Scandalously Yours (Hellions of High Street 1)

“You think this silly?”

The question only caused the other man to look more confused. “Well, sir, to be, er, truthful…”

“Since when did truth have anything to do with selling newspapers?” Hurley’s face split into a wide grin as he read over the letter for a third time. “I don’t doubt that it’s hoax. Doesn’t matter. With the right headline and intro, the reading public is going to lap this up like a cat loose in a creamery.” He picked up his pen and began to scribble on a scrap of foolscap.

A tentative grin began to form on the clerk’s face.

“Well, don’t just sit there, laddie. Tell Grimes to pull out a fresh case of type.”

Chapter Three

You have a spot of jam on your chin.” John dropped his voice to a discreet murmur as he passed a cup of tea to Prescott.

His son feigned a look of surprise, then fumbled with his napkin, causing the rest of the raspberry tart to ooze over his shirtfront. “Oh! Sorry.”

Ignoring the tightening of the earl’s jaw, Prescott ran his sticky fingers through his hair, leaving streaks of red among the golden curls. “Sorry,” he repeated, flashing a brilliant smile at the person seated across from him—a smile that revealed every single one of the seeds lodged between his teeth.

The lady did not smile back.

“I see you are an indulgent parent, Wrexham,” she said primly. “I, too, am of the opinion that a young person should be allowed to make an occasional appearance in adult company. Assuming, of course, that he is capable of proper manners.”

“I assure you that Prescott is not usually quite so clumsy, Lady Serena.” Letting out a harried sigh, John turned back to his son. “Scottie, I am sure you wish to make a handsome apology to our guest.”

His son did just that. But not before cramming a blueberry scone into his mouth.

“You are excused,” said John, in a tone that warned of an impending discussion on etiquette once they were alone.

Head bowed, Prescott slipped from his chair and bolted for the door, letting it fall shut with a thump.

Curling a rueful grimace, John expelled a sigh. “Let me add my apology to that of my son, Lady Serena. I assure you, he does not normally behave like a heathen savage.”

Lady Serena Wells nodded. “I am sure you make every effort to see that he receives the proper instruction and discipline. However, the young man might benefit from a more structured regimen to assure he is not exposed to undesirable influences.” She paused. “I must say, I have noticed him on several occasions in the vicinity of The Bull and Bear.”

“There is no need for concern.” His chagrin softened somewhat. “Scottie is merely visiting the innkeeper’s daughter, Lucy. They are close in age and are good friends.”

“Good friends with the daughter of an innkeeper?” Her brows arched. “You think such an attachment…wise?”

John considered the question for a moment, suddenly a little uncertain about his own judgment. “I see no harm in it. Simmonds is a solid, respectable fellow. I trust him to see that the children don’t get into any mischief.” After a sip of his tea, he added. “Surely you do not think he is introducing Scotty to the vices of spirits or dice?”

“No, but as to the sort of coarse manners and rough speech that are generally associated with a tavern…” Her words trailed off as she patted her napkin to her lips. “But naturally, you are the best judge as to what is correct for your son.”

Am I?

The Oolong tea suddenly tasted bitter on his tongue. This wasn’t the first time he had wondered whether he was doing a credible job in raising Prescott. Although his military service had afforded plenty of experience in training soldiers, he often felt baffled—nay, intimidated!—by the task of raising a ten-year-old boy by himself.

His fingers tightened on his cup.

What sense of loss must his son be suffering? A stab of pain—or was it guilt—knifed through his own insides. His late wife had been a wonderful mother, choosing to spend much of her time with their son rather than delegate his raising to a retinue of servants. Mother and son had formed a special bond while he was away at war…perhaps because Meredith herself had retained a certain childlike innocence and exuberance.

It could not be easy for Prescott, living in the shadows and silence of the Hall, with naught but a moody father and a host of adult retainers. And yet, he had thought that the two of them had managed together tolerably well.

But of late…

“Forgive me, Wrexham, if I have spoken out of turn.”

“No, no.” Looking up from the dregs of his tea, John took pains to force a smile. “I would appreciate any advice you have to offer.”

“Well, then, perhaps you might try to find the young viscount a more suitable playmate than the daughter of a country innkeeper.”