A Scandalous Matter, page 1
A Scandalous Matter
Margaret Locke
Contents
A Scandalous Matter
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Epilogue
A Man of Character
A Matter of Time
The Demon Duke
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Get A Locke On Love
Thank You for Reading
For my sister, Donna, in celebration of her own Second Act.
Chapter 1
1813
Amara Mattersley sat within the circle of ancient stones, wondering for the hundredth time what she was doing. She’d been there for hours, barely moving, her heart warring with her head.
It was madness, this plan she’d hatched with Eliza, the idea that by coming to this sacred space and wishing to find her soul mate, it would happen. Her soul mate in the twenty-first century, that is.
She held a hand to her forehead, squeezing her eyes shut. It couldn’t work. It wouldn’t work. Did she want it to work?
She did.
At least the part about traveling to the future, to the opportunities Eliza promised. There wasn’t anything for her here anymore.
Oh, that wasn’t wholly the truth—she had her family. Her brother, Deveric, Duke of Claremont, and his wife, Eliza.
Their children, Frederick and Rose. Her sisters, Cecilia, Grace, Emmeline, and Rebecca. Her scamp of a brother, Chance. Her mother. She loved them, and they her. But familial love wasn’t enough to overcome the hurts of her past, the bleak prospects for her future.
“That’s what happens when you throw yourself away on a scurrilous bastard,” she whispered to herself, Drake Evers’ face floating before her. It’d faded in time, now a vague shadow of the man she’d once loved, the man who’d seduced her all those summers ago ... before confessing he’d married.
Pain lanced her heart. How could it hurt, so many years later? Shouldn’t she have recovered by now? Maybe she could, if people would let her forget. But forgetting wasn’t possible in this society in which everyone judged everyone else. Being a duke’s sister carried with it numerous advantages, but not when it came to avoiding notoriety in a scandal.
Of course being a duke’s sister is what saved her from a forced marriage. Amara refused to enter an arrangement devoid of affection. Her passions burned too strongly for that. Luckily, her family, even her disapproving mother, had rallied around her, and their support, and certainly their social rank, kept her within polite society.
“I am too much, Eliza,” she’d insisted when she’d revealed her longing to leave. “Too headstrong, too driven by the desires that landed me in trouble to begin with. Six years I’ve tried to tame my emotions in order to be the perfect daughter, the perfect sister, content with the same endless circuit of balls and house parties and morning calls, the same tedious afternoons of strolling in the gardens, or playing the pianoforte, or reading. It hasn’t worked.”
Not that Amara minded reading. Like her sister, Grace, she’d read nearly every book in Clarehaven’s expansive library, especially any tomes related to science, particularly the stars.
She tilted her head to the heavens now, keeping her eyes closed as the sun beat down on her. The rock beneath her warmed, her fingers soaking up its energy as she grasped at its edges, thinking of Eliza.
Eliza, her brother’s new wife.
Eliza, the woman from the future.
“I want more. A life of my own, like you had,” Amara’d confessed to her sister-in-law after learning Eliza’s secret, a secret she never would have believed had her brother not vouched for his wife, and had she not seen Eliza’s telephone for herself. Cell phone. She calls it a cell phone.
Amara cradled the small black device in her hands. Though it was long since depleted of whatever powered it, she hadn’t forgotten the pictures—photographs—Eliza’d shown her on it. Pictures of fantastical things. And the stories Eliza had told—not only of the objects depicted, but also of the options available to women in this twenty-first century. A full education. True independence. Neither of which Amara could acquire in 1813.
“Take it with you,” Eliza had said, her eyes suspiciously bright as she’d handed Amara the phone that morning. “To show Cat my life here.”
Cat was Catherine Schreiber, Eliza’s friend from Virginia, owner of a magical manuscript enabling her to create love interests, and the woman Amara needed to find once she arrived.
But first, she must find the man.
“Cat can call you forward, I’m sure of it,” Eliza had insisted. “But for love. That’s how her powers work. She can bring people across centuries, as evidenced by your brother and me, but the love element is key. If you want to travel to the twenty-first century, you can only do so by wishing to be with your true love. And, Amara, you deserve that love. You are wonderful—intelligent, witty, caring. You’ve been the dearest friend to me. But I agree you’ve gotten the short end of the stick here. You deserve everything you want. You deserve to know a love like I have with Dev.”
Amara had rolled her eyes in an attempt to disguise the sheen of moisture Eliza’s kind words brought forth. “I thought I had that once, and everyone knows how it turned out. I want to flee this society precisely because of my troubles with men. Why should I wish to leap into a man’s arms, even one you think could be my great love?”
That dilemma was why she’d sat here half the day, torn. She desperately wanted to escape, but to only be able to do so if she gave herself to another man? Oh, the irony.
She’d said her goodbyes to Dev and Eliza that morning. They were the only ones privy to Eliza’s time-traveling secret, and the only ones who knew of Amara’s intended destination. Thanks to the letter she’d left, the rest of the family would think she’d run off with the Royal Navy officer she’d met on their recent journey to Bath.
An unladylike snort escaped her. She had met an officer. A captain. Emmeline even commented on the man’s attentions, but in truth Amara had wanted nothing to do with him. He’d had that oily aura to him, that essence of rogue she’d become so adept at discerning. He was a convenient scapegoat now, however.
It saddened her to think her family members were unlikely to challenge her bizarre tale. Would her mother be relieved to have her scandalous oldest daughter out of her hair? Amara’s impetuous nature had got her into trouble more than once, though never so much as with Drake.
She dipped her head in shame. If only desire didn’t plague her. If only she could leave it behind. Physical desire, at least. Her intellectual passions burned with equal fervor. Eliza’s talk of women at university, women as doctors, scientists, even world leaders, had roused her mind from its stupor. The opportunities available to women in the twenty-first century were a far cry from Amara’s current options. Here, she could marry. Manage a household. Bear children. Perhaps aid charitable organizations, or become a patroness of the arts or sciences. But she wasn’t to undertake scholarly activities herself. Not as a woman. Not as a Mattersley daughter.
“In my mother’s opinion, in the ton’s opinion, I am no more than an aging spinster in a society where a woman’s marital status determines everything,” she’d told her sister-in-law a few weeks ago.
“Not in my opinion, for what it’s worth,” Eliza had said, clasping her hands over Amara’s. “But give the future a chance. Give yourself a chance. Go. Explore. Open your heart. You never know what might happen.”
This morning, as she’d said her final farewells, Eliza had gripped her in the fiercest embrace. “While I hope you give love a chance, remember, you still have a choice. Cat’s stories promise that; she wouldn’t force anyone into something. You don’t have to marry anyone, even the man from your story, if you don’t wish to.” Her eyes had taken on a teasing glint. “If nothing else, well, you can have the kind of fun you can’t have here.”
“Fun?”
“Yeah. Fun. You know, making out with someone?”
“Making out?”
“Kissing!” Eliza had exclaimed with a bubbly laugh. “You must kiss whomever Cat writes you with to make the magic stick. And you can indulge in everything else, if you wish. If he’s cute enough.”
Amara’s cheeks had caught on fire at Eliza’s suggestion, yet the idea of a guilt-free liaison was one of the things that’d brought her here today, despite her doubts. She wanted no permanent con
Opening her eyes, she stared at the ruined stones, stones weathered away by thousands of years, stones watching her, measuring her. This was silly. Had Eliza’s plea on Amara’s behalf even reached Cat, two hundred years in the future? If it had, could Cat truly make this work? Eliza had had a specific person on whom to focus: Deveric. Amara didn’t have that advantage, had no way of knowing on whom she was supposed to concentrate.
Was it not likely, therefore, that nothing would happen, even if she did follow Eliza’s instructions? What did she have to lose, then?
“You have to put your whole heart into it, though, or I don’t think it’ll work,” Eliza had cautioned.
That wasn’t hard to do when Amara’s mind said the success of this scheme was an impossibility. Why not give the whole of her heart in the wishing? In all probability, she’d open her eyes and be sitting right here on this absurdly warm stone, wishing and praying life was different, fuller, better, just as she’d been doing for the last six years.
But what if it did work? She’d acquire freedoms she could only imagine, freedoms she’d never had. Anticipation and excitement filled her, and she pushed out the doubt. She could do this, could give her whole heart to the idea of something better, wherever it lay.
She clutched the phone to her chest. “I have nothing to lose.” And potentially everything to gain.
Closing her eyes one final time, she repeated, over and over, “I wish to be with my one true love; I wish to be with my one true love; I wish to be with my one true love.”
Chapter 2
Valentine’s Day, 2016
Matthew Goodson stretched his legs under the table, arching his back to work out the kinks. “Do you need a break?” Ben Cooper, his faculty mentor, set his coffee mug down, his eyebrows rising in casual concern.
“No, I’m good.” Matt’s back hurt, but that was nothing new. Hours sitting in front of his screen meant his long, lean, 6’3” frame found few comfortable positions. It didn’t deter him; whatever it took, whatever was expected, that’s what he would do. Including meeting every Sunday evening with Ben here in the Treasure Trove, the bookstore Ben’s wife Cat owned.
Matt liked it here. The bookstore had quite the homey feel, especially with a fire crackling in the fireplace. But sometimes the distractions made it hard for him to concentrate, and he wished they could meet elsewhere—maybe the department, or, hell, even his own apartment. Somewhere a wild toddler would be less likely to interrupt.
“Dada! Dada!” shrieked a small voice, as a bundle of energy with a mop of brown curls sped past Matt and leapt at Ben. Speak of the devil.
“Washington!” Ben said, his face lighting up as he caught his son.
Matt watched as father and son reconnected after a few hours’ absence. It was disconcerting to see respected professor Benjamin Cooper make googly eyes at a child, contorting his face in ludicrous ways to get a laugh out of the boy.
It’s not that Matt didn’t like children, per se. They were just so ... loud. And messy. And demanding. Good for short amounts of time, perhaps, such as when he saw his nephews, but he was always happy to leave and return to his orderly, organized, quiet life.
“Hi, Matt,” Cat said, as she walked into the room a moment later, a large plastic bag in her hand.
“Hello, Cat.”
Opening the bag, she pulled out a box of Chinese take-out and set it on the table near Ben before reaching in for a second container. “I brought your favorite. Cashew chicken.”
He smiled broadly as he accepted the container from Mrs. Cooper. He could see why Ben had fallen for her. She was a kind, considerate woman. Matt envied their easy familiarity with each other, the love that shone through their every interaction.
Not that he had time for a relationship, much less marriage. Even if he’d been interested. Which he most definitely was not. Not after Wendy. Plus, he was six months out from applying for a tenured professorship, which would grant him a permanent position—and security—at the University. That was his sole focus, as it had been since high school.
“You sure you don’t mind me disrupting your Valentine’s Day?” He and Ben met every Sunday like clockwork, but he’d been surprised and secretly pleased when Ben said they could still meet tonight. Guilt tickled his scalp, however, at the loving look Ben threw his wife.
“No, no, it’s fine,” Cat said, waving him off with a hand. “Ben and I went out last night.”
“Good.”
Matt had just opened the box of rice when a large thud disrupted the room. “What the?” He leapt out of his seat.
Ben stood, as well, exchanging a look with Cat. “I’ll go investigate,” she said.
Ben merely nodded.
Were they insane? Why would Ben want his wife looking into this, instead of him? What if someone had broken in?
“No, wait, I’ll go,” Matt said.
“Bu—”
He held up a hand to quiet her as he strode toward the left side of the room, the side from which the noise had come. As he neared the Romance section, he could swear he heard scuffling, then a low moan. A low, female-sounding moan.
Rounding the corner, he stopped short at the sight of a young woman sitting on the floor, cradling her head. She wore a long white dress, a maxi dress, his sister Taylor would call it, with some sort of short red jacket over it, and she had a bonnet—a bonnet, of all things—on her head.
He frowned. What was going on? Some sort of cosplay gone bad? His brow furrowed as he studied the woman. A second moan knocked him out of his reverie, and he rushed to her side.
“Are you okay?” He’d figure out why and how she’d gotten here later; for now, he needed to ensure she was all right. His EMT training never fully left him, though he hadn’t gone on runs in years. He crouched down next to her and reached for her hand to pull it away from her head. At his touch, the woman yelped and yanked her hand back. She looked up, affording him his first full view of her face.
My God, she’s stunning. A pair of hazel-green eyes peered out of a face that was both delicate and strong at the same time. Her curvaceous lips flattened into a line as her eyes widened. But there was no doubt about it, this was one gorgeous woman.
She shook her head, then glanced wildly about the room, her eyes darting to and fro before settling on him again. The panic in them made him want to reach for her, but at that moment, Cat approached from behind him.
“What’s going—” She broke off as Matt stood and moved to the side so she could see the newcomer. Cat’s hand flew to her mouth before she dropped it and pasted an unnatural-looking smile on her face. “Amara?” she said, taking a step closer to the woman.
The bonnet wielder’s eyes flew open even wider, a feat he wouldn’t have thought possible. She gave a nod. “Miss Schreiber?”
Huh. A British accent. He hadn’t expected that. Maybe it was part of the role.
Cat nodded enthusiastically, crouching down by the woman. “Yes! It’s Mrs. Cooper now, but please call me Cat. I’m so glad you’re here. I know you must be—” She broke off and glanced up at Matt. “I know you must be overwhelmed, Cousin Amara. We have much to talk about. But first,” she gestured toward him, “you must meet Matthew Goodson. This is he.”
Something in the way Cat spoke caught Matt’s attention. Why had she emphasized his name in such a weird way?
Why wasn’t she wigging out that this woman, whom Matt would swear was not here before, was sitting on the floor in the middle of the bookstore? The store had been closed for more than an hour. Had this Amara person been in the room the whole time, and he hadn’t noticed?
