Free A Proper Scandal by Charis Michaels Page A

wasn’t accustomed to surprises; if asked, he would say that he wasn’t fond of them. And yet he found himself eager to hear what she might say next. Too eager.
    But now the countess was settling at the head of the table and signaling the footmen to serve the soup.
    â€œLord Rainsleigh?” she called to him. “There are several people who would delight in making your acquaintance, and I hope you’ll indulge us. My, er, errand upstairs precluded proper introductions, but you must meet a few friends and neighbors.”
    Rainsleigh glanced at Lady Elisabeth. “It would be a pleasure.”
    A procession of names and nods followed, including the young ladies now relegated to the far end of the table and the elderly couples scattered between. The final guest—a marchioness, who, according to rank, was seated directly across from Rainsleigh—was presented last.
    â€œPerhaps you already know Frances, Marchioness of Frinfrock?” the countess asked, gesturing to the diminutive old woman. “You are neighbors, I believe, in Henrietta Place.”
    Rainsleigh nodded. “How do you do, Lady Frinfrock?”
    The wizened old woman could barely see above her soup, but she gazed at him with suspicious, narrowed eyes. “The castle you’ve constructed in my street is a vulgarity, Rainsleigh,” the marchioness said.
    Rainsleigh swallowed a laugh. “I’m sorry to hear it, my lady.”
    In the same moment the countess said, “Come now, Lady Frinfrock. I’ll admit I’ve nearly starved you, but let us strive to be pleasant.”
    â€œ ’Tis no unpleasantness,” he assured the countess. To the scowling woman across the table, he said, “Pray, your ladyship, which house in the street is yours?”
    â€œYou’d know my property if you made an effort to learn the character and population of the street before you devoted an eon erecting your Tower of Babel.”
    â€œYes, well, I’ve only just moved in, but you make a fair point. It’s been builders and craftsmen you’ve seen in and out. I should have called on neighbors by now.”
    â€œHad you deigned to make the acquaintance of anyone in Henrietta Place, you would also know that your ‘craftsmen’ have hauled every manner of timber, stone, and Lord-knows-what material into the street, rendering the road nearly impassable. Pocked with trenches and pits from your delivery wagons. Strewn with spilt gravel. All the while, they raise your monstrosity higher and higher, blotting out the very sun.”
    Again, Bryson swallowed a laugh. In fact, he had met with neighbors—he’d bought the house from a neighbor and friend—and he had been mindful of inconvenience and damage to the area. But this woman was enjoying herself far too much to be challenged. And it wouldn’t do to be ungracious to a lady.
    â€œBut perhaps you did not notice, your ladyship,” he said, “the repairs I commissioned to restore the road? The new road was meant to give residents—”
    â€œ Perhaps we preferred the road as it was,” the marchioness interrupted, pointing with her spoon. “Another thing you would have known if you had bothered to introduce yourself to anyone of consequence in Henrietta Place.”
    â€œYes,” he allowed, taking a sip of wine. He gave Lady Banning a wink and tried again, “Although were you aware that I, in fact, bought the house from a neighbor? The Earl of Falcondale? He and his lady-wife live next door; that is, when they are not traveling abroad—”
    â€œI said anyone of consequence , and Falcondale hardly qualifies. His wife is lovely, but I take frequent issue with the earl. He offered nothing to the house but abject neglect. You are no better, burdening us with an extended construction; widening and raising and embellishing. Domed turrets, ogling gargoyles, and that ghastly tangle of iron trim. It’s