Scandalously Yours (Hellions of High Street 1)

“Ah.” His breath came out in a sigh. Was a misstep truly important if one was caught up in the spirit of the music? Recalling Olivia’s outrageous words, he nearly smiled. Somehow, she was under the impression that dancing was meant to be more than an exercise in regimented moves. Indeed, the Hellion of High Street had cheerfully acknowledged her disapproval of strict rules in general…

“Wrexham?”

John quickly corrected his errant step. “So sorry.”

“Would you rather sit out the rest of the set, sir?” asked Lady Serena. “You appear to be thinking of things other than the intricacies of a gavotte.”

“Perhaps we had better, in order to avoid grievous injury to your toes,” he admitted with a rueful grimace. “I am afraid I have been allowing my thoughts to stray a bit.” Then, realizing how churlish his words might sound to a lady, he hastened to add, “An unforgivable offense, given the present company.”

“Oh, you have no need to apologize, milord, for I am aware that you have every reason to be preoccupied. Uncle Justin says that you are very concerned about the upcoming debate in the House of Lords over the treatment of our war veterans. And from what he has given me to understand, you will among the leaders in pushing for serious reforms. Do you mean to forward the idea of a pension?”

“Well, as to that…” As John began an earnest explanation of his positions, the clench of his muscles slowly loosened. Lady Serena’s questions were informed and intelligent. And she seemed truly interested in his answers.

Looking around the crowded ballroom, he found himself feeling both relieved and reassured. Indeed, the more he considered it, the more the lady by his side seemed the perfect choice for a countess.

“…what is more, a soldier certainly brings a laudable discipline to any task he is assigned,” finished Lady Serena.

John had lost track of which reform she was commenting on, but the reference to discipline suddenly brought to mind a topic closer to home. After a moment of hesitation, he decided to broach the subject.

“Perhaps too much so.”

Her brow quirked in question.

As the dance ended, he steered their steps out to the garden terrace while explaining about his choice of a drill sergeant as tutor for Prescott.

An evening breeze swirled lightly through the ornamental shrubbery and set the torches by the stone balustrades to dancing along with the echo of the music. In the softly shifting patterns of light and shadows, it was impossible to make out any nuance of Lady Serena’s expression.

Nor were her first words any more revealing. “I see,” she murmured.

“See what?” he probed.

“In truth, I see nothing wrong with your decision, milord. In my opinion, it is better to err on being a trifle too strict rather than too lenient. As your heir, young Prescott must learn about duty and discipline. It is never too early for a young gentleman to understand his responsibilities in life.”

It was, to be sure, an eminently rational response, but John felt his brow furrow.

“You do not agree with me?” asked Lady Serena.

“In principal I do. And yet, surely there is an alternative to the rigid application of rules and rods. I…”

He drew in a deep breath. Bloody hell, if he intended to speak out on important issues, he would have to do a better job at articulating his feelings than he was doing now.

“…I wish that you might try to be a bit more friendly with Scottie,” he said in a rush, deciding that blunt honesty was the best tactic.

“I appreciate your candor, my lord,” she replied slowly. “Just as I believe you would prefer me to answer with equal forthrightness. I shall never be Prescott’s friend—the differences between an adult and child are simply too great to think otherwise. I would, however, hope that I might win his respect and some degree of affection.”

Respect and some degree of affection.

She had certainly won his, he told himself.

And what more could he ask for than such a firm foundation on which to build a new life? Scottie would learn to appreciate that in time…

Still, on offering the lady his arm, the earl could not quite shake the feeling that the brick and mortar of his future was slightly askew.

“The morning post, milord.”

“Thank you, Whitney.” Without looking up, John motioned for the silver tray to be placed to the side of his plate. Nothing among the assortment of mail promised to be half so interesting as the essay he was reading. Bold, witty, imaginative, it voiced a fresh perspective to the very Parliamentary issues that were weighing on his own mind.

Indeed, he must remember to jot down several of the phrases…