Scandalous Love
by Brenda Joyce


Dragmore 1898

“You have callers, my Lady.”

“But I never have callers,” Nicole protested.

Aldric looked at her, his lined face unfathomable, although his brown eyes were twinkling. “The ladies Margaret Adderly and Stacy Worthington, my Lady”

Nicole was surprised. Of course, it was an exaggeration to say that she never had callers, for her best friend, the Viscountess Serle, as well as the local gentry and her family, did come calling rather frequently. But they didn’t really count. What counted was the fact that she didn’t really have the usual bevy of callers like other young ladies of her class. Not in the past several years. Not since the scandal. What could these ladies, whome she had never met, possibly want.?

“Tell them I’ll be right down. Have refreshments served, Aldric,” she told the butler. A bubble of excitement rose up in here.

Aldric nodded, but before leaving he raised one bushy white eyebrow. “Perhaps I should that you will be a few minutes, my Lady?”

She understood and chuckled, looking down ruefully at her men’s breeches and muddy riding boots. Although it was almost the dawning of a new era—the twentieth century—women did not wear men’s clothing even when they had just cause. Some things never changed. “Good of you to remind me, Aldric. I shouldn’t chase away my illustrious visitors before I even find out why they’ve come.”

Still chuckling, she waited for Aldric to leave, imagining the shock the two proper ladies downstairs would receive if they saw her attired like a man. It just wasn’t done.

Nicole sighed, honest enough with herself to know that her carefree attitude and rather improper sense of humour did not help her situation—not that she was really in a situation, she reminded herself. After all, she chose to remain in the country. As she riffled carelessly through her armoire for the appropriate undergarments, she admitted to herself that it was nice to have young woman come calling. It had been a long time. Not that she wasn’t happy at Dragmore, for she was. Her life was Dragmore, horses and books. It was just that, well, it had been for a long time.



 © 2006 Brenda Joyce—all rights reserved