His Study in Scandal

Contents Cover Title Page Dedication Contents Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Chapter Twenty-One Chapter Twenty-Two Chapter Twenty-Three Chapter Twenty-Four Chapter Twenty-Five Epilogue About the Author Announcement By Megan Frampton Copyright About the Publisher iii v 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72 73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81 82 83 84 85 86 87 88 89 90 91 92 93 94 95 96 97 98 99 100 101 102 103 104 105 106 107 108 109 110 111 112 113 114 115 116 117 118 119 120 121 122 123 124 125 126 127 128 129 130 131 132 133 134 135 136 137 138 139 140 141 142 143 144 145 146 147 148 149 150 151 152 153 154 155 156 157 158 159 160 161 162 163 164 165 166 167 168 169 170 171 172 173 174 175 176 177 178 179 180 181 182 183 184 185 186 187 188 189 190 191 192 193 194 195 196 197 198 199 200 201 202 203 204 205 206 207 208 209 210 211 212 213 214 215 216 217 218 219 220 221 222 223 224 225 226 227 228 229 230 231 232 233 234 235 236 237 238 239 240 241 242 243 244 245 246 247 248 249 250 251 252 253 254 255 256 257 258 259 260 261 262 263 264 265 266 267 268 269 270 271 272 273 274 275 276 277 278 279 280 281 282 283 284 285 286 287 288 289 290 291 292 293 294 295 296 297 298 299 300 301 302 303 304 305 306 307 308 309 310 311 312 313 314 315 316 317 318 319 320 321 322 323 324 325 326 327 328 329 330 331 332 333 334 335 336 337 338 339 340 341 342 343 ii 344 iv Guide Cover Contents Chapter One Dedication To anyone who has dared. Chapter One Two years and one day. Two years and one day more than she would have wanted to mourn her husband, but Society insisted the widow of a duke must spend that long in sad contemplation of her loss. Every so often, Alexandra wanted to ask Society just how one was supposed to contemplate sadly. She imagined it would involve many hours of sitting in a mountain of black, staring at the seat he used to sit in. Perhaps choking on a few silent sobs when Cook served his favorite dish of boiled ham and potatoes. She hadn’t done any of that. And she loathed boiled ham and potatoes. Instead, Alexandra had ordered a few black gowns and taken to doing all the things her husband had frowned on her doing while he was alive. Things like tending the garden, reading novels, taking afternoon naps, and having a second biscuit at tea. Talking to their daughter Harriet about nothing, rather than instructing her in proper deportment. Things that a duchess shouldn’t deign to do—according to her late husband—regardless of how the duchess in question felt. All while waiting until the day she didn’t have to wear black and pretend things she didn’t feel. Vowing not to waste a minute once she was safely past the time she might scandalize society with her flagrant weed-pulling. Which was why, two years and one day after her husband had died, she was standing on a small platform in the middle of a fitting room in a London dress shop, about to destroy her mourning clothing. Preparing to order an entire new wardrobe so she could chaperone her daughter’s delayed debut into Society. “Hand me the scissors, please?” Alexandra said, turning her head to address one of the two seamstresses in the fitting room. “You’re actually going to—” her stepdaughter Edith said in an admiring tone. A tone Alexandra appreciated, since Edith was by far the most adventurous person Alexandra had ever met—so adventurous, in fact, that Edith’s father, Alexandra’s husband, had always gotten a peculiar expression on his face when her name was mentioned. Which was probably why Edith spent most of her time traveling, far away from her father’s judgment. “I am,” Alexandra said firmly. They were in Madame Lucille’s Fine Millinery, a shop just off of Bond Street that Alexandra had learned about from her late husband. Before he died, of course. The duke had been adamantly opposed to creating laws that would improve working conditions for seamstresses, saying they would embolden female workers. He had disdainfully cited the establishment because Madame Lucille offered close to a living wage for ten hours of work a day, not far less for far more hours. Madame Lucille herself had at first welcomed Alexandra and her stepdaughter, Edith, with trepidation, as though anticipating the dowager duchess had arrived to continue the work her husband had begun. That changed to glee as Alexandra explained what she wanted, accompanied by Edith’s whoops of encouragement. The shop was small but immaculately clean, and Madame Lucille had given the two ladies a tour. Alexandra was relieved to see cheery seamstresses in the back work areas, all talking among themselves as they plied their needles. Madame Lucille had then shown them into the small fitting room, far smaller than in the shops that the duke had insisted Alexandra patronize, then excused herself to locate the bolts of fabric she wanted to