Six Degrees of Scandal

To my mother, who always

encouraged my love of books.

I miss you, Mom.

Do thou snatch treasures from my lips,

and I'll take kingdoms back from thine.

—Richard Brinsley Sheridan

1806

Sussex

O
livia Herbert knew James Weston was a rogue the first time he winked at her, one fine Sunday morning in August when butterflies were riding warm drafts of air through the open door of St. Godfrey's and Mr. Bunce the curate was droning on and on as if he meant to put every person in the church to sleep.

She was staving off the urge to do just that by watching the butterflies. James Weston, it turned out, was watching her. As her gaze followed one butterfly—a delicate white one with spots of blue on its wings, who swooped and glided effortlessly on the hazy air—it connected with James's. His family was sitting in the next pew over, and when their eyes met, the impudent boy winked at her.

She looked away at once. Not only had he caught her woolgathering, wishing she could flit about the church and out the door like that butterfly, but it
was probably a sin to wink in church. With some effort she tried to focus her mind on the sermon, but within moments a bee flew overhead, and once again, quite independently of any wish to be well-behaved, her eyes tracked the insect as it buzzed away, right toward the Weston pew.

This time when he caught her eye, he grinned. Slowly he raised one hand, and with small, cautious movements, pretended to flick the bee as it flew by. Then he screwed up his face and mimed being stung, shaking his finger and sticking it into his mouth.

Olivia couldn't help it. She smiled, and a tiny giggle shook her shoulders. His grin grew wider, and he wiggled his eyebrows at her.

A sharp jab in her side made Olivia hastily jerk her gaze back to Mr. Bunce, whose voice had settled into a low drone, as if he, too, were falling asleep. Beside her, Mother glared from the corner of her eye. Olivia repressed a sigh. Ladies didn't giggle in church, and Mother was determined that Olivia would be a lady.

Mother didn't even wait until they reached home. Her scolding began as they walked to their carriage after the service. “Olivia Herbert, what were you thinking? Laughing in church! What a common, hoydenish thing to do.”

“I'm sorry, Mother.”

“And making eyes at that boy.” Mother didn't grimace, but her tone dripped with distaste. “Those upstart Westons.”

“Upstarts they may be, but well-heeled ones.” Father spoke for the first time, giving Olivia a measuring glance. “She could do worse.”

Mother gasped. “Thomas Weston is an
attorney
. I want better for our daughters, Sir Alfred.”

“You've got to be practical, madam.” Father waited as the footman helped them into the carriage. “Our girls won't have much to attract a noble husband.”

“Only their beauty.” Mother's gaze softened as she looked at Olivia and her younger sister, Daphne. “A lady's face, along with her sweet temper and amiable disposition, are her greatest assets, girls.”

“Yes, Mother,” piped up Daphne. “I'll make you proud and marry a royal duke!”

Mother laughed gently. “I'm sure you will, my beautiful darling.” It was already clear that Daphne took after her mother. Olivia wasn't sure if she took after her father or not; Father was often preoccupied with rank and money, and he was very fond of wagering on the horse races, none of which appealed to her. But at the same time, Olivia didn't share her mother's keen interest in fashion or ladylike accomplishments. She supposed she might as she grew older, but at the advanced age of ten she wasn't much interested in sizing up potential husbands.

A tapping beside her broke into her thoughts. She glanced out the window and saw the boy who had lured her into trouble, grinning as he crouched out of sight next to the carriage. “Do you walk in the woods?” he whispered.

Alarmed, she shook her head, even though she did walk in the woods every chance she got. Telling him that would only cause her more trouble.

Disappointment flickered over his face. “Oh
well.” He stepped back. “Good-bye, then.” He walked back to his family. Olivia eyed them curiously. The father was tall and lean, and his wife was very pretty, with a gloriously beautiful gown. Two girls about Daphne's age stood beside her, although the blond girl was fidgeting in boredom and ran up to her brother as he approached them. He laughed at whatever she said, the carefree sound floating back to Olivia's ears. Neither of his parents reproved him for laughing on Sunday.

The Herbert coachman finally snapped his whip and set the horses in motion. Olivia watched the Westons as the coach drove away. Upstarts they might be, but they looked like happy ones.

S
he had almost forgotten the impudent boy several days later, when she finished her lessons and was able to slip out of the house. Mother wouldn't approve, but Mother had gone into town to the dressmaker, and Miss Willets, the governess, was fond of sneaking a glass of sherry and having an afternoon nap when Mother was away. This suited the girls quite well. Daphne retreated to the nursery with her dolls, where she fashioned new dresses for them out of scraps of Mother's discarded gowns, and Olivia stole a book from the library and headed for the woods. Mother said Shakespeare was vulgar and too exciting for ladies, which made Olivia eager to read his plays, even though she was forced to hide away to do so.

There was a quiet little glen not too far from Kellan Hall, the Herbert home, with a fallen tree
and enough sun to be pleasant without being hot. Settled on the tree, with her feet propped on a nearby stone, Olivia had just reached the magnificent scene where Romeo revealed himself to Juliet and professed his love in words that would rend the heart of any sentient being . . . when someone spoke behind her.

“I thought you didn't walk in the woods.”

She gave a little scream and dropped her book. “You—you,” she spluttered. “I am not walking!” It was a stupid thing to say, but he had interrupted at a very inopportune moment. Would Juliet return Romeo's love?

“Oh, did you come into the woods by carriage?” He jumped over the tree trunk and scooped up the book. “
Romeo
, eh? Do you like it?”

She glared at him and reached for the book. “Yes.”

He handed it back. “It wasn't one of my favorites. My sisters wanted to act it out, but Penelope kept giggling when she was supposed to be dying.”

Olivia's eyes widened. Dying? Which character died? She hoped it wasn't Juliet. “Don't tell me any more!”

“I liked that
Henry V
, though,” he went on. “Smashing good battle. I'm James, by the way. James Weston.”

She gave him a reproachful look. It wasn't proper for a gentleman to introduce himself to a lady, and he ought to know that, even if he wasn't a gentleman. “I know.”

He grinned. In the sunlight his brown hair had an auburn hue, and his eyes were sharp and
lively. He couldn't be much more than thirteen or fourteen, but he was already tall in Olivia's view. “And you're Miss Olivia Herbert of Kellan Hall.”

“Yes.” She lowered her gaze to her book, hoping he would go away.

“So,” he said after a moment, “if you only walk in the woods to find a place to read, you must know about the waterfall.”

Her eyes stopped taking in the words on the page. “Waterfall?” she asked, intrigued in spite of herself.

He tilted his head and gave her a sly smile. “I can show you.”

Slowly she closed the book. “Is it far?”

“No.”

And before she knew it, she was following him along a winding track through the trees, to where a small stream splashed over a fall of rocks. It was no taller than Olivia herself, but it brought a smile to her face. She'd lived at Kellan Hall all her life and never discovered it.

James pulled off his boots, and then his stockings, and then—to Olivia's shock—he climbed up and stood on the highest rock, letting the water foam over his feet and wet his breeches. “Don't you want to climb up?”

She looked longingly at the rocks. The thought of water running over her feet and ankles was tempting, but not worth it. “I'd get wet, and my mother would be displeased.”

“Pity that. It's great fun.”

Slowly she looked down at her shoes and stockings. Maybe if she held up her skirts, very high . . . But that would also be improper. “I'd better not.”

“Oh,” he said in disappointment. “You're a coward.”

Olivia's eyes widened. “How rude!”

He shrugged, kicking at the water and sending a spray over the grass. “I can tell you want to get up here but you won't.”

“I'd get all wet . . .”

“So walk around until your feet and skirt dry. That's what my sisters do.”

Olivia stole another look at the frothing stream. “Your sisters climb up there?”

“And they're even younger than you. But if you're too scared . . .” He started to climb down.

Her mouth firmed. She was not scared. “Those rocks are slippery. I don't want to fall.”

He grinned as if he knew he'd won. “I'll hold your hand.”

And he did. Olivia peeled off her stockings and slippers, folded up her skirts as high as she dared—all the way above her knees—and carefully stepped into the water. She gasped at the cold initially, but it was a hot day and soon the water felt blissful. James held her hand as promised and coaxed her to stand on the topmost rock at the edge of the waterfall. She balanced on the wide flat stone and a grin spread across her face. The water rushed over her toes and ankles and she thought she'd never done anything this daring in her whole life. “How did I never discover this?”

Still holding her hand, James laughed. “Good girls stay at home.”

“So I'm a bad girl for coming out here?”

“No,” he said. “A curious girl. I like that kind.”

That allayed Olivia's moment of worry. Curious
didn't sound so terrible. She exchanged a tentative smile with James.

When their feet had gone numb, he helped her climb down and back onto the grass.

“Do you play dolls still?” he asked as he put his boots back on.

Olivia shook out her skirts, relieved to see that she had kept dry except for a small spot on one side. “Sometimes.”

“Good. Follow me.” He started off.

“Mr. Weston!”

He turned at her indignant cry. “Call me Jamie. James if you must. You might as well come meet my sisters, who drove me from the house today with begging me to play dolls. My mother said I had to entertain them but they don't like the way I play dolls.” He made an aggrieved expression. “Why can't a doll put on a fine dress and then have a sword fight with another doll? What else have dolls got to do all day?” He shrugged. “You probably know better how to do it the way they want.”

“But—I can't—”

“Why not?”

“I can't go into town without permission,” Olivia finally said. Privately she was curious to meet the Westons. Her parents didn't view most of the local families as their equal, and Olivia and Daphne weren't allowed much contact with other children. And even though she didn't spend as much time with dolls as Daphne did, she wasn't immune to wanting to see the Weston girls' dolls, which were sure to be much finer than anything at Kellan Hall. But if Mother saw her, she'd be in such trouble.

He grinned as if sensing another victory. “We don't live in town anymore. We took possession of Haverstock House this week, right over the hill.”

Her eyes popped open. Haverstock House was the finest house in the county, and lay between Kellan Hall and town. It belonged to the elderly Earl of Malke, who rarely visited since his wife's death. Now the Westons owned it?

“I expect my mother will call on your mother soon, now we're neighbors,” he went on. “Will she let you come visit then?”

Olivia doubted it. “Perhaps.”

Jamie Weston flashed his confident grin once more. “I'll wager a copper penny she will.”

To Olivia's mingled delight and surprise, Mother herself brought up the Westons that evening. “Haverstock House!” she exclaimed. “They've bought Haverstock House! Everyone in town is speaking of it. What is the neighborhood coming to, Sir Alfred?”

Father grunted. “I hear Weston paid a very pretty sum for it. Lord Malke's steward mentioned wagons of new furnishings from London.”

That gave Mother pause. “Indeed!”

“I told you: well-heeled.” Father glanced at her, sitting quietly in the corner stitching her sampler. “Their boy seemed to like our Olivia.”

Instead of protesting that she was only a child, Mother turned to look at her as if struck by a new thought. “Did he . . . ?” But although Olivia was curious to hear what her mother thought, that was the last of the conversation.

Within days, true to Jamie's prediction, Mrs. Weston came to call on Lady Herbert. Olivia
only saw her leaving, but the next day Jamie himself came to Kellan Hall. He greeted her mother very politely, even charmingly, and then glanced at Olivia. “I've come to escort Miss Herbert to Haverstock House.”

Olivia barely managed not to goggle at him like a fool, but her mother was beaming. “Yes, of course. Olivia, fetch your bonnet. Mrs. Weston has invited you to visit her daughters, and I consented. Good society is so important to raising young people with manners and decorum!”

“Yes, ma'am,” she managed to say, even as her heart jumped. She ran for her bonnet and pelisse.

Jamie grinned as they left her house. “I told you my mother would call.”

Olivia couldn't keep back an excited laugh. “I just didn't know it would result in this!”

From then on she was permitted to visit the Westons almost at will. Daphne was also invited, but she went only a few times, and stopped entirely after getting into an argument with Penelope Weston over whether ladies should be allowed to drive carriages. But Olivia was soon fast friends with both Abigail and Penelope, who became as dear as sisters to her as the years went by.