Page 1 of Lady Mariel’s Scandalous Love

Chapter One

“A letter for you, my Lord.”

Dashiell Hardstone, Marquess of Longwood, looked up to find his butler proffering the correspondence tray, upon which rested a missive – one written on paper of the highest quality, and sealed with a very large seal in a deep blue wax. Hope flared, before he sternly repressed it. Too much hope only led to disappointment.

He lifted the letter from the tray and dropped onto a nearby crate to read it, ignoring the puff of dust that rose around him as he sat.

“Should I wait, my Lord?”

Dash looked up, his fingers on the seal.

“No need, Chalmers – if this is what I think it is, I will need time to compose my reply. But a tray with some coffee and cakes would be welcome.”

“As you wish, my Lord.”

Chalmers bowed out of the room, and Dash turned his attention back to the paper in his hand. He studied the seal – it was as he had surmised, the seal was that of Lord Manderforce. He broke the wax impatiently, and the heavy paper crackled as he unfolded it. He was almost afraid to read it – so long had he waited for this moment.

‘To the Marquess of Longwood, greetings.

I have considered your suggestion for an exhibition, based upon your extensive collection of artefacts, to be displayed at the British Museum. Whilst I must say that your collection intrigues me, given the descriptions that you provided, I find myself unable to agree to your proposal.

The theme of your collection is, I feel, rather too shocking and potentially scandalous a matter for the Museum to be associated with. I fear that the cream of society would focus far more upon the subject matter than upon its scientific and cultural value, and the Museum cannot afford to offend our patrons.

Therefore, with regret, I decline your generous offer. I would, should you establish your collection in a private exhibition at a later stage, be most interested in viewing it myself.

Yours etc

Arthur Fotheringham

Earl of Manderforce

Exhibitions Committee, British Museum

Dash stared at it, willing the words to change. They stubbornly remained as they were.

He should have expected it. No matter that the Museum had a stated aim of collecting everything, of furthering scientific knowledge and cultural knowledge, it had always been optimistic of him to believe that they would do anything which might shock society. But he had nurtured hope.

Well. Now he knew where he stood. He would have to establish an independent exhibition, and storage of the collection, after he had finished cataloguing it. He was not going to give up on it now, after seven years of collecting and careful study, just because the ton’s sensibilities might be offended by the fact that the material in his collection was all related to the history of human eroticism.

It amused him, in a dark way, that the Museum would happily present the Elgin marbles, with a substantial amount of ‘erotic flesh’ visible, but would not go so far as his collection, simply because he was honest about its contents.

~~~~~

“A letter for you, my Lady.”

Lady Mariel Angleton looked up from her book. The footman proffered the correspondence tray, and Mariel took the letter from it eagerly.

Finally! The writing was unmistakable – it was from Selina.

They must have returned from their wedding trip – a stay of a few weeks at one of their more remote properties.

Mariel had not realised just how much she relied upon Selina for good conversation at social events, until Selina wasn’t there. She had been friends with Lady Selina Brancourt – now Selina Fortescue, Duchess of Southolton – for many years. They had come out together, this last Season.

And Selina was the only person who knew the truth of Mariel’s interests and thoughts on men, and society. Mariel had discovered these past weeks, even though it was still winter, and there were few events to attend, that it was difficult to make conversation, when all you could speak of was polite and respectable things. Which were utterly dull. With Selina, she had always discussed the forbidden and scandalous things, the kisses that she had allowed men to steal, the shockingly explicit book that she had found in a dusty old shelf in the darkest part of the family library, the things she had heard whispered about, and could not wait to explore for herself. Ordinary conversation paled by comparison.

She broke the seal on the letter, and unfolded it. A second folded note fell out, and she let that lie in her lap while she read the main letter.

My dear Mariel,