Scandalously Yours (Hellions of High Street 1)

“Why, the advertisement in the Mayfair Gazette!” chorused the other set of sisters.

“I was just starting to tell you,” murmured Anna. “It’s asking for applicants—”

“Applicants?” Olivia wasn’t sure she had heard correctly. “The belles of the beau monde are being allowed to apply for a…job?”

“La—I wouldn’t call it that precisely,” tittered Lady Catherine.

“No, not at all,” giggled Lady Mary.

“The ad is looking for applicants to be a mother,” explained Anna. “A stepmother,” she hastened to add, on seeing the dowager’s eyes begin to flare in alarm.

“No experience necessary,” said Lady Catherine.

Olivia blinked. “You are joking.”

The tiny quirk of Anna’s mouth indicated that she, too, found the matter bordering on the absurd. “I assure you, all the young ladies of the ton are talking of nothing else.”

“And no doubt sounding even sillier than usual,” observed Olivia under her breath.

A quick cautioning look from Anna caused her to swallow any further sarcasm.

Ah, well, she thought. At least the topic was a good deal more original that those usually discussed in the drawing rooms. Curious to hear more, she asked, “What, exactly, does the advertisement seek in an applicant?”

“Oh, a fairytale princess,” was the dreamy reply from Lady Catherine.

Olivia arched her brows. “Does that mean you are required to kiss a frog?”

While Anna struggled to maintain a straight face, the dowager’s other granddaughter gave a rather uncertain laugh. “La, what Cat means is, the writer is seeking a lady who is both—”

Olivia had no doubt that the description would have proved highly diverting, but much to her disappointment, the arrival of her mother interrupted the young lady before she had a chance to continue.

“Ah, here you are, Anna. Come, we had better take our leave if you are to be ready for a promenade in the park later this afternoon.” Flashing a brilliant smile at the dowager, Lady Trumbull made a point of adding, “Lord Davies has asked Anna to accompany him on a drive through the park, and it wouldn’t do to keep such an important personage or his prime team of grays waiting for even an instant.”

For an instant, Olivia was tempted to remain seated, to see if her mother would notice the absence of her eldest daughter. But as she was anxious to escape the stuffy drawing room, she gathered her reticule, slid her book inside it and followed along.

“Are you going to birch me?” asked Prescott.

Nonplussed, John frowned. “Birch you? Don’t wax melodramatic, Scottie. Since when have I ever used the rod on you?”

His son’s eyes remained locked on the tips of his boots. “Maybe not you. But…”

He felt a frisson of alarm run down his spine. Was he so blind that he hadn’t seen that his son was being mistreated? “Are you saying that someone in this household resorts to such tactics?”

Prescott kicked at the fringe of the carpet.

“Scottie, a gentleman—even if he is only ten years old—is expected to answer a direct question.” The sharpness in his voice had been meant more for himself than his son. Belatedly aware of its edge, he added, “I should hope you know you can always come to me if there is a problem.”

Prescott lifted his chin. “Wilkins says a gentleman—even if he is ten years old—is expected to accept punishment for his transgressions with a s-s-stiff upper lip.”

The earl knew that the gruff Scotsman was not in any way a cruel man. But in retrospect, perhaps it had not been such a wise idea to assign a former drill sergeant the duties of playing nanny to a lad.

“I shall have a word with him,” he said softly.

Prescott’s face remained scrunched.

“Is something else amiss?”

“Everything is amiss!” blurted out his son. “Wilkins the Wasp whacks my backside whenever I step the slightest bit out of line. Taylor the Tyrant gives lessons that are dull as ditchwater. And you—you never laugh anymore.” The lad gave a watery sniff. “It wasn’t at all like this when Mama was here.”