Snowflakes and Scandals

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

“I wager I will have Mrs. Franks warming my bed before the house party is through,” Mr. Humphrey Chase proclaimed loudly to a circle of their closest friends. “Who will challenge me?”

Frederick glanced across the room at the chattering women and considered the challenge Chase had set himself.

Widows, freshly out of mourning, were always highly sought after as bed partners, and Chase was notoriously boastful about his prowess with such women.

Boastful…but not always successful.

They were all standing about in Humphrey Chase’s drawing room at his Shropshire estate after dinner, and the object of his speculation was hard to miss in a gown of crimson silk. Mrs. Franks was clearly aware that she had stirred every man’s interest, too, judging by the way she kept sneaking glances at them all and fiddling with the neckline of her gown.

Frederick considered the widow Franks for a long moment, and then felt the stares of a dozen men turn on him.

He fought to control his smirk. When it came to a choice between Humphrey Chase and himself, Frederick usually ended up on top, so to speak.

Frederick’s reputation with the ladies was based on fact, not wishful thinking. Yet the others were waiting to see if Frederick would rise to the challenge thrown out by their host or not.

He buried his nose in his whiskey glass for a moment. Mrs. Julia Franks was lovely, with her pale hair intricately curled around her face, a slender figure under a rather daring gown, and she had already cast a lascivious glance in his direction earlier that night. The vicar’s widow had only recently rejoined society after mourning her husband for two long years. She would not be a difficult conquest.

Humphrey Chase’s winter house party was only two weeks’ duration but was sure to be memorable, for it was his first. Their host had vowed he was committed to living a scandalous life, starting now.

It would not take long to earn an invitation to the widow Franks’ bed for either of them. She was a sure thing, but he was loath to rush any seduction just because of a wager.

Mrs. Franks was standing beside his host’s rather simply dressed sister, Miss Minerva Chase, and the contrast between the widow’s and spinster’s attire was striking. There was nothing wrong with how Miss Chase was dressed, of course. But one gown screamed seduce me, while the other—while somewhat pretty—said look, but don’t you dare touch.

And of course, being the host’s sister, she was entirely off-limits for the sorts of games Frederick and friends liked to play with the women of their acquaintance.

The widow, on the other hand, would need rescue to enliven her night soon.

“I wager ten pounds. I’ll have the woman bedded within a week.”

Their friends chortled at his counter challenge. Seven nights was definitely long enough to woo and win an eager widow’s welcome. She’d hardly be much of a challenge, the way she was staring across the room at them yet again.

Yes, surely, she had to be very lonely.

Frederick would be charming, flirtatious, and a gentle shoulder for her to cry on if one was still needed, but one way or another, he’d have a lady in his bed well within the next week.

The greater challenge would have been a wager on winning the favor of the plain spinster standing at her side. Minnie Chase, however, was not the sort of woman a man like him dared pursue.

He smiled and put the spinster out of his mind. “What say you, Chase?”

“Twenty,” Humphrey ground out. “I’ll have her first, and this week, too.”

“Done. Twenty it is,” Frederick agreed, thrusting out his hand to seal the bargain quickly, lest Chase add further conditions to their wager. There was only so far Frederick would go to win a lady’s favor.

They shook hands firmly and went their separate ways immediately. Frederick to the hearth, where he pondered how best to approach the widow, or if he would need to. She was already watching him, rather than Humphrey’s taller figure.

“He’ll give you a run for the money this time,” Thomas Moore warned as he joined Frederick by the hearth. “He’s always fancied the woman.”

“She is worthy of attention,” Frederick acknowledged, taking up position near the pianoforte. The woman was beautiful and a talented musician. Someone would ask her to play soon, and he would be there to turn her pages.

“He missed his chance during her first season, when she married that dreary vicar,” Moore whispered. “I’d never seen him so crestfallen.”

He turned to look at Moore in surprise. “Chase has honorable intentions toward her?”

“Not that he’s said in so many words. You know how he is. Takes his time about everything. Women, wagers, even marrying his sister off is still unfinished business. Organizing this party alone took him two years.”

“Yes, he is a slug about many things. That’s half the reason I challenged him to win the widow in a week.” He turned his gaze upon Humphrey Chase. They were long-time friends and usually competed harmlessly over everything. But if the man’s heart was already involved, it would be a vastly different sort of competition this time.

He wished he’d known about the length of Chase’s interest in the woman before he’d agreed to the wager.

Although, when he considered the matter further, a flirtation by Frederick, an intentionally unconsummated pursuit, might be just the thing to spur Chase to win the widow this time round.

Whether that led to matrimony or not was out of Frederick’s control.

However, he could certainly help prod him along and speed up a courtship. He might even enjoy this more than seducing a sure thing.

Since Humphrey Chase had made no move toward the woman yet and was, in fact, standing by the punch bowl with his back to the room. Frederick boldly strode toward the women’s circle and effortlessly insinuated himself between the widow and Miss Minerva Chase. “Ladies, may I say how lovely you all look tonight? We are blessed, us poor men, to be surrounded by such elegance.”

The ladies blushed and fanned themselves furiously, exclaiming that he was too kind. He increased his compliments to include their hair, gowns and wit. But when his gaze fell upon Minerva Chase, the only spinster in the room, he balked at flattering her.

One did not flirt with a best friend’s sister. Even harmlessly.

Brothers tended to be fussy about that sort of thing. Duels and forced marriages were often the result. Though there was much he could say in her favor—elegance, intelligence, and patience in putting up with her brother’s dithering about—he kept those thoughts strictly to himself.

Valuing his life and friendship, he said she looked very well, too, and then turned his attention to the widow on his other side. “My sincere condolences on your recent loss, Mrs. Franks. I hear your husband was a fine man.”

“Thank you, sir,” she murmured. “I do miss my beloved Sidney so.”

“I’m sure you do. I’m sure you always will,” he promised solicitously.

Skirts brushed his calf, and he looked around quickly. Minerva Chase had fled the group, headed directly for the refreshment table.

He winced.

There really was nothing wrong with Minnie Chase. She was a sensible woman of an age similar to his. She never complained, always smiled.

In time, she would forget his lack of praise. Minnie never seemed to hold a grudge. She had readily forgiven five potential beaus who had married other women. In fact, she remained on good terms with them, and their eventual wives. She was the most amiable female of his entire acquaintance.

Yet as he watched her swallow down a glass of punch and accept a second helping, he felt bad about what he hadn’t said in praise of her. She went on to join another group at some distance from where he stood, but they were standing about in pairs and seemed not to notice her arrival.

When she moved on to yet another group, he felt guilt stab him in the gut.

He could have declared her dark hair shone like molasses in the candlelight, and that her figure, while disguised by too much thick muslin, was something men might like to hold close. If they were not friends of her brothers. Yet, what was the point when nothing could come of such talk?

The widow Franks bumped into him, and he looked down to see her standing much closer than she had been before. “Do you always bestow such glowing compliments on ladies, sir?”

“Not always, but often,” he confessed, amused by her obvious attempt to gain more flattery. “Perhaps we might exchange compliments over a glass of punch?”

Her lashes fluttered, and her smile was triumphant. “I should like that. The refreshment, too.”

“Then follow me,” he murmured, offering his arm.

He strolled with Mrs. Franks toward the refreshment table and procured a glass of punch for her with a gentlemanly flourish, which made her laugh. He stood back and watched her take a first sip as if she was the most fascinating woman he’d ever met.

Mrs. Franks licked her lips slowly as she looked up at him under pale lashes. “Oh, this is divine. I wonder what’s in it.”

“Peach nectar, spice, and freshly pressed apple juice,” Minnie Chase said, squeezing into the gap between them to reach the punch bowl. She helped herself to another cup. “It’s a perfectly ordinary concoction you can make yourself, Mrs. Franks.”

Frederick glanced at Minerva in alarm, fearing trouble from that quarter. Yet she was grinning from ear to ear as she sipped her punch, and he exhaled in relief because, for a moment, he thought he was dealing with a jealous female.

But that could never be Minerva Chase. She was never out of sorts or cross or jealous, and she had hardly paid him any special attention or encouragement over the years of their acquaintances.

“I’ll beg the recipe from you now before I forget,” Mrs. Franks whispered to her, but her eyes devoured Frederick.

“I’ll write it out for you before you leave,” Minerva answered, taking another sip, clearly unaware that she’d interrupted a seduction. “Oh, this really is our best batch yet.”

She finished her glass and this time, helped herself to another, splashing more outside the cup than she served into it. She giggled and glanced up at him, seemingly surprised to see him still standing there. “Oh, I’m so sorry. Did you want some, too?”

“I don’t ever drink punch,” he warned her.

“There’s always a first time. But there’s a bottle of claret in the library, hidden behind the door just for you, Mr. Stonebeck. Well, do excuse me,” she said. “I must mingle.”

She giggled again as she went on her way to join another group.

He stared after her a moment, wondering what had put Minerva in such a jolly mood tonight. This was not how she usually behaved in London. Clearly, she wasn’t holding a grudge for his lack of compliments, either.

Minerva was usually as quiet as a mouse, preferring to keep to herself when her brother’s friends came around his town house. Arranging dinners and such and ensuring no one was forgotten. But it was a long-awaited house party, and she might as well enjoy herself for once, especially after all the effort she must have gone to.

Frederick escorted the clinging widow to the pianoforte when she finished her glass of punch, while he offered even more praise. His chances of sharing the widow’s bed seemed almost a certainty. Perhaps as soon as tonight, too.

At the pianoforte, he dutifully turned the pages as others joined them around the widow, but out of the corner of his eye, he saw Humphrey Chase watching them from a distance. He seemed rather stupefied to have lost the race already.

Come on, Humphrey, move your heavy feet and do something to claim your lady before I can. The night is far from over.

But then Frederick heard a commotion—and saw Minerva doubled over completely, laughing uncontrollably. She seemed unable to stop for some reason.

At her side was a grinning Thomas Moore, watching her every move.

Frederick frowned at the scene playing out. Moore wasn’t usually that funny, nor had he ever been interested in her. But he was openly admiring the deliciously rounded curve of a bottom that the woman had innocently thrust toward the room at large.

Minerva struggled upright, pulling herself up using Moore’s sleeve.

When she fell against his side, Frederick groaned.

Behavior like that could see the woman married to the man or ruined. Moore would not make Minerva Chase happy—in bed or out of it. He was too fond of the ladies to ever give up the chase for just one.

Moore lured Minerva away toward the refreshment table and picked up the punch ladle.

That would make it Minnie’s third…no, her fifth glass of punch tonight.

His eyes widened as he realized that something must have been done to the punch to make her behave that way.

Frederick hurried across the room to intercept the laughing pair, snatching the ladle out of Moore’s hand immediately before he could ply her with more. “I’ll take that.”

“Oh, Mr. Stonebeck! Are you going to take my advice at last and give it a try?”

“I want a taste first,” Moore protested, leering at Minerva’s bosom.

Frederick was not amused by Moore’s leer or Minerva’s intoxication. Or by the fact that, despite taking the ladle, Moore had the nerve to dunk two glasses straight into the punch bowl and serve one to the waiting woman.

In fact, the glass ended up so overflowing that Minnie slurped up the excess with unladylike enthusiasm. She looked at Frederick, clearly unwell, and fluttered her lashes, too. “Well? Are you going to wet your lips?”

To anyone else, in any other situation, that might be misconstrued as an invitation to be alone with her and Moore. However, Minerva Chase was an innocent, and she had no idea the way men heard things or even likely how they behaved.

There would be no Minerva and Moore alone anywhere, if Frederick had his say. The lady needed rescuing before it was too late. Minnie had no idea the punch had been spiked—but Moore did, judging by his smirk at the spinster. Either he had done it himself, or he knew who had.

Frederick discreetly moved toward Moore, putting himself closer to his friend to whisper, “You and I need to have a word in private later.”

“Oh look, someone else might get something in private sooner ,” Moore whispered back, nodding to the room behind them. “Your luck has turned.”

Frederick glanced over his shoulder to find Humphrey Chase had taken his place beside the widow at the pianoforte. Frederick wasn’t terribly unhappy about that, of course. He could easily afford the loss of twenty pounds, and since Chase was occupied, Frederick had more pressing concerns—like getting Minerva out of the room.

It was imperative to remove Minnie from the vicinity of the punch bowl and the room at large before she embarrassed herself, and explain what had happened to her. Since Humphrey Chase was finally engaged in flirting with the widow, it fell to a friend to look out for the only innocent lady in the room.

He sent Moore away with a flick of his head, and then subtly drew Minerva toward the nearest doorway. “I believe you’re needed elsewhere.”

“Am I?”

“Oh, yes indeed.” He winked at her. “The housekeeper needs to speak with you.”

He placed his hand at the small of her back and propelled her out the doorway.