Free How to Handle a Scandal by Emily Greenwood Page A

a party or a ball. Go to someone’s house for dinner. Say something stupid and frivolous.”
    “You mean go back to the way I used to be? I won’t do it.”
    “Of course I’m not suggesting that you behave like a sixteen-year-old.” Meg poked her fork into another chunk of cake. “But don’t you ever think of taking a break from Truehart Manor? What we do can be challenging, and neither of us has had a holiday for a long time. You have money—you could see the world, meet some new people.”
    “ You haven’t taken a holiday either,” Eliza pointed out testily.
    “But I mean to. You know I’ve been making plans to go to Italy this winter. Maybe you should come with me.”
    “Who would stay with the girls?”
    “Mrs. Trinkett could manage for a few weeks.”
    Italy sounded lovely, and it was true that Eliza hadn’t taken a holiday for years. But the thought of a holiday—with no schedules and nothing to do but try to enjoy herself—sounded foreign, and she knew she’d be a drag on Meg’s fun. Still, she appreciated that Meg meant well.
    “I’ll think about it,” she said, smiling a little.
    “Good,” Meg said, looking relieved.
    Eliza felt tempted to tell her friend about her plan to go to the brothel that night—Meg would certainly see that as a sign that Eliza wasn’t always focused on being perfect—but she knew she couldn’t. If Meg didn’t decry the whole idea as insane, she would want to come as well, and Eliza couldn’t let her take that risk. As a widow who would never marry again, Eliza could afford a hint of scandal. Meg could not.

Four
    Late that night, Eliza paused before the dark back entrance to Madame Persaud’s brothel. She wore a black velvet mask and a deep-pink satin gown with a low bodice that she hadn’t worn since she was seventeen. The gown was snug and cut lower than the dresses she wore now, and she’d kept it as a reminder of the person she didn’t ever want to be again. At least now it would serve a good purpose.
    She’d powdered her hair heavily and pulled it into a loose knot, turning her red-gold tresses into an indistinguishable pile of white on her head, but she’d decided against any face paint, hoping to look unremarkable among the other women, who would doubtless look more purposefully enticing. With the black mask on, Eliza didn’t think she looked recognizable. She hoped, with a giddy sense of unreality, that she’d pass as a prostitute, if only one who wouldn’t attract much attention.
    Her conscience made one last effort to restrain her by pointing out that if she was discovered and became a scandal, the work of Truehart Manor would be ruined, but she ignored it. If they were going to continue losing girls to the lure of prostitution, their work would have little effect anyway.
    Since the brothel catered to the tastes of wealthy gentlemen, it was in a respectable part of town. Eliza had her coachman drop her a block away from the large house, with instructions to drive around the neighborhood and check back for her at intervals. She made her way to the deserted mews behind the row of houses, found the back entrance Nancy had told her about, and slipped in, unnoticed as far as she could tell.
    She moved along a narrow corridor, following the sounds of voices and music. The prostitutes would gather in the drawing room to welcome the clients early in the evening, which allowed the men to circulate as they arrived and ponder which women they would choose for the evening. It was nine thirty, so Eliza had half an hour to step into another life and ferret out the sort of details that would help her take away the glamour that places like this held for girls like Franny and Thomasina.
    She emerged into a long foyer with two doorways and a staircase that led upstairs. There were two women in the foyer dressed in boldly colored dresses like Eliza’s and wearing masks. Her stomach dropped at the sight of them—this was her first contact with anyone in the