Somewhat Scandalous (Brambridge Novel 1) by Pearl Darling Page A

pretty, she knew that, but she was not beautiful. Not a diamond of the first water. But Victoria was. They practiced dances together, endured dress fittings together, and when it came to the balls and musicales, conspiratorially sat together. The endless line of gentlemen who paid court to Victoria gallantly included Agatha in their attentions too. She had more dances that she would have done, but many less than Victoria achieved.
    Mr. Charles Fashington had been one of Victoria’s court, although she did not accord him a dance very often. Two months into the season, he had deigned to ask Agatha to dance. Of course she had said yes with alacrity. One didn’t get the chance to dance often and there was no point in wasting the excellent Monsieur Bertrand’s tuition. Charles had also listened with a very interested ear to her discourse on science. Why he had even provided her with some of the material she had used to show the others some of the more interesting topics in Jane Marcet’s book. It was just too bad Henry had caught her. He never normally set foot in the ballroom.
    Shrinking back into the cover of the leaves, she watched as Charles walked past. He was only a few years older than her and he danced beautifully. Whilst his lips turned down slightly at the edges, his face was handsome, with dashing hair and only slightly padded shoulders. Agatha knew that he was part of the same club as Henry, he had mentioned it himself.
    Despite standing behind the pot plant in the cold hall, a warm flush travelled up her neck and reached Agatha’s ears. With a gasp, Agatha took off her wrap. Goodness, it really was rather warm. And she had had a rather brilliant idea.
    Charles was going to help her fulfil Victoria’s request.
    Victoria wanted to drink beautiful, bubbling champagne—not the watered down lemonade that she, Agatha and all the debutantes had to rely on. The current ball they were attending was being held in Hanover Square Rooms, a large recital hall in Mayfair. Hanover Square Rooms had only just been constructed and Lady Foxtone, the current hostess, was considered all the rage for having arranged her ball there. Her lemonade, however, was more watered down than most.
    Agatha couldn’t refuse Victoria. Especially not after the stories that she had told to impress her. You are just her companion, her senses whispered to her. You don’t need to do this.
    What would Henry think?
    Agatha stepped out from the pot plant. She might be the lowly companion but Victoria didn’t treat her as such. She treated her as a friend, the first one Agatha had ever had, allowing her to prattle on about angles, diagrams, chemistry, and biology without once censuring her or cutting her off. Sometimes she might even make an insightful remark which could change Agatha’s thoughts. For that reason alone she would do anything for Victoria.
    Sliding back into the ballroom, Agatha searched for Charles. He stood with his finely dressed friends against the outer edge of the ballroom, watching the whirling couples. Each of them sported waterfall designs to their cravats. He smiled as she approached, and, taking her hand, led her onto the dancefloor.
    He really was rather perfect.
    Feeling unusually light on her feet, Agatha floated around the ballroom in her dance slippers, her heavy boots a distant thought.
    “You’ve been very quiet, Agatha,” Charles murmured as they whirled. “You haven’t answered me.”
    “Pardon?”
    “I asked if you would be going to the circus in Vauxhall Gardens in three nights’ time. We can watch the Grand Salvatore together.”
    Interrupted in her plotting and the effort of counting dance steps, Agatha almost stumbled in surprise. She hadn’t been paying attention—Vauxhall Gardens—where the disreputable part of the ton caroused deep into the night? With Henry looking on, that wasn’t just somewhat scandalous. That was stupidly scandalous. As she frowned at him, he looked back down at her as they