One Night of Scandal by Nicola Cornick

impatiently. ‘What do you think?’
    ‘Saucy,’ Clarissa Aintree said, shaking her head. ‘Very saucy indeed. What character did you anticipate in your…um…betrothed, Deborah?’
    ‘I thought of someone moderate, agreeable and open to my guidance,’ Deb said. ‘He would need to be quite biddable.’
    Clarissa Aintree made a noise that was somewhere between a snort and a cough. ‘Then Lord Scoundrel cannot be the man for you.’
    ‘Lord Scandal,’ Deb said.
    ‘Whichever. He cannot be the right man for this role, for every line of his communication screams arrogance.’ Mrs Aintree put the letter down on the little table beside her. ‘Throw the letter in the fire, my love. Better still, throw the entire paper, advertisement and all, into the flames. Advertising for a fiancé indeed! Outrageous!’
    ‘I need to find myself a gentleman most speedily,’ Deb argued. She got to her feet and walked across to the drawing-room window. ‘My father expects me to arrive at Walton Hall with my betrothed.’
    ‘Really, Deborah, was there ever anyone like you for getting yourself into a scrape?’ Mrs Aintree said, not quite managing to eradicate the reproach from her voice. ‘Instead of solving the problem, you come up with a solution that creates a further difficulty!’

    ‘You do not think that Lord Scandal could be the answer to the problem?’
    ‘With a name like that?’ Mrs Aintree enquired drily.
    ‘I thought that it might be his real name.’
    Mrs Aintree raised her brows. ‘And are you called Lady Incognita?’ she asked, drier still. ‘Now I consider it, I do believe Lady Incognita to be the sobriquet for one of the most notorious courtesans in London. No wonder that you have Lord Scandal answering your advertisement!’
    Deb sighed and pushed the curly fair hair away from her face. ‘I suppose that you are right. No, I know that you are right. I was merely clutching at straws. Lord Scandal will not do. I shall have to wait a week or so for other replies to my advertisement.’
    ‘No,’ Mrs Aintree said calmly. ‘I do believe that you should give up this silly notion of a temporary fiancéat once, Deborah. No good will come of it. No gentleman of respectable means would ever respond to such a notice. This is not like advertising for a butler, you know.’
    Deb sighed again. She knew that Mrs Aintree, the epitome of common sense, was absolutely right. But she had hoped—expected—that there would be so many more replies from which to choose. She had been certain that there would be at least one sensible gentleman whom she might select from the crowd. Alas, it seemed that the gentlemen of Suffolk were far too conservative, too stuffy, to respond to an intriguing invitation. All except for Lord Scandal, who was clearly a rogue of the first order.
    ‘You are correct, as always, Clarrie,’ she said, slumping on to the window seat and propping her shoulders against the panelling in a deplorably hoydenish manner. ‘It was a silly plan. I shall forget about it and go to dress for Lady Sally’s ball. What do you do this evening?’
    ‘I shall sit here and compose advertisements for the newspapers,’ Mrs Aintree said calmly. ‘They will read: Mrs Prim requires new post as a lady’s companion. She is utterly unable to cope with the demands of her current place and requires a quiet life with a sober, respectable, elderly lady. ’
    Deb laughed and hugged her. ‘You know that you would not care for a quiet life, dear Clarrie! You would miss my hoydenish behaviour. Come now, confess it. You would be quite lost without me!’
    But as she went upstairs to dress, Deb reflected that it would not do to dismiss Lord Scandal quite yet. She had not completely relinquished her plan and, unless some other gentleman came forward, he was all that she had. An arrogant reprobate…Deb paused with her hand on the banister. She knew one such man already and if it were not for the fact that she doubted he ever read the