Gossip and scandal on WIP Wednesday

 

Yes, I know I’ve said it again. But Regency romance set in high society does lend itself to the kind of ruthless gossip-mongering that today finds its expression through mean girls at high school and in the darker corners of social media. This week, I’m sharing an episode that shows how scandal can be wielded by a villain (or, in this case, two villains and a villainess). It’s from To Mend a Proper Lady. If you have an excerpt to share, please put it in the comments.

Because they were not socialising, Ruth didn’t notice people acting in a peculiar fashion until Rosemary pointed it out to her. “I wonder what the problem is,” she commented, as they rode home one morning from an early outing to Hyde Park. “Three times today, people coming towards us turned aside onto a different path. I didn’t say anything yesterday, when we took our niece and nephews to play in the square, but Mrs Wilmington collected her children and left, and so did two nursemaids with their charges.”

“You think they were avoiding us?” That had been the norm for a few months during the worst of last year’s feud with the Duke of Haverford, when he was challenging their legitimacy in a complaint to the Committee for Privileges. But their father’s evidence had swung the Committee their way, and most people in Society accepted them now.

Rosemary frowned. “I thought they might be avoiding Zahara’s children, but she and the little ones are not with us today.”

After that, Ruth watched, and soon concluded something was going on. No one was overtly rude, but a very few people directly approached them, and a number went to some lengths to avoid a casual meeting. Either that, or most of the people they came across while out walking were afflicted with a sudden need to cross the street or leave when the Winderfield family came into sight.

Or, more specifically, when Ruth appeared. Her brothers mentioned conversations that left no doubt that they were being treated as normal, and Sophia and Rosemary both had encounters with friends when Ruth was not with them.

It came to a head in Brown’s Emporium, where the ladies of the family had taken Zahara to purchase English cotton and lace, and perhaps an English porcelain tea set. Ruth had grown bored with discussing the relative merits of shawls, and had wandered over to some rolls of heavy fabric that might do for curtaining.

The others where within earshot, so she heard when a lady address Sophia. “Lady Sutton! I had no idea you were in London.”

“Lady Ashbury.”

The name captured Ruth’s attention, and she turned to watch. From the tip of her fashionable hat to her dainty leather-shod feet, the lady was an exquisite doll; the epitome of the English fashionable beauty, fair-haired, pale-skinned and blue-eyed. So this was Val’s sister-in-law?

Ruth stepped closer. The illusion of youth evaporated under closer examinations. Fine lines in the corners of the eyes, around the mouth, spoke of temper and a sour disposition, and those clear eyes were hard as she accepted an introduction to Rosemary and Zahara with a condescending nod.

Sophia turned to hold out her hand to Ruth, beckoning her closer. “And this is my sister Lady Ruth,” she said. “Ruth, Lady Ashbury is related to…”

In one sweep of her eyes, Lady Ashbury had examined Ruth from head to toe, sniffed, and turned her back. “Lady Sutton, I advise you to distance yourself from this female.” She pitched her voice to be heard throughout the cavernous building. “She may have hoped to keep secret her dalliance with my monstrous brother-in-law, but the people near his lands were rightfully scandalised, and have taken steps to ensure the truth is known.”

Sophia, bless her, showed no reaction to the accusation beyond raised eyebrows, and spoke so that the riveted onlookers could hear her reply. “Have you been spreading lying gossip again, Lady Ashbury? My sister was fully chaperoned at all times while nursing your daughter through smallpox. She has the full support of His Grace my father-in-law and all of her family and friends.”

She then turned to the rest of their party. “Ladies, let us come back another time. I find the company here today… malodorous, and I owe you an apology for condescending to make the introduction.”

Ruth was swept along in Sophia’s wake, but looked back as they exited the warehouse. Lady Ashbury remained where they’d left her, staring after them with narrowed eyes. Several of the other customers were already converging on her. This was not over.

Reprobates on WIP Wednesday

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The world seems to love a scoundrel. Me, I tend to make villains out of them, but fiction is full of rogues as both protagonists and antagonists. Readers like those with wounded hearts waiting for circumstances or the right influences to make them whole. So this week, I’m inviting you to show me an excerpt with the retrobate from your work in progress. Mine is a right evil so and so, from A Raging Madness, caught in the act of compromising my heroine.

An instant before the drug in the drink hit her, she saw the flare of triumph in Mrs Fullerton’s eyes, and knew she had made a mistake. She opened her mouth to shout for Alex, but suddenly the footman had a hand over her mouth and another under her elbow, and was hustling, half carrying her through the door Mrs Fullerton held open.

“I will give you a few minutes to make it look good,” she said, and whipped out of the room, shutting the door behind her.

Ella was struggling against the footman and the fog trying to close in on her mind, the dizziness that wanted to consume her. She stamped at his foot, kicked back at his chin, but her soft indoor slippers made no impression. She squirmed, trying to jab her free arm as low as possible, and he twisted away with an oath, pushing her from him so that she fell face forward onto a sofa.

In an instant he was on her, tugging her head back by the hair, straddling her torso. “This will do well enough,” he commented, lifting himself enough that he could push up her skirt and petticoats.

Ella fought to retain consciousness, the pain of her pulled hair helping to keep her from sinking into the fog. “Scream,” she instructed herself, as her assailant’s free hand fumbled at her buttocks, and she shrieked as loud as she could.

Doors burst open: the one onto the hall and a double set into the drawing room next door, and the room filled with people.

It was her worst nightmare come again: the indrawn breaths of shock, the buzz of excited comments, the avid staring eyes. The last thing Ella heard before she sank into oblivion was the amused drawl of the man on her back. “Oh dear, Lady Melville. It seems we have been caught.”