Lady Scandal Read Free Page A

The large maple wardrobe stood open and empty. The room
had been stripped of its velvet curtains and even of the carpet.
The mattress had been slashed and feathers pulled out, as if
someone had been searching for hidden items.
    Glimpsing a fragment of something white on
the bare wood, Alexandria moved into the room, her cloak, dress and
petticoats rustling. Bending down, she picked up a fragment from a
china figurine. It had been a favorite—a rearing white horse, its
mane flaring out and one leg lifted as if celebrating its freedom.
She had treasured that figurine. For being a symbol of something
she had never had.
    Her fist closed on all that remained—the
lone leg.
    Such senseless vandalism!
    She would lodge a complaint at once with the
authorities. The British Ambassador would....
    Would do nothing, she realized. Lord
Whitworth no longer resided in France. He could not listen to her
complains and demand results from Bonaparte's government.
    A chill swept over her skin.
    Turning, Alexandria left the room and ran
down the stairs, the candle flickering as she hurried.
    She found the maid and Diana in the main
hall. Marie-Jeanne now sat on the large trunk that had been brought
in by the footmen. Her eyes still seemed huge, and in the dim light
her skin shone unnaturally pale, but she at least seemed to have
lost that edge of hysteria for she no longer babbled.
    Diana turned to Alexandria, and Alexandria's
heart tightened at the hint of fear in her niece's eyes. "What is
it?"
    Diana wet her lips and answered,
"Marie-Jeanne—she says...she says that England has declared war on
France. Bonaparte has ordered the arrest of all English citizens.
The soldiers who came here—they came for us."
     

CHAPTER TWO
    "That is preposterous!" Alexandria said. But
she glanced around her again and held back the rest of her
protests. She had been about to say that not even Bonaparte could
be so uncivilized as to order the arrest of women and children, but
the man obviously allowed his troops to behave in this outrageous
fashion toward civilians.
    In the faint glow from the single flickering
candle, she turned to stare at her niece, her thoughts as
crystalline as the drops of the chandelier that hung over them in
the hall. With the clarity came the sharp bite of guilt, like the
clamp of teeth at her throat. She ought to have taken Diana back to
England months ago, when rumors of diplomatic strain first began.
Her instincts had urged caution. But she had spent so long ignoring
her feelings, pushing them away, that she had done the same as she
always did. She had permitted herself to be persuaded.
    Heavens, how many times she had allowed
that?
    Lips pressed tight, she straightened. A drop
of wax slid from the candle onto her glove, warming her skin
through the thin leather. She ignored it. The situation required
level-headed control, not hand wringing over a past that could not
be changed.
    Voice clipped, she asked, "When did the
guards arrive? And where is everyone now?"
    Turning to the maid, Diana repeated the
questions in French. Marie-Jeanne returned hesitant answers, the
sobs gone from her voice, but her tone uncertain, as if she feared
the reaction that her words might bring.
    Diana listened, nodding, smiling at the girl
in encouragement. She had put back the hood of her traveling cloak
and the candlelight glinted on her golden curls. Turning to her
aunt, she said, "Poor thing. She has no idea how long she hid under
the table. It seems that the French guard burst in without even
knocking just as the staff had begun dinner preparations for a meal
for our return. She said that the man in command—a sergeant—seemed
to think the butler was lying about our not being here and that no
Englishman lived with us. He questioned everyone, and when he did
not get answers he liked, he ordered the house ransacked and those
who were English arrested. Everything fell into a panic then. Some
fled, or at least she thinks they did. She hid under the