Scandal of the Year by Laura Lee Guhrke Read Free Book Online Page A

Julia’s lap, he contented himself with laying his forepaws on her thigh and wriggling his tailless backside in an ecstatic greeting.
    “Hullo, boy,” she said, rubbing his broad, wrinkled head with affection. “Been walking, have you?”
    “Non ,” Giselle’s dry voice answered on the dog’s behalf. “He has not been for a walk, madame. The hall boy, he tried, but  . . .”
    Giselle shrugged her substantial shoulders and Julia gave another sigh, this one a sigh of disappointment at the fact that her beloved pet was terrorizing the men of Paul’s household. Again.
    “Did he bite Smithison, Giselle?”
    Lips pressed grimly together, Giselle shook her head. “ Non , the boy, he is quick. But it was very close. One day, madame . . .”
    She let her voice trail ominously away, and Julia nodded. “I know, I know. I simply must do something about it. But what? I cannot discipline Spike for being a watchdog with an aversion to men when that is the reason I bought him in the first place.”
    Giselle, a middle-aged, hardheaded, practical Frenchwoman, waved one hand in the air, dismissing that objection. “Yardley is gone, madame. And the dog, he is intelligent. He will learn to behave, but you must train him to be with the gentlemen, discipline him when he growls at them.”
    Julia, who found disciplining Spike for his fear of men almost as depressing as the stack of bills on her desk, decided both she and her dog needed a diversion from discipline altogether. “Poor boy didn’t get a walk today,” she murmured, rubbing Spike behind the ears. “Shall we go then, hmm? Up to New Bond Street? We’ll pay a call on Vivian at her shop. No evil men to bother you there, sweetums, I promise.”
    Giselle sighed, and Julia was well aware that this expression of disappointment was over her mistress’s terrible tendency to procrastinate, but she ignored it. “Giselle, fetch my hat.”
    An hour later Julia was leading Spike into Vivienne, London’s most fashionable dressmaking establishment, an utterly feminine conclave of white, black, and pale pink. Julia had been friends with Vivian Marlowe since childhood, and after she’d given her name and handed over the bulldog to a dressmaker’s assistant, she’d waited only two minutes in the black-and-white tiled foyer of the showroom before a delighted voice called down to her from the mezzanine above. “Julie!”
    She looked up, laughing as her friend, a tall, slender, exuberant redhead, came tripping down the curving staircase of marble and wrought iron to greet her.
    “Hullo, Viv,” she said as her friend reached the bottom of the stairs, evaded an assistant who was crossing the room with an armload of fabrics, and came running to sweep her up in a hug.
    “I had no idea you were back! What do you need? An evening gown? An afternoon dress? Lingerie?”
    “I’d love all of those, but I can’t buy anything today.”
    Vivian pulled back, frowning at Julia’s walking suit, a periwinkle-blue tailor-made that was over a year out of fashion. “Look at this jacket!” she groaned, fingering the enormous leg-o’-mutton sleeves. “These scream of last spring! I haven’t a single one in my new collection. It’s all fitted sleeves and flared cuffs this year.”
    Julia gave a sigh, painfully aware that she was quite out of date, but also aware that her desperate straits made buying anything new impossible. “Oh, Viv, don’t tempt me! I just can’t afford any new clothes nowadays. I’m stone broke, darling. Paul’s giving me an allowance, but I have to pay debts with it. Tragic, I know.”
    Vivian made a sound of impatience. “You think I care if you pay me? We’ve known each other since birth! Besides, I adore having you arrive anywhere in London wearing one of my models. I always obtain more business as a result.”
    Julia made a face. “Only because I’m so notorious.”
    “Well, you do have a talent for creating sensation wherever you go,” Vivian conceded.