Scandalous Lady

“Lady Francesca, aren’t you sick of the uncalled-for attention?”

“Certainly not, Lord Dynirho Syford. I am a duke’s daughter, and no scandal can ever take that from me, not even my stepmother. The perks of having a royal bone in my corset, they say.”

“Then, I might as well cause one of the upcoming scandals of yours,” he responded before shutting her cherry-ripe parted lips with his. They were both hot and burning with passion.

They were in the prince regent’s royal garden. In any minute, someone could have barged in and witnessed the infamous lady’s scandal. But Francesca couldn’t think about anything other than the man ravishing her, and the hidden agenda she had under her sleeves.

The butlers were banging heads with the headstrong media trying to break through the duke’s house early in the morning. The head matron immediately ran towards the master’s bedroom to notify the sleeping duke and his second wife about the unexpected ruckus outside.

Upon hearing the three knocks on the door, Duchess Chandler pulled the string by her side, ringing the small metal bell.

Sussana got her cue to gingerly turn the doorknob and reveal herself to the masters. Catching her breath, she held on to her rather shabby skirt for support. The years must have weakened her knees and youthful vigor. Gone were the old days of strength and agility.

“I am sorry to start your day, my lord, my lady, in such an atrocious way, but there is a throng of reporters gathered at the main gate.” The housekeeper, who was in her forties, struggled to report everything in the best accuracy she could muster.

Surprise was not part of the duke’s reaction, but plainly, he was dismayed and irritated. His eyebrows remained calm, contradictory to the burning temperament inside him, but he hid it excellently. London society taught him well to mask his emotions above anything else.

“What could be the matter this time?” the impatient duchess asked. Annoyance was evident in her tone.

“It was about Lady Francesca—” Poor Sussana was cut short by the perverse assault of the duke’s short-tempered duchess.

“Heavens, Sussana! I already know who the trouble is about outside. What I’m asking you is what about the matter? Such a trifling difference between elites and commoners.” The duke’s new wife was infamous for her blunt and belittling attitude towards her inferiors.

“Careful, Carlotta, you must not look down on my people.” Duke Landon Chandler was noble enough to remind her about her unstoppable tongue. As a matter of fact, he lived most of his days reminding her, but to no avail. Perhaps peoples’ attitudes don’t change so easily. “Tell me about it,” he said eyeing the housekeeper. Duke Landon had been feeling ill lately, and news like this didn’t help much. Instead, it worsened it.

Sussana regained her confidence from the duke’s compassionate words and continued. “Lady Francesca just got involved in the disdaining affront towards a retiring countess widow in Colstalbay, rumored for giving highly offensive remarks on her two-decades old wedding gown she flaunted in the recent social gathering at a patroness’s house.

“Now the media wants to get on her side and discern more to be able to draft the best scoop they could get.” The housekeeper was surprisingly good at conveying event, the duke silently thought.

“You see, Carlotta, Sussana’s capacity is way better than the stupid commoner you had in mind.” The duchess just grimaced in surrender, yet total disagreement was traced in the undertone of her batting lashes.

Turning once more to the servant, the duke ordered, “Go on and bring that insolent young lady to the sitting room. She’ll be getting a lot of lectures today.”

Expressing her respect through a polite slight bow, Sussana proceeded to the stone-walled corridor leading to the exquisitely designed lady’s room. Knocking three times, she gently inserted the key in the hole and opened the wooden door, moving aside the cascading brocade that hung from the door frame.

The young lady was quite a heavy sleeper, so the housekeeper had to secure her own key in order to wake her up in case she overslept, which she did yet again.

Lying there was a slim, hourglass-shaped lady clad in a thin chemise nightgown with her auburn hair unevenly spread all over the soft Georgian queen-sized bed. Her pale complexion blended perfectly with the cotton white color of her pillows, blankets, and bed sheets.

With her eyes closed, the long, naturally curly lashes were very noticeable. Her lips were the shade of a ripe cherry, and her high cheekbones were like cherry blossoms from East Asia. The proud bridge of her nose—high, pointed, and proud—also didn’t fail to replicate the royal bloodline of her birth.

“My lady, it’s time for you to rise and shine.” Sussana tried to go easy at first, but Francesca showed no signs of waking, leaving Sussana no choice but to resort to the last option. She rang the bell beside the sleeping Greek goddess.

“Argh! Stop the bell now! The lady is sleeping!” Francesca hissed with so much irritation, forgetting any sense of ladyship she learned. If she could choose one thing in the world to never be disturbed by, she would absolutely choose this awful bell.

Determined with her actions, Sussana, instead of stopping, continued shaking the handheld metal bell. “Pardon me my lady, but your father needs you in the sitting room now,” she explained.

Unable to withstand the annoying clashing metal sounds no more, Francesca lazily opened her eyes, stretched her arms sideways, and adjusted to the blinding light a bit. Throwing a disappointed look, she stomped to her feet and stood up. ‘Perhaps the news of my unladylike remarks on the old gown, rags rather, of that widow from yesterday are all over the headlines now,’ she thought.

By then, her maid, Eloisa, appeared on the doorstep to take charge of her mistress. “My apology for being informed late. You may leave Lady Francesca in my care now,” the young lady’s maid said, apologizing.

She had run an errand this morning and got delayed on her way back home due to the throng of people outside. No one could possibly beat London on gossip intrigue since the stones of St. James’s Palace was piled up from mud into a castle.

“No problem, Eloisa. Just make sure to groom her properly and usher her to the sitting room. His lordship demands her presence,” Sussana instructed her before leaving. She had something else to do as the housekeeper. And it was really Eloisa who was in charge of the young lady’s needs.

***

After what seemed to be an eternity, Lady Francesca was done with her layered gowns and corsets. Her hair was now pulled up in a neat bun, or at least neat enough to reduce her father’s ill temper.

Breathing heavily, she relaxed herself and started walking towards the sitting room. The same exact room where she first lost her confidence with the duke, who put a lucrative and exquisite roof over her head almost half a decade ago.

She had learned from her maid that the media were banging at their doors, and that his father was not a bit impressed with it. ‘If that was the only way to be sitting face-to-face with him, why should I decline the honor, right?’ she thought to herself.

“A glorious morning, young lady. It appears you’ve rested too much after causing great trouble last night. Mind explaining yet another scandal you’ve gotten into? If I am not mistaken, it’s been just a week since you caused the dancing scandal.”

Duke Landon was in no doubt fuming with anger with his mouth tightly twitching, but he couldn’t be more anxious as it would worsen his health condition, so he tried hard to conceal it. He couldn’t afford to show any weakness.

How could his only daughter behave so recklessly in front of such a critical society, where even the slightest unruly baby hairs would be scrutinized? How could she be so careless about her reputation?

“The widow, Countess Candace’s, wedding gown was no better than an old rag. I was simply stating the obvious fact, Father,” Lady Francesca idly answered while dropping her eyes to the carpeted floor.

She personally hates this compartment of the manor as this was where his father first introduced her to the wicked woman, who almost washed away the remaining colors she could see after the loss of her mother.

“How can I be called scandalous when I’m stating it with the utmost integrity? It doesn’t do me justice having my honesty labeled inappropriate for the countess just because she’s offended,” she added. Both the duke and duchess were amazed at her wits and spirit, though on a rather corrupted manner.

“Clever lady, definitely. But wits aren’t everything. You should know where to use that providence. Thou shall not use it for reasoning out a mistake. Or else people will think this household didn’t teach you proper decorum and conduct on socializing,” her stepmother said, adding in a whisper, “maybe it did once.” Duchess Carlotta was obviously turning the blame on the deceased Duchess Savrina, the duke’s first wife and Lady Francesca’s biological mother.

“Your mother is right, Francesca. You should listen to her,” Duke Landon supported, which just infuriated her daughter. The tingling irritation and pain were shackling her. Things were starting to appear to be that of taking sides, and unfortunately, not in her favor.

‘I would never consider that wicked, double-faced coin of a wicked woman my mom ever, because she is nowhere near the class and prestige of my now-gone mother,’ Francesca thought.

Before getting herself even more infuriated, before sanity left her, she marched off towards the open door of the sitting room. When would her father realize what a plague he had brought home?

She definitely wouldn’t live harmoniously with the Duke of Feledencia, not unless he sent away his new wife. She was full of it. Francesca’s hopes were on the brink. Five years had passed, and yet there was still no sign of a marriage dissolution.

Where was the justice for the twenty years of shared memories of former Duchess Savrina in this household? Duke Landon remarried shortly after her demise…offering just barely five months of grieving.