hidden beneath the sleeve of his nightshirt. His arm was bound with linen that had been soaked in narcissus water to assist in healing his lesions.

Victoria swallowed and eyed the linen strips covering his face. “Maladie de Bayle,” the physicians had grimly announced, upon her father’s insistence that she finally know the truth about his illness. Syphilis. It was a secret her father had kept in unspoken shame for years after he had contracted it from a less than reputable establishment.

No amount of arsenic, mercury, guaiac, or jars or tins with salves and powders concocted by quacks could save him now. All she could do was make life bearable for him over these next few months until his body could no longer fight the inevitable.

The earl’s roughened hand grabbed hers, causing her heart to skitter. His bandaged face jerked toward her. “Where is he?”

“Who?” she whispered.

Dark green eyes squinted up at her from beneath the layers of bandages covering everything but his eyes and lips. “Victor. Where is he? I must speak to him. Bring him to me, so I may tell him I am dying.”

Tears burned her eyes as she shakily clasped his hand with both of hers. The physicians had warned her of this. Delusions were but the beginning of what she could expect over these next few months.

She swallowed, trying not to envision her brother’s playful, bright jade eyes. “Victor isn’t here. He … died. But I am here and will continue to be. I vow.”

“No. No, no, no. My son is not dead.” The earl shoved her hands away and fumbled with the linens around him. “Where is he? Why is he not at my side? And who are you? What do you want?”

Victoria bit back a sob and shook her head. “I am your daughter. Papa, ‘tis me. Victoria. Surely you recognize me?”

He squinted up at her, his chest heaving. His brows creased. He shook his head and rasped, “No. Leave.”

Tears stung her eyes and tumbled forth, trickling down her cheeks. She tried to keep her body from trembling as she lowered her lips to her father’s hands and kissed them. “Do not send me away,” she begged. “Please.” She clung to his hand, wishing they could both somehow return to the way things used to be. When she, Mama, Victor and he had all been a family.

Hesitant fingers touched her pinned hair and fingered it. “Victor has your hair,” he murmured in awe. “Flaxen. How very odd. Why do you have his hair?”

“Victor and I were twins,” she whispered. “Surely you remember me, Papa. I am your Victoria.”

He shook his head against the pillows. “No. No, your hair is too long. You are not my Victor. Tell him I will not see anyone but him. Tell him. Now go. Be of use and find him.” He pushed her hands away and shifted against the pillows.

Victoria released another quiet sob and blindly smoothed out the linens around him. Once he died, there would be nothing left of her or her heart. Fortunately, the physicians had assured her he still had at least another six to eight months within him.

The ruby-and-gold ring on her finger glinted within the candlelight. She lifted it to her lips and whispered against the polished ruby the same words she had whispered to it these past many weeks: “Cure him. Please. He does not deserve this. He doesn’t.”

Though she had long since lost faith in the ring’s ability to grant wishes, what else did she have left to believe in? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

All grew quiet and her father’s sleepy, heavy breaths filled the room. Flint, who had been loitering beside the bed, veered back toward the chair by the hearth and hopped onto it. After turning a few times, he settled himself against the cushion and laid his furry head against his paws. He huffed out an exhausted breath through his nostrils and blinked several times, his brown eyes observing her with a sadness that seemed to reflect her own.

Even Flint knew her father was dying.

“Such is life,” she whispered to Flint. “We live, we love, we suffer because we love, we suffer some more because we want to believe there is more to life than suffering, and then we die.”

Flint shifted, closed his eyes and gave way to sleep.

Though Victoria fought to stay awake and watch over her father, her eyes grew heavy and her body weak. She scooted onto the edge of the bed and draped herself beside him, trying not to touch him lest he wake. Closing her eyes, she drifted.

What seemed like a heartbeat later, she squinted against morning sunlight peering in through the open curtains of the window. The chambermaid had forgotten to pull them shut for the night.

Victoria blinked and carefully slid down and out of her father’s bed. She turned back to her father and tilted her head to one side to better observe him. Dust particles floated in the bright rays of light streaming in, illuminating his bandaged face. His exposed lips were parted and his eyes were still closed as his chest peacefully rose up, then down, up then down.

If only she could give him equal peace when his eyes were open. Dearest God. He no longer knew who she was.

Victoria shakily swiped away a long, blond lock that had fallen out from her pinned hair to the side of her face. It would appear the time had indeed come to submit to her father’s last dying wish. That she, Lady Victoria Jane Emerson, be wed before he was unable to attend her wedding.

Her uncle and Grayson had been scrambling to procure her father’s choices in suitors for weeks and would be officially introducing her to all three soon. Though it was not by any means appropriate, considering her father still had months left to live, she knew the sooner she married, the sooner she could become the sort of daughter he deserved. The sort of daughter she’d never been during her debutante years. It was time to admit that the husband she had always wanted and needed no longer existed. And sometimes, though only sometimes, she actually wondered if he had ever existed at all.

SCANDAL FOUR

An old Swiss proverb distinctly cites, “God has a plan for every man.” I confess the Swiss have a tendency to mislead. Because God’s plan is meant for every woman, too.

How To Avoid a Scandal, Author Unknown

Five days later

The onset of evening

WHEN A lady celebrated being two and twenty, and came to the realization that all of her debutante friends had been wed and were now beginning to welcome children, her own birthday became a reminder of all the things she had done wrong. Fortunately, her years of being a spinster were at an end and she could now hold her head up high and join the rest of respectable society.

Victoria shifted in her chair, eyeing her father, who kept fussing with his cravat at the dining table. How she wished upon all that was ever sacred that her father had respected himself more these past nine years. His refusal to remarry after the death of her mother, which in turn had resulted in loneliness laced with unmet needs, had all come at a very high price.

Gathering her fork and knife, Victoria glanced toward her cousin, Grayson. He sat in silence at the farthest end of the table, which stretched the length of the dining hall. Grayson, odd soul that he was, always sat there. No matter how many people were dining. He was like an eagle perching itself upon the highest branch—he always wanted a view of the world. It had also once been her mother’s seat at the table, though she doubted Grayson even remembered.

In honor of Grayson’s weekly Thursday night visit, she had decorated the entire dining hall with bluebells, hoping to make everything more festive. Of course, Grayson didn’t appear to notice or care. He’d been wordlessly staring her down ever since she’d taken him aside and discreetly explained that she now went by the name of Camille. Though she had no idea who Camille was, her father kept insisting that was her name. So Camille she was.

Grayson’s brown eyes met hers from across the dining table. “You shouldn’t be feeding into his delusions. ‘Tis wrong. ‘Tis morbid and wrong.”

Of course it was morbid and wrong, but who was she to argue with a man whose mind was as fragile as his health? In all but five days, she had gone from being nameless to adored. She preferred being Camille as opposed to not being anyone at all.