Scandalous Lady

Prologue

"Lady Francesca aren't you sick of the uncalled attention you got from the ton?"

"Certainly not Lord Syford. I am the duke's daughter and no scandal can ever take that from me, not even my stepmother. Perks of having a royal bone rank in the my corset, they say."

"Then, I might as well cause one of the upcoming scandals of yours," he responded before shutting her cherry ripe parted lips with his. Both hot, burning in passion.

They were in the prince regent's royal garden. In any minute, one could have barge in and witness the infamous lady's scandal. But, Francesca couldn't think less, than the man ravishing her, and the hidden agenda she got under her sleeves.

***

Few months before...

The butlers were banging heads with the headstrong, obstreperous media trying to break through the duke's house early in the morning. The head matron immediately ran towards the master's bedroom to notify the sleeping duke and his second wife about the unexpected ruckus outside.

Upon hearing the thrice knocks on the door, Duchess Chandler pulled the string on her side, ringing the small metal bell connected outside.

Sussana got her cue to gingerly turn the doorknob and reveal herself to the masters. Catching her breath, she held on her rather shabby skirt for support. The years must have weaken her knees and youthful vigor. Gone are the old days of strength and agility.

"I am afraid to start your day my lord, my lady, in such an atrocious way but, there was a throng of reporters gathered in the main gate," the housekeeper in her forty's struggled to report everything in the best accuracy she could muster.

Surprise was not already part of the duke's reaction. Plainly, dismay and irritation. His eyebrows remained calm, contradicting to the burning temperament inside him, but he hid it excellently. London society taught him well on masking up emotions above anything else.

"What could have been the matter this time?" the impatient duchess asked. Annoyance was evident on her tone.

"It was about Lady Francesca-" Poor Sussana was cut short with the perverse assault of the duke's short-tempered duchess.

"Heavens Sussana! I already know the who about of the trouble outside. What I'm asking you is the what about of the matter? Such a trifling difference between elites and commoners." The duke's new wife was infamous for her blunt and belittling attitude towards her inferiors.

"Careful Carlotta, you must not to look down on my people." Duke Landon Chandler was noble enough to remind her unstoppable tongue. As a matter of fact, he lived most his days reminding her but to no avail. Perhaps, people's attitude doesn't change so easily. "Tell me about it," he said eyeing the housekeeper. Duke Landon had been feeling ill lately, and news like this doesn't help much. Instead, it worsen it.

Sussana regained her confidence from the duke's compassionate words and continued. "Lady Francesca just got involve in the disdaining affront towards a retiring countess widow in Colstalbay, rumored for giving highly offensive remarks on her two-decades old wedding gown she flaunted in the recent social gathering at a patroness's house.

"Now the media wants to get on her side and discern more to be able to draft the best scoop they could get." The housekeeper was surprisingly good at grasping event, the duke silently thought.

"You see Carlotta, Sussana's capacity was way better than the stupid commoner you had in mind." The duchess just grimaced in surrender, yet total disagreement was to be traced on the undertone of her battling lashes.

Turning once more to the servant, the duke ordered. "Go on and bring that insolent young lady in the sitting room. She'll be getting lot lectures for today."

Expressing her respect through a polite slight bow, Sussana proceeded to the stonewalled corridor leading to the exquisitely designed lady's room. Throwing a three times knocks, she gently inserted the key in the hole and opens the wooden door, moving aside the cascading brocade hangs at the topmost door frame.

The young lady was quite a heavy sleeper that the housekeeper had to secure herself her own key in order to wake her up, in case she oversleep again, which she did this time, yet again.

Laying there was a slim, hourglass-shaped lady clad in a thin chemise nightgown with her auburn hair unevenly spread all over the soft Georgian queen-sized bed. Her pale complexion blends perfectly fit with the cotton white color of her pillows, blankets, and bedsheets.

With her eyes close, the long naturally curly lashes remained very noticeable. Her lips was nowhere far from a ripe cherry in harvest seasons, nor was the shade of her high cheekbones in the unique cherry blossoms of East Asia. The proud bridge of her nose also didn't fail to replicate the royal bloodline of her birth. High, pointed, and proud.

"My lady, it's time for you to rise and shine." Sussana tried to go easy at first, but no signs of Francesca awaking, leaving her no choice but to resort on the last way. She rings the bell beside the sleeping Greek goddess in a dirt body.

"Argh! Stop the bell boo-boo now! The lady is sleeping!" Francesca hissed in so much irritation, forgetting any sense of ladyship she learned. If she could choose one thing in the world to never get disturb with, she would absolutely choose this.

Determined with her actions, Sussana, instead of stopping, continued shaking the handheld metal bell placed right next the lady's bedside. "Pardon me my lady, but your father need you in the sitting room now," she explained.

Withstanding the annoying clashing metal sounds no more, Francesca lazily opened her eyes, stretched her arms sideways, and adjusted her eyes to the blinding lights a bit. Throwing a disappointed look, she stomped on her feet and stood up. Perhaps, the news of my unladylike remarks on the old rags, gown rather, of that widow from yesterday was all over the headlines now, she thought.

By then, her maid, Eloisa, appeared on the doorstep to take charge of her mistress. "My apology for being informed late. You may leave Lady Francesca on my care now," the young lady's maid said apologizing. She had run an errand this morning and got delayed on her way back home due to the throng of people outside. No one could possibly beat London on gossips intrigue since the stones of St. James's Palace was piled up from mud into a castle.

"No problem Eloisa. Just make sure to groom her properly and usher her to the sitting room. His lordship demands of her presence." Sussana instructed her before leaving. She got something else to do as the housekeeper. And it was really Eloisa, who was in charge for the young lady's needs.

***

After what seems to be eternity, Lady Francesca was done with her layered gowns and corsets. Her hair was now also pulled up in a neat bun, at least neat enough to reduce her father's temperament on her.

Breathing heavily, she relaxed herself and starts walking towards the sitting room. The same exact room where she first lost her confidence on the duke, who give a lucrative and exquisite roof over her head, almost half a decade ago.

She had learned from her maid, the media was banging at their doors, and that his father was not a bit impressed with it. If that was the only way to be sitting with him face to face, why shall I decline the honor, right? She thought to herself.

"A glorious morning, young lady. Meseems you've rested too much after causing great trouble last night. Mind explaining the yet another scandal you've got into after the dancing scandal you've caused a week ago, if I am not mistaken." Duke Landon was in no doubt fuming in anger with his mouth tightly twitch, but he can't be more anxious as it will pile up his worsening health concern, he tried hard to conceal. He couldn't afford to show any weakness.

How could her only daughter behave recklessly on the critical society of theirs, whereas even the slightest unruly baby hairs standing would be scrutinize? How can she be so careless on her reputation at least?

"The widow Countess Candace's wedding gown was no better than an old rag. And I was simply stating the obvious fact, father," Lady Francesca idly answered while barely dropping her eyes on the carpeted floor. She personally hates this compartment of the manor as this was where his father first introduced her to the wicked woman, who almost washed away the remaining colors she could see after the loss of her mother.

"How can I be called out scandalous when I'm stating with utmost integrity. It doesn't do me justice having my honesty labeled inappropriate for the countess just because she's offended?" she added.

Both the duke and duchess were amazed on her wits and spirit, though on a rather corrupted manner.

"Clever lady, definitely. But wits ain't anything. You should know where to use that providence. Thou shall not use it for reasoning out a mistake. Or else people would think of how lacking this household taught you proper decorum and conducts on socializing, maybe it did once," her stepmother shammed, whispering the succeeding phrase. Duchess Carlotta's obviously turning the blame on the deceased Duchess Savrina, the duke's first wife and Lady Francesca's biological mother.

"Your mother was right Francesca. You should listen to her," Duke Landon supported, which just infuriates her daughter. The tingling irritation and pain were shackling her. Things were starting to appear that of taking sides, unfortunately, not on her favor.

I would never consider that wicked, double-faced coin of a wicked woman my mom ever, because she was nowhere near the class and prestige of my now gone mother, Francesca thought.

Before even getting herself more infuriated...before sanity leaves her be, she marched off towards the open door of the sitting room. When will her father realize what a plaque he brought home?

She wouldn't definitely live harmoniously with the Duke of Feladencia, not unless he sends away his new wife. She was full out on it. Contradicting enough, her hopes was on the brink. Five years passed, and yet no sign of their marriage dissolution still.

Where's the justice for the twenty years of shared memories of former Duchess Savrina in this household? When Duke Landon remarried shortly after her demise... barely five months of grieving only.

A moon passed, however, Duke Landon's atonement punishment to his only daughter persisted. Young Lady Francesca was still barred to attend any social gatherings of any sort. She was kept inside the duke's manor as an ultimatum for all the scandals she'd stirred; and was only allowed to wander on the nearby cotton farm.

Bearable at first, it was, not until the birthday night of Prince Regent George IV of England arrived. It was noted to be the most highly awaited and anticipated event year round, and it would be a great loss to not attend.

"Father, you can't be serious of leaving your princess here in our castle when I could be at the palace dancing on my feet and having good time with my friends," Lady Francesca reasoned out but to no avail. The duke's heart already hardened with the repeated petty scandals she got herself into, and with the additional convincing from his new wife.

Just last month, she ditched the dance in the middle of the musical piece with the renowned gentleman Earl of Yorkshire just to catch a glimpse of the beautiful northern skies outside. Ridiculous excuse of all reason to spout, but with the lady's infamous reputation, she sure managed to convinced the man. Then recently, the badmouthing scandal on the widow Countess Margaret added more fuel to the fire.

Duke Landon was nowhere near persuaded on Lady Francesca's word. The rest of the population knew how prestigious tonight's ball is, for it was to honor the day the kingdom's ruler- in-charge first got a glimpse of the earthly light.

He couldn't afford to put at risk the peacefulness of the event on the unpredictable bold stunts of her daughter, no matter how much disheartened he was in doing so. She was not just carrying herself with her, but also the multitude of the Feladencia Dukedom. Better to take precautions, than regret the aftermath later.

***

Meanwhile, the Earl of Verindale was currently riding his way to the St. James's Palace, where the year's greatest celebration will be held, as usual. Atop his head was a black beaver hat, made of matted fabric which was repeatedly pummeled and boiled to achieve the thickened felt. He wore a white muslin shirt with ruffles on the frontal view and have high collar on its neck, reaching the chin when starched and standing up.

The valet then topped it with a dark tailcoat having a waist-length cut in the front but continued up to the back of the knee. His lower body was adorned with a personally tailored pantaloon. Finally to complete the gentlemanly rugged look, he paired it with a polished tall boots extending mid calf, presenting him both as a noble and as a rake all together, with a devilish smirk plastered on his face.

He rarely comes to the palace at least once and twice a year if necessary as he was far cry not the best amongst his fellow lordships with his indifferent principalities, ideas, and beliefs in life, let alone hang out with them.

Nevertheless, as infamously he was painted a hypocritical bold, distinct villain on aristocracy as he, himself, was one, he remained unwavered, unshook, and unbothered.

The coachman halted as the carriage reached the designated unloading vicinity just in front the St. James's Palace's high and rigid cold metal gate, deprive of any sign of corroding rust due to excellent maintenance.

The Earl of Verindale withdrew the curtain and looked outside, as to confirm his intuition of having reach the destination. Realizing they were, he quietly stepped outside. The rich, lively, and playful melody and rhythm of the orchestral band inside was within the hearing reach.

It was sure very alive and joyful, and everything would be near as perfect, if not with the disdaining presence of social gaps between the fortunates and the unfortunates; the elites and the commoners. Only people part of the peerage were allowed inside, leaving the ordinary English celebrate on the market streets situated on their respective home area.

As the hypocritical aristocrat he is, Lord Dynirho Syford brought a simpleton tenant's daughter, but of great wit and bearable poise after a proper training. Offering his right hand, the lucky commoner girl accepts as taught. Then, she unmounted from the luxurious coach, adorned with expensive, high-class curtains having golden tussles on its hem.

Smiling lightly, a shade of light pinch of pink appears on both her cheeks. She is nervous. Definitely. Emily couldn't think much of being chosen to be the most honourable earl's muse on a great show, like this, instead of the lovely Catherine, who has a beauty that can be matched on noble-born ladies of their time, despite her lowly birth. Perhaps, it was her wit that appears most desirable and suitable on a critical situation of proving a point to society.

"A lady's chin should, at all times, be raise up high to declare her finesse and confidence," Lord Syford reminded his muse as he lightly lifted her jaw to awaken her suppressed brave spirit, the outspoken woman she is, when she advertises their locally produced cottons during the market. Finally, the slight tremble, feeling of unease and uncertainty leaves her be.

"Trap, not, yourself under their arrogant noses and act as you are. Fine and outspoken," he added as he kissed the back of her palms, before releasing it to hold her on the crook of her elbow.

They proceeded inside and as expected, the spotlight shifted on them like an unwritten law that should be observed and practiced. Who would dare not look at the rumored hypocritical aristocrat when he pulled another bold act worthy of intrigue?

Their eyes pierced like silent daggers as if wishing trying to unveil the identity of the Earl of Verindale's muse for tonight. T'was been a hobby to check on her date every now and then, whether or not he had tried to bend the natural way of the peerage or did he decided to do it his way. As for today's occasion, he chose the later.

"Welcome to the dance, Lord Syford! What a great pleasure having us be graced by your aromatic wonderful presence?" A random lady in her mid forty's approached and greeted, wearing big hat adorned with ostrich feathers and rose flowers.

Emily, as being taught, curtsy to the older woman and give off her best smile. Smiling all night long was definitely the easiest way to survive such critical society so new to a commoner like her, who never had had a good recollection regarding such.

"How could that be possible, when all I could feel was the intoxicating allure of your ageless beauty?" Dynirho retorted back before gently kissing the back of the hand of the random lady, he knew not her name. And he would definitely not ask him directly as it will be deemed disrespectful for the woman knew hers already.

The woman didn't try to hide her ecstatic feeling as her cheeks bluntly reveals it all to everyone present. "What a good tongue you have there, that an aged flower like mine was able to bloom in no particular reason," she complimented. Well, of course, it was one of the qualities of the Earl of Verindale.

With no further ado, Dynirho moved on having the woman puts cure on his trouble of not knowing her name. "By the way, I would like to introduced to you my lovely muse, Lady Emily Emmerson of Verindale," Lord Syford composedly introduced, laying the foundation of his tricks. Now, it was by default that random lady would have to introduced herself too to Emily and to him as well, who doesn't actually know nor remember her at all.

"Oh! Emily, what a lovely name. My name is Carlotta August-Chandler, the duchess of Feladencia. It was nice meeting you." Finally, his thirst for her name was satisfied. Now, they have to find themselves comfortable seats.

As Lord Syford and Emily was about to walk pass her after bidding temporary goodbyes, the duchess halted them with an interesting question. "I am no blind nor deaf about your rogue reputation. Now, would you mind sharing me the 'who about' of this ill-favored lady you brought along with you, wouldn't you?" she asked them with a grin.

It was after all her motives in the first place in approaching them, aiming to had the first hand info in order to be the first one to start gossip. It's not like Dynirho wasn't in for it.

Curling his luscious naturally velvety lips, he smirked, revealing his seductive allure. Even the duchess had to look elsewhere to avoid the hypnotizing power. He leaned to her ears and whispered the things she yearned the most.

"Emily Emmerson, a Cotton Farmer's daughter..." he honestly admitted. Shock and dismay were evident on Duchess Carlotta's eyes but the earl made sure she doesn't end knowing that enough for it wasn't the real measurement of a person, as he believes. "... but Emily can speak and dance well too as the nobles do."

He released the duchess and then he started disappearing in the waves of people, with his commoner muse in his side. Perhaps, t'was enough to spread the word of his indifferent might for tonight, he thought.

A week had passed since the grand ball at the St. James Palace and the duke's health began to worsen. Duke Landon's body is starting to fail and reject the medication their family physician was giving him.

His breath was starting to weaken as the struggle for air was becoming more and more difficult than it usually is. Pneumonia had been a part of his life for almost three years now. Typically, normal people recover from this withing 1-3 weeks of proper medication, however, it was not the case for the duke, who from his childbirth, had had a frail body and weak immunity.

Not being able to cure the illness in its earliest stage, it manifested throughout the years, causing minor troubles of chest pain, difficulty of breathing, and sometimes unexplained sweating. But now isn't the same as the previous attacks Duke Landon was experiencing. His lips turning bluish as his skin turns unusually pale, temperature reaching its peak, causing unbearable fever. The severeness of pain and discomfort he was feeling skyrocketed that he could hardly bring himself to say a full statement without pausing in between.

"F-Fran...ces...ca," he struggled to say in a low tone as the physician was giving him tonic to feel a little better, but to no avail. Duchess Carlotta just sat beside the laying duke and watched him with a rather unbothered nor concerned facial expression. Her face was plainly blank and void of any form of emotion, making it harder to discern her reaction.

The physician got near the duchess and whispered the foreseen end of the current Duke of Felandencia's forty-eight years of legacy. "It was most unfortunate, however, it seems as if the inflammation has gone severe, infecting the lungs' airs sac, filling it with fluid, causing all troubles for the duke. And as to his current condition, I am sorry to say, but he cannot last a day unless some miracle happens," the physician explained before leaving the room for privacy.

Still, Duchess Carlotta remains stoic. Wasn't this her plan after all?

"F-Fran... ces...ca," the duke begged again.

Even at his very end, he still looks over her daughter and dare not say any last words for me, she silently thought, feeling resented and rejected. She turned around and leaves the room. Struggle no more on suppressing her small shade of compassion, she asked her handmaid to go look for Lady Francesca.

"Bring her ladyship to his father's room," she plainly ordered. Matilde heeded the word of her master and runs towards the lady's room.

To her dismay, she found the room rather empty, with no one in it. She must have gone to her favorite place, thought. Matilde decided to check the spacious veranda on the second floor of the manor, overlooking the cotton farm. She worked long enough in the house to know the routine of Lady Francesca.

Yet again, but to no avail. The young lady was not where she expected her be. Instead, she met with her handmaid, Eloisa. Eyebrows both crooked with her lips down on both sides, as if she was carrying a heavy burden on her shoulder. Then, she later learned the truth on Lady Francesca sudden disappearance since morning. She might have ditched again on her own pleasure, probably tired of the restriction set on her

The whole house of Chandler was on a sudden rampage in search for the clever Francesca, who had gone out of the manor with no prior permission.

As the house was busy searching, the duke's room started to fall in silence. Only the normal beats of the duchess heart and the fading pulse of the duke were to be heard in the four corner of the room. No words spoken, only silence goodbyes on each other, as love was never been part of their five years relationship, only implied mutual agreement that was never been told.

Slowly... Duke Landon officially met his end. Both sweet and bitter ending. Sweet as he will be meeting soon his deceased wife, Duchess Savrina, whom his heart truly belongs. Bitter as he never had a chance to say his last goodbye to the fruit of their undying bond, that neither death can ever set apart, Lady Francesca Chandler.

Poor is the child left earlier that is planned. He had no choice with his body failing, but to leave her daughter in the hand of a dangerously wicked August woman. The duke's only last wish was for his letter to reach the daughter he loves most, though not explicitly expressed.

***

Evening came and the lady they've been searching was finally found in the Great Petersburg's Square Theatrical House, where well-versed and practiced operas were often performed by professional artists.

This has secretly served Lady Francesca's relaxing place whenever she sneaked out of the manor, that even her handmaid wasn't aware of, making the search rather impossible, not until a random onlooker reported she was last seen entering the said theatrical house.

Tears intrinsically rolled her cheeks upon hearing the perturbing news about the condition of his father. Grabbing on her skirt, she ran as fast as she could outside. Not withstanding her ladyship proper dress code, she mounted a horse, left tied alone in a stable.

"Kindly take the carriage, my lady," her handmaid pleaded but her ears were already shut from hearing anything. The fast beats of her heart overpowers any rationale sense she had. Thought only had in mind was to make it home fast and sound to see her father.

Why of all the day, she decided to sneaked out on the very time the threat on the duke's life escalated? She couldn't helped to blame herself for the lack of foresight and clairvoyance.

Securing her feet on the saddle, she held tight on the rope and forcefully put pressure on it for the horse to start moving. She could feel the judging look she received both from the nobles and common onlookers on her act... like who in the best mind would ride a horse while wearing a ballgown, and to add more spice, in a broad daylight along the crowded city.

"Was that the rumored scandalous lady of Feladencia?" Someone mindlessly asked, which others agreed upon.

"Indeed living up to her reputation, I see," another one added.

Lot more comments and criticism were received, but what caught Lady Francesca's ear was that of a man shouting ownership of the horse she mounted without bothering asking for permission.

"Rodnie! My horse!" His voice was rather desperate, but her ladyships didn't falter. She was sure her handmaid could take care of the matters she caused. Time wasn't her luxury now. She felt the urgent need to be home now.

Not long afters, she arrived at the front gate of the manor. And she almost fall out of the horse upon seeing the black crape scarfe wrapped around the foot guards arms and black crape-sword knot, she last saw five years ago on the death of her mother.

Her body weakens as if it loss all its youthful vigor and spirit. Even without asking, she knew her father had already passed the gate to the other life.

Immediately, the foot guards came to assist her unmount the horse. She could feel her body trembling in pain and pure remorse for the moments they could have had, if she had not left for opera. Eyes already swollen started to produced unending water of sadness.

She was crying so hard. She could barely move a single step anymore. Losing one parent was already hard for her, how about losing them both? Her spirit broke as she finally fell to the ground. Heart heavy, pained, remorseful, and in pure agony.

How could fate be so cruel on a twenty-year-old like me? She thought. Was fate such in a hurry that it can wait no more 'til she hits legal age of twenty-one?

"Lady Francesca? Pardon me for asking, is your ladyship all right?" one of the foot guard asked.

She tried to recompose herself and get a grip of her body. Placing her palm flat on the ground, she pushed herself up until she was back on her knees.

At times like this, I should at least be sober enough to bid the duke's earthly body a final farewell, she thought as she struggled to fight off the weakening pain of loss in her core.

As she was walking further towards the manor, a rustle from behind entered her auditory, followed by heavy footsteps of boots.

I felt the other foot guard left my side to tend on the incomers, obviously not our servants as it sounded differently. It was more of a hoard of big men.

Despite my gloomy state, I was able to hear some of their conversation before I finally take a curve on the corner.

"Pay respect to the Earl of Verindale, he was here to claim the stolen horse belonging to his late mother," the voice said.

That must be the reason why the man was desperate to get hold of the horse, because it belongs to his late mother. Lady Francesca sympathized with a heavy heart. She wandered... did the man also loss his father as she is, by now?