How To Get Away With Scandal – Caroline Linden

“And then, ices and sweets.” They strolled along, studying the wares in windows they passed until they reached a shop in St James’s Street. Richard swept open the door, and they went into the shop, where Evangeline looked around with interest. She’d never been in a gentlemen’s tailoring shop. It was less formal than a modiste’s shop, but still similar. Bolts of fabric lined one cabinet, and cutting patterns hung at the rear.

Two tailor’s apprentices were hard at work at a table near the window. A man with long, wavy dark hair and olive skin came forward, arms open in welcome. “Signor Campion! Buongiorno.” He clasped his hands and gave a little bow. “Good day to you, sir.” He turned toward Evangeline. “Lady Courtenay, may I present Mr. Federico Salvatore.” Evangeline dipped her head with a smile. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Salvatore.” “An unspeakable delight, madam,” he returned, beaming.

He turned back to Richard. “How may I help you today, sir?” “Some new waistcoats . . .” The men moved toward the long table at the back, where Mr. Salvatore began taking down bolts of cloth and laying them out for Richard’s inspection. A plump woman about Evangeline’s own age bustled through the drapes shielding the back room. “Won’t you sit down, m’lady?” she asked in a broad Essex accent.

She indicated a pair of armchairs tucked away in the window beside the door. “Would you care for a cup of tea?” “Thank you, that would be lovely.” The woman nodded. “Shall I take your pelisse? A bit warm in here, with all these windows and the sun today.” Evangeline unbuttoned her pelisse and the woman hung it up, then disappeared into the back again, emerging several minutes later with a small tray holding a cup of steaming tea.

She set it down in front of Evangeline. “Thank you, Mrs . . . ?” “Oh! Mrs. Hutchins, madam, Henrietta Hutchins. I run the shop for Mr. Salvatore.” Evangeline’s surprise must have shown on her face, for the woman pulled a good-natured grimace. “Right brilliant he is, with cloth and scissors, not so much with the bookkeeping. I help him.” “Very good of you,” said Evangeline in surprise. The woman waved a hand. “Me husband were a tailor himself, and I learned how a shop ought to run. When Sal—Mr.

he first time Evangeline was widowed, it was a relief. She hadn’t wanted to marry Viscount Cunningham; she hadn’t even known him. He had been her father’s choice—and very nearly her father’s age—in a vain attempt to rein in Evangeline’s “wild and ungovernable” nature, as Sir Robert Bennet had disapprovingly termed it. Her transgressions had ranged from sneaking a ride on her horse in her brother’s old breeches to allowing a barrister’s son to kiss her, rather passionately. Her mother had wept from the shame of it.

Evangeline had also cried, and promised to reform, but to no avail. She’d been barely seventeen years old, and had met Cunningham exactly twice, when her father marched her down the aisle of the church to become his viscountess. The best thing that could be said of their marriage was that it was blessedly short. They were horribly mismatched. Evangeline, young and outgoing, liked dancing, masquerade balls, and theater, the more outrageous the better. Cunningham preferred fishing at his Scottish estate, drowsing by the fire over a good book, and maligning the French with his cronies at his club.

Within a year, neither wanted anything to do with the other. One evening, four years after they wed, Cunningham went to bed early after dinner, complaining of indigestion. He never woke. A fatal attack of bilious dyspepsia, the doctor informed her the next morning. Evangeline hadn’t been there. Always cross when unwell, Cunningham had told her to leave him be, and she had been at a masquerade, drinking champagne with other gentlemen and a woman she suspected was a courtesan. It had been marvelous. “And now you’ll have to wear black,” said her friend Fanny, Lady Woodville.

Fanny was a dozen years older, and a widow with a substantial fortune. She had no children and her late husband’s title had gone to a distant cousin, who had no interest in her; she was as free and independent as a woman could be. She was dashing and opinionated and Evangeline admired her greatly. “Of course I will.” She plucked listlessly at the black crepe they were attaching to bonnets.

This is a short excerpt from the opening of “” by Unknown, quoted for review and introduction purposes. All rights belong to the copyright holders.

Book Information

• Unique ID: 71e1bfa0bb8aa619
• File Extension: .pdf
• File Size: 2,952,412 bytes (2.816 MB)
• Title: –
• Author: Unknown
• Pages: 262
• Language: English (en)

Reading & Word Statistics

• Estimated Reading Time: 445.06 minutes
• Total Words: 89,011
• Total Characters: 492,560
• Average Words per Page: 339.74
• Average Characters per Page: 1880.0

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