Page 2 of Prince of Scandal

Gabriel, a very tall, dark-haired, former colonel in the British army who had been badly injured in the Battle of Bayonne, made a snarling sound. “Goddamned scoundrel. Osbourne’s a disgrace…to the uniform. I’ll help Xavier…string him up.”

“Has anyone heard from Xav?” asked lean, brown-haired Finlay, Pippa’s best friend since childhood and part of the family long before their recent marriage.

“No,” whispered Georgiana, her voice cracking.

“He made the decision to go, Little G, and is infinitely more capable than anyone imagines,” said Finn kindly, far more than she deserved. “But we must think of a plan. A battle strategy if you will. Gabriel?”

“Yes, Exton will think of something,” said Lord Kingsford as he mopped his brow with visible relief.

The duke absently rubbed his facial scar. “First, let us discard…any talk of disownment. We have all…made mistakes.”

“I have not,” sniffed Lady Kingsford.

“All of us,” repeated Gabriel firmly. “And may I add…Osbourne is certainly not…facing up to his.”

“Precisely,” said Lilian. “I think it excessively harsh to blame the young lady led astray by a thrice-widowed, middle-aged man.”

“Revolting, despicable skunk, you mean,” Pippa bit out. “I’m going to mash the major’s nose when Xav drags him home.”

“I’ll hold the skunk steady, Pippet,” said Finlay, smiling briefly at his wife.

Georgiana drooped further at the evidence of true love. It rubbed salt into the wound, seeing her sisters’ confidence since leaving Kingsford House. Both marriages had come about in unexpected ways, but Lilian and Pippa had each found happiness. Their husbands adored and truly understood them, didn’t seek to oppress or change them, and valued their counsel and company. Plus, they’d learned all about sexual pleasure!

Why couldn’t she have that also?

“I’m hearing blather rather than solutions,” said Lady Kingsford. “How is Georgiana’s scandal to be managed? She surely cannot remain in London. Especially if she is…increasing. But she cannot sully Kingsford Park, either.”

Georgiana sat up. Could this somehow be her escape? Could she leave the dreary, judgmental city for a spell in a friendly, rustic place where no one knew her name and she could live her life without hindrance?

“Yes,” she said slowly, trying to control her eagerness. “A break from London until the gossip dies down.”

“Somewhere small,” said Lilian. “If you arrived as a widow, no one would ask questions.”

Gabriel nodded. “My mother had a cottage. Outside Norwich, in Norfolk. Very quiet. Private. She liked to paint there, by the river Yare. I could have that…opened up for you. Mrs…?”

“King,” said Pippa, her face actually brightening. “Mrs. Gigi King. Tragic story, her husband was a major found strapped to an anthill and covered in treacle, his nose mashed beyond recognition.”

“Capital plan, everyone,” said Lord Kingsford happily. “Gigi, sweetheart, I think this is for the best.”

Somehow, Georgiana didn’t cheer at the splendid outcome. “You’re right, Papa. I shall humbly depart for Norfolk immediately.”

This was her chance for a fresh start.

And definitely no scandals.

* * *

Brundall, Norfolk

After a sleepless night, Prince Wilhelm Heinrich Ashton von Hagan slumped his broad-shouldered six-foot, three-inch frame into a dining room chair and took a grateful swallow of strong black coffee. Alas, it didn’t erase yesterday’s thoroughly unnerving event: carriages arriving at the previously empty cottage next door. He’d seen a passel of servants, which meant the new occupiers had coin. What if they were aristocrats? Hailed from London?

What if they recognized him?

His stomach churned. Ten years ago, he’d moved to Brundall and assumed the name Ashton Latimer, gentleman landowner, and learned to disguise his Prussian accent by speaking in clipped tones. He lived as a near-recluse on this sprawling estate, only venturing out to attend church or church events in the village. These conditions, imposed by King George, had been a difficult but ultimately small sacrifice to remain in England. Over time, Ashton had even come to embrace the slow, gentle pace of rural life.

But now he had new neighbors who might want to talk. Have supper. Ask questions. The thought was exceedingly alarming.

A discreet cough jolted him out of his reverie. He looked over to see Jakob Franz, his longtime manservant, standing next to the mahogany dining table…looking suspiciously tense.