A Common Scandal: A Victorian Historical Romance

By Amanda Weaver

Finishing school taught Amelia Wheeler how to put on a well-mannered performance—when she's not bored and looking for trouble. Lady Grantham's is behind her and now it's time for Amelia to keep her promise to her dying mother: marry a title and leave her wild days behind.That promise would be much easier to keep if Nate Smythe hadn't just reappeared in a London ballroom. The son of an impoverished sailor, Nate—Natty, as he used to be called—has grown up to become handsome, rich and polished. He claims to be looking for a proper bride who can advance his business interests, but that doesn't stop him from seeking out Amelia every chance he gets. Challenging her. Kissing her.Suddenly, struggling against her simmering passion is the least of Amelia's problems—one of her titled suitors is hiding a desperate secret that could stop Amelia from pleasing her parents or finding happiness with Nate. As a weeklong house party threatens to derail her hard-won future, Amelia must decide: fight against disaster or act like the lady she's promised to become?This book is approximately 86,000 wordsBook two of The Grantham Girls

• Language: English
• Publisher: Carina Press
• Release date: May 30, 2016
• ISBN: 9781459290631

Amanda Weaver

Amanda has loved romance since she read that very first Kathleen E. Woodiwiss novel at fifteen. After a long detour into a career as a costume designer in theatre, she’s found her way back to romance, this time as a writer.A native Floridian, Amanda transplanted to New York City many years ago and now considers Brooklyn home, along with her husband, daughter, two cats, and nowhere near enough space.You can find Amanda at www.amandaweavernovels.com. 

Book preview

Prologue

Portsmouth, England—1885

Mama was napping. Again.

Amelia shifted from one foot to the other, peering around the doorway into her mother’s bedroom, watching her sleep. Her eyes were closed and a linen cloth lay across her forehead, no doubt smelling of all those odd herbs her lady’s maid doused it with to cure her mother’s headaches.

They didn’t seem to be doing any good today. Mama was sleeping soundly, and stern Mrs. Simpson, the housekeeper, had told Amelia to stay out of the way, to be a good girl and sit quietly and practice her embroidery. She was terrible at sitting quietly, and her embroidery was dreadful.

When Mama felt this bad, she’d sleep straight through until dinner. There would be no reading time today. Mama was such a good reader. Amelia leaned around the doorway and set their book on the little table inside, in case she felt better tomorrow.

She eased the bedroom door shut and crept down the back stairs. If there was to be no reading today, she certainly wasn’t going to stay inside being shushed by Mrs. Simpson all afternoon. As she sprinted through the kitchen, she paused to snag two meat pies left over from last night’s supper and wrapped them in a napkin. Once she’d slipped out the back door, she headed for the corner of the tiny garden, to the fence with the loose boards. After she’d wedged herself around them and out into the alley that ran behind the houses, she took off at a run, not stopping until she reached Queen Street, where the world became far more interesting.

Horse-drawn carts jostled for space in the road while workmen hauled massive piles of fishing nets, weaving around women carrying baskets of vegetables and other food to sell. Wagons rumbled, machinery clanged and everywhere people argued, shouted and laughed. The air smelled of machine oil, dung and fish, and underneath it all, the salty tang of the sea. How could anybody expect her to stay inside being quiet and ladylike when all of busy Portsmouth was out here to explore?

Amelia ducked underneath a long wooden beam being carried by two burly longshoremen, making her way toward Hawke Street and the narrow, listing house that was like her second home. When she reached it, the front door was open and two small children sat on the stoop, absorbed in sorting a pile of shells.

Hello, Johnny. Hello, Mary. Amelia stopped to pat both children on the head.

Look! Johnny said, holding up two shells. I found two the same!

How clever you are, Johnny!

Mine! Mary said, reaching for Johnny’s shells with chubby fingers.

Amelia stepped around the children and peeked into the dim front room. In truth, it was the only room, this one and one above for sleeping.

Mrs. Smythe?

Hello, Amelia! a voice called from the corner. Natty’s down by the docks with the boys.

Mrs. Smythe emerged from the gloom, wiping her hands on her grubby apron, squinting as the daylight hit her face. Natty said his mother had been pretty once, although it was hard to see now. Life had sucked her beauty away, like illness had sucked away Mama’s fair looks. And like Mama, Mrs. Smythe had married for true love and tragically lost her place in Society for it. Natty said his mother had been a merchant’s daughter, comfortably well-off, before she’d run off with a handsome sailor. That was why she could read and write, unlike so many of her neighbors on Hawke Street. Fat lot of good her learning and manners did her. Now it was all she could do to keep their family afloat when Mr. Smythe barely worked and spent all day at the pub.

Oh, Natty’s with the boys, then?

Mrs. Smythe brushed Amelia’s curls out of her eyes. Go on, love. You’re better company for him than those ruffians any day. Natty uses his manners when you’re about.

Manners. She liked Natty precisely because he didn’t treat her like a little princess. Natty would never try to fob her off with a bit of embroidery. He’d dare her to climb the tallest mast in the harbor. Then he’d race her to the top, which was foolish because she always won.

All right, I’ll go find him.

Come back and visit soon. Mrs. Smythe gave her a fond smile. You know you’re always welcome here.

Did you bring us anything today? Johnny asked as she made to step around them. Amelia thought of her stolen meat pies. She’d intended to share them with Natty, but since he’d only give his to his brother and sister anyway, there was no point. She unwrapped the pies and held them out to the little ones. Their faces brightened as if she’d given them pure gold. Poor things. They never got enough to eat.

With a last pat for the little ones, Amelia left to make her way to the docks. An overloaded wagon hit a hole in the street next to her, splashing muddy water up onto the hem of her white cotton dress. Oh, dear. This one had just arrived from the dressmaker’s and Mama had made such a fuss over the lace trim. She would be so disappointed in her for ruining it. Well, at least Natty never minded her stained frocks.

The ship masts came into view, stark black against the clear blue sky, strung together with a network of rigging ropes. Massive carts of goods were making their way down the narrow streets, struggling to get to the ships to unload. Vendors were set up on nearly every corner, selling food and goods to the men coming in from sea.

Amelia was momentarily distracted by a cart full of brightly colored shawls and she wandered closer to take a look. She did so love pretty things. She was reaching out to run a finger over a lovely silky blue one when there was a shout and commotion to her left. Before she could even turn to look, a boy ran past, hitting her in the shoulder and knocking her to the ground. She felt the sleeve of her dress give way as her hands hit the cobblestones. Oh, no. Not even the bruised knees she was sure to have were worse than the trouble she’d be in for that ripped sleeve, never mind the mud stains.

Wait up, Peter! another boy called out. You knocked down a little girl.

She groaned, recognizing both the voice and the answering laugh. Davey Rollins and Peter Fickett. Peter paused and turned, still laughing. He glanced down at Amelia and sneered.

Ah, that’s only Amelia Wheeler. It’s not as if she’s a proper girl anyway.

Amelia shoved herself up to her knees, but she didn’t even have a chance to shout in outrage before another boy pushed past her, her favorite boy of all.

The sunlight glinted off Natty’s messy gold hair as he reached out and fisted his hand in Peter’s dirty shirt. You take that back, he snarled. Peter stumbled but kept laughing. Natty’s face, which had recently become angular and defined, was ferocious. He’d grown at least six inches in the past year, but he was still all long, skinny arms and legs.

Come on, Nat. She’s nothing but a little hellion. She’ll never be a proper lady, no matter how much money old Mr. Wheeler is making now.

Natty gave Peter a shake but before he could do any more, Amelia barreled past him and straight into Peter with a feral growl. Peter’s breath left him in a whoosh as her shoulder plowed into his stomach. She was the perfect height to inflict maximum damage, which was the one advantage of being a small, ten-year-old girl squaring off against a fifteen-year-old boy.

Natty had the good sense to let go as soon as Amelia shoved past him, but Peter was caught off guard and off balance, staggering back and falling, unable to even brace himself as he fell on the cobblestones. Amelia pounced while he was still gasping for air, her knees pinning his chest as her hands curled into small, deadly fists. He threw his arms up in an attempt to shield his face but Amelia’s fists found his nose with unerring accuracy.

You’ll be sorry I’m no proper lady, Peter Fickett! ’Cause now I can beat your bloody ugly face in!

The rest of the dockside boys finally caught up to them and stood back laughing as Peter struggled and howled in pain. Stupid mean boy. He’d always teased her, but he’d grown positively beastly since Papa had made his money. As if Papa now being rich was her fault.

Well, she’d show him just how unladylike she could be. He screeched like a cat as her hands fisted into his hair. Then, a strong, wiry arm banded around her waist and lifted her clear off Peter’s chest. She fought back, swinging her arms and kicking her feet, while Peter rolled into a ball on his side, whimpering.

Get off me! I’d almost finished him off! Amelia snarled.

Be still! Natty hissed in her ear, holding her against his chest as she struggled.

But he had it coming!

And you gave it to him. Natty’s voice was calm, but laced with pride. He should be proud, since he was the one who’d taught her to fight. When she stopped flailing, he slowly lowered her to the ground, although he didn’t release her until Peter had climbed to his feet. Peter spat out a mouthful of blood as he glared at Amelia.

Say you’re sorry, Natty said.

Sorry? Peter shrieked. What for? She attacked me like a bloody banshee!

You want I should turn her loose again?

Amelia made a show of lunging for him and Peter stumbled backward in alarm.

Fine, he muttered. I’m sorry, Amelia. Natty cleared his throat. Peter rolled his eyes. "I’m sorry, Miss Wheeler."

Amelia sniffed and drew her tiny frame up as tall as it would go, which was not very tall at all. Accepted. For now. But watch yourself, Fickett, or I’ll come at you again when Natty’s not around to save your scurvy hide.

Peter glowered at her until the other boys surrounded him, clapping him on the shoulder and teasing him about being licked by a girl half his size.

Come on, you, Natty muttered, pulling her away from the boys and marching her back up Anchor Way. It’s remarkable, Amelia. You can find trouble just walking out your front door. As always, he dropped his dockside accent as soon as the other boys were out of earshot. His mother fussed at him when he talked like a ruffian.

I slipped out the back garden, actually.

See? Does anyone even know where you are?

She shrugged. "Nobody much cares. Papa’s at the foundry like he always is and Mama is resting, like she always is. There was just mean old Mrs. Simpson, and she only wants me to stay quiet and out of the way. I’m out of the way now, aren’t I?"

Natty chuckled and slung his arm around her narrow shoulders. "You’re not out of my way."

"Natty...do you want me out of your way? I thought we were friends."

With a grimace, he glanced away, across the bustling port. "Of course not. We are friends, Amelia. But I meant that, when I made Pete apologize. Your father is a proper rich gentleman now. He won’t want you running around the docks with the son of a sailor. Not now he’s made his fortune and you’re all grand."

I don’t care about any of that.

Your parents will. You’re a lady, or else you will be soon.

She crossed her arms over her chest. I don’t want to be a lady.

You won’t have any choice. Nobody does.

He had a funny look on his face, all serious and somber in a way she’d never seen before. You’re keeping secrets from me, Natty. I can tell. What is it?

Not a secret, really. I’m going to sea, like Pa.

Amelia stopped in the middle of the street and grabbed his arm. When?

He shrugged and looked at the toes of his worn-out boots. I ship out next week. We need the money. Pa can’t work as much since he got hurt. I’m old enough now. I have to take care of Ma and little Johnny and Mary. Besides, I mean to better myself, like your Pa did. He started just like me, and look at him now. I’m going to do the same, you’ll see. I’m coming back a rich man.

Amelia wasn’t nearly as impressed by her father’s accomplishments as Natty was. And she liked Natty just fine without money, if making money meant he had to leave. This was awful. Maybe I can come with you! I’m as strong as any boy. I can work, too.

Do be serious, Amelia. Do you honestly think your father will let you run off and be a deckhand? Besides, no captain would have a girl.

But what will I do without you? Amelia’s eyes began filling with tears. Portsmouth without Natty was unthinkable.

He reached out to tug one of the tangled black curls that had escaped her hair ribbon. You’ll do fine. I’ll be back in port for a visit before you know it.

Do you promise?

I promise. I can’t stay away for long. Mama and the little ones need me too much.

Don’t worry about them, Natty. I’ll take care of them.

He grinned. You will, will you?

I swear it. Just come home soon.

Deal.

Amelia stuck out her hand. Here, let’s shake on it.

Natty grasped her hand and shook, a firm, proper handshake, like between gentlemen. All right, then. You’ll look after my family and I promise to come home as soon as I can. And here... You can keep this for proof. Natty reached into his pants pocket and drew out a small object, pressing it into her palm.

Natty, no! Not your glass! She couldn’t take something so precious from him. The seashore in Portsmouth was a narrow, unlovely strip of dark sand, pebbles and trash washed up from the harbor, but a few years back, as they’d rambled along its dirty, stinking length, Natty had found a piece of green glass, worn smooth as silk on all its edges by the sea. "See? he’d said as he showed it to her. Even in this pit, something lovely washes up. I’ll be just like this glass, Amelia, I swear it. Something good from all this filth."

Natty’s sea glass was always in his pocket. His fingers traced the shape all the time. He couldn’t give it away to her.

Keep it safe for me, all right?

She turned it over in her fingers. It was the exact same color as Natty’s eyes.

You’ll come back for this?

Promise. And remember, it’s so I can make my fortune, yeah? I’ll come back as your equal one day, Amelia.

But what about until then? I’ll miss you so much. Nothing will be any fun without you.

He sighed sadly. We can’t have fun forever.

Why not?

Natty’s eyebrows furrowed, his face taking on a shockingly grown-up expression, one that made her clutch tightly on to his glass, an expression that meant responsibilities, worry and the end of all things childish. Because it’s time to grow up.

Chapter One

June, 1896

It was an undeniable fact that Amelia would find trouble before the night was out.

It wasn’t her fault. The problem was the ball. The Miltons’ ball was a dreadful bore, and when Amelia got bored, trouble seemed to find her in shockingly short order. The ballroom was too hot and overcrowded—and not even crowded with anyone interesting. The Season was nearly over. How could there still be this many people in London? Somehow only the tedious ones seemed to be lingering this year.

She’d been so good until now. She hadn’t yet lost her gloves and they were hardly even smudged. Her shoes were still on, despite the fact they were pinching her toes horribly. And her riotous black curls, neatly arranged by her maid for the occasion, were still tucked into their coiffure. But her hard-won perfection wasn’t destined to last, especially once Sir Percy Cholmondeley got his sweaty hands on her for the waltz. He was the nicest man and absolutely the worst dancer. And the conversation—she’d never had to speak at such length about mince pies in all her life. She’d been out of things to say about them some ten minutes ago and still Sir Percy rattled on. There was a limit to what any gently bred young lady could be expected to endure and since her breeding fell somewhat short of gentle, her patience was long expired.

Ouch! she whispered as her toes were flattened under Sir Percy’s glossy black shoe.

Speaking for myself, I prefer a hefty dose of brandy in my mince, but others prefer it a bit milder. Which do you prefer, Miss Wheeler?

If Cholmondeley realized he’d stomped on her toe for the fifth time in as many minutes, he didn’t let on, the poor, oblivious, dear man.

Amelia took a deep breath and forced a sunny smile. Oh, I like my mince to torch right up. Enough brandy to scorch the draperies, I always say.

Cholmondeley beamed at her. Just so. That’s precisely how I like it, as well.

He’d be insufferable if he wasn’t so bloody kind. He was one of the few men in London who hadn’t subtly—and not so subtly—turned his nose up at her mercantile fortune. Any number of impoverished nobles might pay court to her for her money, but Cholmondeley was one of the only ones who truly didn’t notice her humble origins. Perhaps it was because he didn’t notice anything he couldn’t eat.

Cholmondeley steered her around the ballroom a few more times, turning her toes to pulp and rattling on about the mince pies a bit more. As the waltz drew to a close, Amelia let out her breath and drew to a grateful stop.

Shall I wait with you until your next beau appears to claim his dance, Miss Wheeler?

Oh, I think my card’s empty for the next, she said, not sure if it was true or not, but beyond caring. I believe I’ll get some punch and rest for this dance.

Well, do let me escort you to the punch table.

You are too kind, Amelia said through clenched teeth. But Genevieve Grantham had spent years drilling the rules of gracious behavior into her and they didn’t go amiss now. She set her hand lightly on his arm, allowing him lead her through the crush of sweating bodies sheathed in beautiful satins and lace. Cholmondeley stepped away to brave the refreshments table for her, while Amelia plied her fan and glanced around the room trying to locate her father, so she’d know which parts of the room to avoid for the rest of the night. No doubt he’d set his sights on yet another desperately poor, properly titled young man he wanted her to meet, but he couldn’t wrangle her into an introduction if he couldn’t find her.

If she had her friends with her like last Season, this evening might have been fun. But Victoria was off in Hampshire, the new Duchess of Waring, putting her own fortune to work restoring her nasty husband’s crumbling family estate. And there had been no Season at all for Grace this year. She didn’t have a fortune to lure in a husband. She didn’t even have enough income to support herself. If only she’d relax her infernal pride a bit, she could have stayed with Amelia and they could have faced this gauntlet together. But since such dependence was unthinkable for Grace, she’d accepted the invitation of the Dowager Countess of Marlbury to accompany her to the South of France for the Season. Although it sounded quite glamorous, it wasn’t at all. She was the Dowager’s guest in name only, there to act as her companion, helping her with her correspondence and running errands. It was a small step above being a paid companion, but it wasn’t long before Grace would be forced to pursue a proper paid position.

Without Victoria and Grace, Amelia was on her own. Last year had been only her second Season and there hadn’t been as much pressure to make a match. She’d been allowed to spend a night giggling with Vic and Grace now and then, ignoring all the gentlemen she should have been pursuing. But they were gone, and this was the end of her third Season. Time was up. She was expected to make a respectable match, or her father would take it upon himself to make one for her.

Percy Cholmondeley. How perfect for her.

Amelia perked up at the mention of Cholmondeley’s name nearby and strained to identify the speaker.

He might be the only man in London as crass as she is.

Katherine Ponsoy, that snobby little chit. Amelia wasn’t sure what offended her more, the slight against Cholmondeley or herself. Katherine was somewhere behind her right shoulder, and no doubt she thought the hum of general conversation loud enough to muffle her words. Amelia didn’t react in any way, wanting to know who Katherine was speaking to first.

Oh, Kitty, you’re so very wicked! Margaret Whidby tittered.

Stupid, simpering little fool. They were both awful. They’d gone out of their way not just to snub Amelia, but to outright insult her whenever possible. Kitty Ponsoy was the daughter of some threadbare baron, but she seemed to think it left her miles above Amelia simply because Josiah Wheeler had earned his fortune. Kitty delighted in insulting working-class heiresses like Amelia and Victoria at every opportunity, even though at this very moment, her older brother was in America on the prowl for one to marry. Victoria had always taken the high road, ignoring them in her gracious, elegant way. Kitty was about to find out Amelia lacked Victoria’s restraint.

She moved so slowly, Kitty and Margaret didn’t notice her at first, even though she was only ten feet away from them. Kitty kept blathering on in her mean-spirited way, while Margaret giggled behind her fan, hiding both her unladylike laughter and her weak chin.

As if a pair of decent white gloves and a dress by Worth can cover up the dirt from the docks, Kitty said peevishly. With that figure, she looks like a common little trollop, no matter how expensive her dress.

Amelia turned, affecting a dramatic pout. Oh, Kitty, I knew it. I should have known when the dress was delivered with a personal note from Monsieur Worth’s own son, telling me I would outshine every debutante in London when I wore it, he was only being polite.

Margaret gasped in mortification at being overheard, but Kitty sneered, tilting her chin up in a challenge. Her cheeks flushed in an unflattering, mottled red and her small eyes nearly disappeared as she narrowed them at Amelia.

Monsieur Worth’s son knows the value of courting your father’s fortune as well as any other man who’s ever paid attention to you.

I’m sure you’re right. Isn’t it a wonderful thing to have a fortune to recommend one’s self? She clasped one hand to her cheek in false dismay. Oh dear, I forgot. You haven’t got a fortune, have you, Kitty? Well, at least you have your pretty face. Oh...but I suppose that won’t work for you either, will it?

Kitty took a step toward her. You’re nothing but a little gutter rat, no matter how much money you’ve got.

Do take care to mind your manners, Kitty, Amelia admonished. Your good breeding seems to be all you have left.

Well, breeding does show, doesn’t it?

"That it does. And the next time you cast aspersions on my breeding, you’ll do well to remember where I grew up, and I learned to fight on those docks you sneer at. You can keep your ballroom snobbery. I’ll go ten rounds with you in the alley out back and we’ll see who comes out the winner then, shall we?"

Kitty had the good sense to look mildly alarmed. After all, Amelia wasn’t a large girl, but she was more robust than bony Kitty. And she knew Amelia wasn’t bluffing. If it came down to it, Amelia would use her fists and she’d win. Kitty gritted her teeth and tried to think of a sharp comeback that wouldn’t earn her a fist in the face.

Baiting a pathetic little monkey like Kitty was too easy. Besides, if she squared off with her much longer, she really would end up walloping the chit and there’d be no end to the scandal.

She drew herself up and swept a hand down her skirt, smoothing out imaginary wrinkles. This dress was a masterpiece and everyone knew it. Kitty was nothing but a jealous shrew. Kitty, I forgot to tell you how well that cut of dress looks on you. I had one very like it, but it looks much better on you than it did on my maid, when I passed it on to her two years ago.

Kitty’s thin lips almost disappeared as she pressed them together. Amelia didn’t stay to hear what she might come up with in response. She turned away and said over her shoulder, Here comes Percy Cholmondeley with my punch. Such a gentleman, don’t you think?

Cholmondeley was indeed steering his way toward her with two glasses of punch, holding them aloft to keep from being jostled by the crowd. Hallooo, Miss Wheeler! he called out, just a hair too loudly, drawing a few amused glances from the crowd. I’ve brought the punch!

Thank you, Sir Percy. I’ve grown quite parched.

It’s all this heat, no doubt, Cholmondeley said, handing her a cup.

It probably had more to do with the verbal lashing she’d given Kitty. After doing so well all night, she had to go and threaten to punch a debutante right in her pinched little face. If her father caught wind of it, she’d never hear the end

Reviews for A Common Scandal

[arthistorychick · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

A Common Scandal by Amanda Weaver
Book #2: The Grantham Girls Series
Source: Netgalley
My Rating: 3/5 stars
My Review:

Dear Sophomore Slump,

I hate you!

Sincerely,
RoloPoloBookBlog

I came into this read expecting the same level of awesome I got with book one, A Duchess in Name. What I got was a strong character read with a rather weak and predictable plot. Yeah, so not what I expected 

Amelia Wheeler may have a finishing school education but she has a tomboy mentality and Lord help anyone who bows up on her. As a child, Amelia learned to defend herself which she had to do on a regular basis thanks to her penchant for finding trouble. While her parents had high hopes finishing school would work the rambunctious right on out of her, Amelia shows no signs of slowing down or staying out of trouble. Case in point, the moment she launches herself into the arms of her childhood friend, Nate Smythe in the middle of a society ball. Really, what else could she do after not seeing her friend for a decade?

Nate Smythe has spent more than a decade travelling the world and building his shipping empire. He came from nothing and in the past decade, he has amassed a fortune and is now looking for a titled family to marry into. With no title of his own, an advantageous marriage to a titled woman is the only way he will ever break into the exclusive world of the English peerage. Nate is almost mercenary in his desire to marry well and he quickly sets his sight on Lady Julia Hyde. Lady Julia’s father owns and operates the largest shipping company in England and Nate wants in on the action. In order to make that happen, he has to win Julia’s affection and try to forget how Amelia Wheeler being back in his life makes him feel.

In what is eventually outed as a huge set-up, Amelia and Nate find themselves as guests at a week-long house party. Due to their particular circumstances, Nate is obviously pursuing Lady Julia and Amelia is courting the affection of Lord Radwill. In the moments when they are together, Nate and Amelia not only bait one another but fight a serious physical attraction. As the week wears on, both Nate and Amelia grudgingly admit to themselves that being with someone other than the other person will make for a most unsatisfying life. Unfortunately, both feel bound to their path and commitments and it isn’t until they are forced to say the words aloud that they realize how pointless it is to fight fate.

The Bottom Line: I very much liked Nate and Amelia and the banter between them. They have known each other since they were children and know how to push each other’s buttons. As adults, they still know how to push those buttons but the stakes have become even higher. There are commitments and future happiness to consider as well as other people who have been pulled into the storm that is Nate and Amelia. Amelia is strong enough to be a true partner to Nate and that makes her an oddity in her time and place. Her penchant for trouble is seriously amusing and Nate’s responses to her ability to find trouble in an empty room are just as entertaining. In truth, Nate and Amelia are two very strong characters that have been put into a somewhat ridiculous plot. At nearly every turn, there is some new bit of stupidity playing out that forces a reaction and/or response out of Amelia and/or Nate. Between the titled men acting like damn fools and the drama with Amelia’s extended family, there isn’t any real substance here other than Nate and Amelia. I have said it before and I will say it again, strong characters can carry a weak plot and that is exactly what happened in A Common Scandal. With that being said, the first book in this series was so good and I think this second book just fell victim to the dreaded sophomore slump. I’m in it for the long haul and have already pre-ordered book three, A Reluctant Betrothal.