A VERY ENGLISH SCANDAL.

Just to set the scene, this entire story is set in London around 1800. All characters inc Jack/Rose/Ruth and Cal are English, their story will unfold as the chapters go on, so I only hope that you bare with me. Their accents would have been very posh and formal!

This is a story which I wrote involving other characters and has since become picked up by a publishing house. This version is the original but rewritten to fit Titanic characters.

It is a long story, a complicated tale and one which I hope you come to enjoy :)

Thanks for reading and please let me know what you think!

Chapter one,

London, 1800.

''Just look at her,'' Lord Harrington lowered his voice as he narrowed his blue, squinted eyes. His mouse brown hair was slicked back in a fashionable style. He hadn't donned a wig, as some males did, preferring the feel of air through his locks. His brown and cream tailored coat felt tight against his wider frame.

''Indeed.'' Lord Hockley allowed his dark eyes to sweep over the vision of Rose DeWitt. She stood centre of the room at the manse of the Lord and Lady Peckham at yet another of their galas. Her Mother would no doubt be about, keeping a close eye upon her only young daughter who was attending her first gala in Society. She had been seen discreetly at others, but this evening was the first time she was out in the open for the first time in her young life and like prey, she was already hunted by the hungry men pining. Not just for a wife, but her.

''That red hair would be enough to drive any man to his knees.''

''And her flamed hair is the reason you ogle her so openly when you are betrothed to Amelia?'' Lord Hockley arched his brow to his oldest friend, in an amused tone, knowing how he would retaliate to the mention of his new fiancée.

''Yes.''

''So, the swell of her bosom does not wish for you to change your mind of the engagement to the very lithe Lord Ware's daughter.'' Lord Hockley chuckled, knowing just how to get under his friends' skin. ''One only knows what treasures lay beneath that corset.''

''Don't be absurd.'' Lord Harrington glanced away from the young girl. She hadn't even been formally been introduced to English Society yet and rumour had it she was no more than ten and eight. ''For God's sake, she is younger than my sister.'' He shook his head, discarding indecent thoughts and concentrated on the brandy which he held in his hand. Amelia was lovely enough; pretty with delicate features and yes, wasn't as buxom as Rose DeWitt but he had always a preference for the slimmer girl. She would do him just fine. Fine.

''Of course. Just how is your sister? I haven't seen her since before I left for the States. I hear she is to be wed within the month.''

''Yes. A love match by all accounts.'' Lord Harrington rolled his eyes rudely so that only Lord Hockley could see the gesture.

''How-romantic.'' He grinned above his glass of brandy, revealing pearly white teeth. ''Who is the lucky fellow?''

''The youngest son of the Marquess and Marchioness Dewsbury. Very polite young man. Of course, they are not as rich as my Mother had hoped Cecilia to wed but as soon as he set his cap at her, she went running.''

''As soon as a young girls heart flutters, that is it I am afraid.'' Lord Hockley narrowed his dark eyes, glancing about the room in a sweeping motion before returning to Lord Harrington. ''Too much time spent reading romantic novels if one asks me.''

''Of course. But I am pleased for her. Infants will follow very soon after the marriage I fair. Enough to occupy my little sisters mind and then I shall worry less of her welfare.''

''Indeed. I must say, I am glad that I have no siblings to worry after. It makes my life easier in many ways.''

Lord Harrington examined the indecent way in which his friend ogled the young Miss DeWitt. Caledon Hockley was twenty-seven years of age. The only son of Lord and Lady Hockley, the latter has passed some months previous. His father was nearing the end of his life it was feared and so, it was assumed that Caledon would be taking a wife before the year is out in order to produce the needed heirs to continue their lineage. In the score years in which Lord Harrington had known Caledon, the young women had always fallen into his bed; he wasn't too picky either. Whorehouses knew his first name. He had cavorted with widows. Bedded the wives of the wealthy before destroying their husbands and leaving them with nothing and so Society would shun them. ''That's just business.'' He would always say with that same cocky grin. He was a handsome man with jet black hair which fell to the nape of his neck, tied into a neat ribbon, dark eyes and a tan to his skin which had darkened since his return from the States. His reputation as a rogue hadn't diminished and so women would watch his every move, hoping that now more than ever he would take them as his much-needed wife. The need to tame the wild rogue lingered in their innocent stomachs.

''Just why is she dancing with that sap?'' Caledon shook his head as he shoved his glass at a nearby servant in a wordless urge for them to refill it.

Lord Harrington glanced to see her dancing with a young gentleman whom he failed to recognise. Her body swayed gently, not missing one step. The corseted high waist of her pure white dress ensured that her full breasts were on display. Fire flared in Caledon's eyes. She was...so pure.

''Just who is it?''

''Do you not remember that blasted man? Lord Sedgewick. He spends just too much time in the gambling house.''

Lord Harrington suppressed a laugh.

''Whatever is the matter, Hugh?''

The servant returned with a warmed brandy and Caledon accepted it without even looking. His breeches were uncomfortably tight and it wasn't from the wrong fit of clothing.

''I think you may have a small tendre for Miss. Dewitt.''

''Stuff.'' Caledon fell serious. He glanced over at the other ladies in attendance...Lady Savage. No, too broad. Lady Julienne. No, too rat looking. Lady Harvey...He cocked his head to one side, to examine her fine curves. He shook his head. ''No, absolutely not.''

The suggestion was ludicrous. He was just a red-blooded male who appreciated the female form.

Hugh nodded to a gentleman who had just arrived. ''Excuse me, a moment, I must go pay my respects to Lady Whitmore.''

''Yes. Of course.''

Hugh left Caledon alone. In the vast room of attractive men and women, she was the only one which he saw. Her vibrancy dwarfed the rest of them entirely. With blood red curls piled atop her head in a present fashion, a few strands framed her face. Her face wasn't too powered or filled with rouge, just a red lip which he had wanted kiss from the moment he had laid eyes upon her.

''Damnation.'' He whispered to himself. She had to be the one. With his father's failing health, he knew that he must take a bride and very soon. If he had to choose a woman with whom to bear his name and children, then he would have the very best. He would have her.

As the current dance came to a close, Lord Sedgewick smoothly kissed her gloved hand, her lashes batted at the young man before he left her alone in the vast ballroom once more. Caledon finished the rest of the brandy and he was at her side within seconds. A quick gasp escaped her pretty lips and as he took in the sight and smell of her up close. He was truly bewitched. His eyes rested firmly above her chest. How swollen it was for such a young age. He dismissed those thoughts and concentrated on wooing the lady.

''My fair lady, I should like to dance with you.'' He held out his bare hand to hers and she raised a delicate eyebrow. Her face up close was like that of an angel but buried beneath the exterior, he would bring out the Devil in her.

''Is that right, Mr-''

''Hockley, Lord Hockley.'' He offered.

''Quite. The very infamous Lord Hockley.'' Her sea blue eyes twinkled with such mischief beneath thick, black lashes. ''I am sorry, but this set was reserved for Lord Gardener.''

Caledon craned his neck over the sea of people in an exaggerated manner. ''I'm sorry, my lady. But he doesn't seem to be about to claim his dances.''

''Perhaps, he has been held up momentarily.'' She fired back, pausing to glance at the handsome Lord Hockley. Caledon took note of her stares and inwardly smiled. She was interested. Her tongue was sharp, he liked that. In marriage, one would need something besides bedsport to keep a man occupied. He enjoyed bantering with his friends at the clubs he attended nightly but perhaps this would keep him at home longer in the evenings.

''What fellow would become so tangled in a conversation with others when he knew that he was to dance with a beauty like you.''

Tinges of pinks coloured her lovely cheeks. ''Oh, Lord Hockley.''

''Call me, Caledon.'' He urged quietly. The need to be more intimate with her curled in his stomach.

''I am afraid I cannot. We are not fully acquainted and nor is it proper to do so.'' Innocence shone through her body right from her head to the tips of her toes. She backed away from him slightly, before Society took note of their intimacy. She knew just how the predators watched from afar just dying to ruin people with just slight snippets of gossip which they could turn into vile rumours, spewing from the mouths of all Society.

''Save the next set for me, then.'' He urged. ''I am an excellent dancer, if that is a note on your list of wants in a suitor.''

''It is. I am spoken for all evening, Lord Hockley.'' She told him, quietly but confidently. ''But, thank you for the offer.''

He wanted to grasp onto her tiny but curved body in that very moment and dance with her. He wanted to feel her body move next to his and sweep her around the floor so that every eye in the room watched as they burned with jealousy. She bowed her head in a farewell but he couldn't allow her to leave in that second. He needed more.

''My lady.'' His voice stopped her trail of walk. She paused two steps away from him.

''Yes, my lord.'' She slowly turned to him. ''You do know, that I am not a Lady? Lady DeWitt is my Mother.'' She smiled, sweetly. ''I do not yet wear such a title.''

''You will be my lady. That much I promise you.'' His voice was low, almost a growl. He knew his effect on women, and not just because he was blessed with his Father's handsome looks and his Mother's dark features. ''I will call on you this week, once I have conversed with your Mother. I would like to dance every dance with you and for no other man to even look at you without knowing that you will be mine.''

She was breathless. That much he knew. Her dry lips had parted, the closer he grew. He wondered if the poor young girl knew just what intentions he had towards her. It wasn't a want, it was a need. A primitive need to take her virginity and keep her for himself. No man would touch her that way, he would make sure of it. The thought of it angered him in a way he never deemed would be possible.

''And what say do I have in this?'' She clutched her reticule to her waist. A sign of her nerves.

Caledon smiled, bearing perfect white teeth as he straightened up.

''My fair lady, the flush in your face tells me exactly what I need to know.'' He noted that Lord Gardener approached from the double French doors from outside. From the spring in his step, Caledon knew he had just finished tumbling with some unfortunate chit.

''And, what is that exactly?''

Caledon stepped away as Lord Gardener was a couple of feet away from them, interrupting their moment. She noted his appearance and straightened her back immediately, sweeping away any evidence from the contents of her conversation with Lord Hockley.

''Good evening, my lord.'' She curtseyed to Lord Gardener.

''Miss. Rose.'' He lowered to a bow.

Lord Gardener glanced at Caledon as though he was an elephant in a room of people. The flush of his cheeks amused Caledon no end, he tucked away his smirk.

''Forgive me, I was caught up in the garden. The terrace is just breath-taking this evening.''

''Of course. Lord Hockley here was keeping me abreast of his recent trip to the United States.'' Miss. Rose glanced hesitantly to Caledon, hoping he would keep up with her small lie in order to keep their conscious momentarily clear.

''Yes. I was regaling just how wonderful my travels had been.'' He gestured with a flick of his hand. ''Although, the tale would have been preferable to be told whilst taking Miss. Rose here for a set but she has informed me that you were to belong to you, my lord.''

''Thank you.'' Lord Gardener nodded his fair head to Rose. He was handsome, not overly but sweet enough. ''As I said, I was-''

''Tumbling in the garden with the youngest daughter of Earl Winchester.'' Caledon finished for him. ''I saw the flush of her cheeks as you both entered the ballroom together.''

Lord Gardener opened his mouth to speak but nothing escaped other than a stumbling of vowels. Miss. Rose's eyes widened, as she realised that there was no denial from the Lord Gardener and his fair features reddened even more so.

''Oh, my.'' She placed a gloved hand to her chest. She had not prepared herself for the notion it could possibly be true. ''Lord Gardener!'' She cried, in a scolding manner.

''Well, good night all.''

Lord Caledon Hockley left behind a scattering of mess wherever he went. He was known to be a scoundrel but outing Lord Gardener to the innocence of Rose DeWitt was one of the most amusing moments he had endured in a long time.

He was glad to be home from the States. His next move would be vital in securing himself a wife. He refused to take no for an answer and Rose DeWitt would be his. There would be no doubt about that.

The next morning,

The Dewitt mansion.

''Oh, my, what a fright that must have been to hear.'' Trudy Bolt, Rose's closest confident and abigail held her tiny hands across her mouth. ''And for the Lord to not deny the case at all. Shame on him.''

Rose admittedly had been initially shocked at the way the story unravelled, but after thinking on it a little, she was more than curious as to what the tumbling had been...

''Perhaps it was just a peck.'' She offered Trudy innocently as she was helped out of her night rail and into her day clothing. Her voice was laced with curiosity. She raised her arms so that she could be assisted.

''Oh, scoff. Do not allow your mind to wonder such things. Just stay away.'' Trudy scolded. ''He isn't half as handsome as Lord Sedgewick, too.''

''Hmm.'' Rose muttered. She moved mechanically, used to the morning dressing ritual. It was something which she had endured most of her life. Trudy had been her abigail for four years. She was just four years older than Rose but not so innocent to the ways of the world. ''Tell me about your Harry.'' Rose urged as Trudy worked her corset, pulling the strings tighter but in a gentle way.

''Oh, Miss. Rose. You know that well.''

''Perhaps, but when two people are truly in love just the way you are, it makes one pine for such feelings.'' In her head, adoration was something which she felt the need to feel the most in the world. To see a man with pure love in his eyes and only honourable intentions towards her.

''You are yet young; your time will come.'' Trudy tightened the lower laces.

''So, pray, tell me, will you wait until you wed before you take him into your bed?''

Trudy dropped the laces in her trembling hands, utterly shocked by the words which the young Rose had uttered.

''Rose!'' She cried, informally, knowing just how she would be scolded if she was heard by Lady DeWitt. Not just for addressing Rose the way she did but for the contents of their conversations.

''Come, do not be a prude and tell me. I am your friend and you are mine, too. The only true friend I have of which to discuss such matters."

Trudy felt the heat across her chest and cheeks. Rose's warm hands came up to touch her face ever so gently, she stroked across her face as if to wipe away the flush.

''You have too much fire.''

She dropped her hands by her sides in mock frustration and turned so that Trudy could resume her lacing of the corset.

''Perhaps. Would marriage tame that?''

''Never. A fire as wild as yours can never be tamed. Maybe you will marry a man with a temper to match and together, create a passion that others would only ever crave.''

Rose giggled, loudly. She knew that her entrance to Society had caused quite a stir amongst her peers. Her first Season had begun and she would be allowed to all of the dances to meet the eligible young men. Her Mother would bat for the richest, but Rose wanted fire and she craved that feeling in her stomach which she would read of in the romantic novels. She couldn't imagine marrying a man and him not love her, or want her in the same way which she wanted him.

At the ball the evening before, Lord Hockley had certainly caught her attention. He was handsome and cocky. She thoroughly enjoyed to converse with a man who had wit and not simply as dull as dishwater. Who wanted to talk about the weather?

''Yes, I would.''

Trudy voice broke Rose's thoughts.

''I beg your pardon?''

Trudy smiled quietly. ''Yes, I would allow Harry to take me into his bed before we married.''

Rose gasped, harshly. ''Truly?'' She turned, seeing Trudy's reddened cheeks once more.

''Yes. He is finely handsome. I see the muscles through his shirts sometimes and when he holds me I-'' She stopped, realising that her most intimate thoughts were now out in the open.

''Trudy!''

''I-I'm sorry.'' She blushed.

''No. Please. Don't be.'' Rose bit her lip, seeing just how flush her friend was. ''Harry is very handsome and has the build of a labourer. That is a body to be enjoyed and not kept beneath his clothing.''

Trudy noted the serious look upon Rose's face. Her innocent beauty was radiant and yet, the thoughts which roamed her head were sometimes a little too much for an un wed virgin. She entirely blamed herself for the reasons of her thoughts but combined with the fire within her body, she knew just how hard Miss. Rose would be to handle once she had settled. Once that day come, she didn't know what they future held for their friendship.

''Yes, well, knock those thoughts from that pretty head. We must dress you for the day's events and we are stalling.'' Trudy worked Rose's corset faster, pulling quicker and causing her body to jolt. Silence fell over them once more. Rose kept her thoughts private. They fell to the handsome Lord Hockley. She knew of his situation and that his gravely ill father was pressing him to find a wife soon. She wondered if he was aware of her situation. The man who would become her husband would also be financially responsible for repaying the debts of her father which he had left after his passing just three months previous. The debtors were knocking but not that frequently but that would soon change and so, at just eighteen, the responsibility would fall upon her young and inexperienced shoulders. Her mouths' shrill and sharp voice drilled her every day of their precarious state and more and more Rose had found herself slipping into a melancholy world where she would retreat to her room to read the novels which Trudy fetched her each week. It was a world which she had lived in for most of her teenage years.

She enjoyed the company of Trudy very much. As an only child, her upbringing had been lonely and vacant. Trudy would regale Rose with tales of the servants and who was caught fondling whom. Her family worked for other notable families of London Society and so snippets of gossip would reach Rose's ears through the hired help and in exchange, Rose gave word of the tales she heard whilst attending the finest dinners and balls which the country had to offer.

But her heart ached, for that passion which she read of so often. The one that gave a woman pleasure instead of simply laying there whilst a man had his way which was exactly how she imagined Lord Hockley to be.

She smirked.

Perhaps, she would toy with him the way in which he toyed with her. She needed a little game and entertainment whilst attending the next event of two and perhaps, he would kill her boredom too.

Let the Season commence.