A Good Debutante’s Guide to Ruin by Sophie Jordan

Chapter 23

Pushing back her hood, Rosalie strode past her mother’s butler with hard, echoing steps. “Is my mother in the drawing room?”

“M-Miss Hughes,” he stammered, hurrying after her. “Yes, she is. Shall I announce you?”

“That’s not necessary, thank you.” The drawing room’s double doors stood ajar and she strode inside.

Her mother and Horley looked up from the tea service. Melisande paused, her cup halfway to her lips. Sunlight poured into the room from the window, bathing her in golden light. Her dark hair gleamed like ebony. She looked poised and beautiful, her porcelain skin ageless.

“Rosalie, what a pleasant surprise.” From the way her lips curled into a smile, Rosalie’s presence was no surprise at all. “Tea?”

Horley popped a biscuit whole into his mouth, watching her as he chewed, crumbs dropping from his lips to rain upon his trousers. She wished she could read the thoughts behind his hawk gaze, and then decided it was probably for the best that she could not. He slouched inelegantly in his chair, legs sprawled wide, one arm stretched along the back of the chair. Her mother. Once again with a younger man. Her stomach churned.

“I know.”

Her mother arched a brow and took a dainty sip.

“But then you wanted me to know, didn’t you?” she added. “Did you think I would blame him? Hate him?”

“I think it only right that you know the truth if you’re going to enter into matrimony with—”

“The truth. That’s quite amusing considering what you told me was more fabrication than fact. What you did to him . . . you’re sick.”

“Is that what he told you?” Horley snorted. “Of course. He wouldn’t want to admit he dipped his wick in his stepmother . . . no matter how tempting a morsel she is. He was above such behavior, is that it? Unlike every other randy lad of his age.”

“Peter,” Melisande chided, although her eyes sparkled. She was enjoying this. Enjoying Rosalie thinking that Dec had been her willing lover.

Rosalie flattened her hands against her sides and strove for composure. “It never happened. Not like that.”

Horley snorted.

Rosalie turned her glare on him. “This doesn’t concern you. Why are you even here?”

“Rosalie.” Melisande frowned. “Don’t speak to Peter in such a manner.”

She inhaled thinly through her nose. It didn’t matter anymore. She didn’t even want to argue the point with her mother. She didn’t even want to be in the same room with her anymore—much less with Horley. It ended here. That’s why she had come. She would have her say and then leave.

And never look back.

“You aren’t part of my life anymore.” She didn’t bother adding that Melisande hadn’t been for several years. All that time at school her mother had no use for her, and suddenly now, because she served a purpose, she wanted a place in her life.

Rosalie wouldn’t let her. She wouldn’t allow her mother’s poison to contaminate her life—or touch Dec again. He deserved that much. She wanted them to have a chance—a chance to be something real to each other—and she had a better chance of that happening without her mother lurking around.

Melisande set her teacup down with a soft click. “You’re pretty satisfied with yourself, aren’t you? Soon to be Duchess of Banbury. You’ll have my title. And Declan. And now you think you can tell me what to do.”

She ignored the jibe, managing a calm tone. “This is farewell. Don’t call on me again. If you see me on the street, keep walking.”

Melisande laughed sharply. “You think he’s yours? Has he already had his way with you? Did he whisper sweet words? He’ll never love you, silly girl. In fact, I think the odds of your marriage happening are very slim indeed.”

As the bilious words dripped from her mother’s tongue, Rosalie ordered herself to turn away. To leave and not rise to the bait. Melisande had no power over her. She couldn’t prevent her from marrying Dec. And yet she paused, her feet planted to the carpet. “What do you mean?”

Melisande’s gaze slid to Horley. With a nod, as though sending him some manner of signal, he moved for the door.

At first Rosalie thought he was leaving, and she was glad. None of this was his concern.

“Well,” Melisande continued. “If you were to marry someone else first, that would certainly impede your marriage.”

The drawing room doors clicked shut, but Horley had not left. Instead he remained, locking his hands in front of him and positioning himself in front of the doors as though blocking her escape.

Her mother was still talking. “I think a marriage to another man would put an end to Dec wanting to marry you. For the obvious reasons. Men can be rather possessive. They don’t want to share. Especially men like Declan.”

“You’re talking nonsense.”

“No. Indeed not. I’ve given it a great deal of thought. Peter and I both have.”

Her gaze flicked to him. Of course, he was involved in this. It should serve as no surprise that he had been plotting ways to make her life more difficult. Or rather ways to make his life less difficult.

She breathed in and out over the niggle of panic starting in her belly. Her mother was spouting empty threats. She shook her head. “I’m marrying Dec.” Quite finished, she turned for the drawing room doors, stopping hard at the sight of Horley still standing there, blocking her way.

“No,” he pronounced. “You’re not.”

She looked back between her mother and her lover. Her chest felt compressed, like some great weight was pushing down on it. “Mother?”

“I’m sorry, Rosalie.” Melisande lifted her chin. “It’s hardly a situation I wanted.” Her eyes sparked almost angrily, accusingly. “But you’ve forced my hand.”

Rosalie shook her head, utterly bewildered. Horley smiled a slow, slithering grin. He smoothed a hand over his slick, pomaded hair.

“I don’t understand.”

“I’m giving Peter to you.” She waved a hand wildly. “He’s unmarried. Titled. It’s a perfectly acceptable arrangement. We’ll leave for Scotland. Peter heard of a preacher on the border that doesn’t ask too many questions . . . he doesn’t even mind whether or not all the right words are uttered.”

Cold washed down her spine. “Such as the bride saying ‘I do’?” she asked through suddenly numb lips.

“Precisely.”

Her stomach dropped. “Are you mad?”

“It’s not the most ideal situation.” Melisande’s lips quivered at the corners. “But Peter has persuaded me that it’s for the best. A perfect solution.”

Peter. How she loathed his very name. “I won’t do it!”

“You don’t have a choice,” Horley replied silkily, suddenly in front of her.

“So you will force me? Hold a pistol to my head and make me marry you?” She jerked back a step, yanking her arm clear of his encroaching fingers.

“Stop being so dramatic, Rosalie. We need your dowry.” Melisande’s lips pursed as though she loathed admitting it. “It’s ridiculous how much Declan granted you. It will last us two lifetimes.”

The blasted dowry. She wished Dec had never seen fit to announce that to the world.

“He’ll never give the dowry to you,” she argued. “This will all be for nothing.”

“Oh, he will. He’d never let you suffer side by side with us in penury. Nor would he wish you shamed before the world.” Her mother looked her up and down. “He cares too much for you. And he’s too honorable.”

The truth of her mother’s words sank like rocks into the pit of her stomach. Melisande was right. She tried to convince herself that even if she was forced into marriage with Horley, it would mean nothing to Dec. He’d still want her. If Horley forced her into consummating the marriage, Dec would come to her the moment he was able. He would rescue her. She told herself that.

Except she wasn’t so convinced.

Would he want a bride who was broken? Broken in the way her mother had broken him? Could things ever be right between them?

She made a bolt for it then, only to have Horley grab her around the waist. She screeched, legs kicking, arms beating at him—anywhere she could reach.

She could hear her mother reprimanding her to behave herself over her own cries. As though she were the disobedient child.

“Peter, remove your cravat! Silence her with it. We don’t need to concern the servants.”

Horley yanked off his cravat and stuffed it into her mouth. Then her mother was there, too, Melisande’s fingers working deftly at the back of her head, tying the cravat in an unyielding knot. “Come now, Rosalie! None of us are happy about this, but it’s just the way it has to be.”

Horley managed to pin her arms at her sides, grunting in her ear.

Panting, she glared up at his flushed face, at the smug smile. And she was quite certain that her mother might be unhappy with the situation, but he was not.

Aurelia met Dec at the door when he returned home that afternoon. Will and Max accompanied him. He had invited them home with him following a match at the club. In the back of his mind he suspected he wanted their company to keep him distracted from his encounter with Rosalie.

Somehow, absurdly, he now realized he had thought she would never have to know. That he could keep that bit of sordid history from her.

Will frowned at his sister as she stood in the foyer wringing her hands, her brown eyes deep with worry. “Aurelia, what’s amiss?”

“I have not seen Rosalie in hours. We took breakfast together, and then her mother paid her a visit and she went out. But that was hours ago. Do you know where she could be, Dec?”

He processed her words, a sick feeling starting in his gut.

At his mulling silence, she cast a quick glance at her brother and Max. Shaking her head as if their presence didn’t matter to her, she looked back at him and added, “We were supposed to go shopping this afternoon—Declan, where are you going?”

He was out the door, moving swiftly down the steps.

“Declan!” she called, her footsteps rushing after him.

He had a fairly good idea where Rosalie had gone. His stomach knotted to think of her back with her mother, in the same house, even for a moment, where she had felt compelled to barricade herself in her bedchamber every night.

Bloody hell.

He shouldn’t have let her walk out. He had seen the knowledge of what transpired between him and her mother in her eyes . . . it was more than he could abide. He had not realized how much her good opinion mattered to him until then. The chance that she would somehow look at him differently, that things between them would not be the same again, was something he couldn’t face, and so he’d let her walk away.

And now his cowardice had put her at risk. She was his to protect, and he had failed her. He should have made her stay. He should have told her what she needed to hear. He should have shown her that the past didn’t matter anymore. Especially now. Now that he had her. Now that they had each other.

“Declan.” Aurelia grabbed his sleeve and clung. “Where are you going?”

“To her mother’s.”

Aurelia frowned. “Why would she wish to go back there?”

“We’ll take my carriage,” Will announced, motioning to Dec’s doorman to bring his carriage back around.

“We?” Will arched an eyebrow.

Aurelia nodded. “I’m going, too.”

“Why are you going?” Max demanded.

Aurelia propped one hand on her hip. “She’s my friend. Why are you going? Wait . . . what are you even doing here? Why are you always here?”

He jerked his head in Dec’s direction. “He’s my friend.”

“This is a family matter,” Aurelia informed him, lifting her chin, “and contrary to how much you’re always lurking around, you are not family, Lord Camden.”

“Small blessings,” he muttered. “Not to have a brat sister—”

“Can you two sheath your claws for once?” Will snapped.

Dec shook his head. He didn’t have time for their bickering. He spotted the carriage clattering his way and started moving toward it with long strides. Then he saw a heavyset woman in livery turning down the drive, puffing for breath.

She held up her arm, waving at him. “Are you the Duke of Banbury?”

He met her halfway, nodding. “Yes.”

She stopped, pressing a hand to the generous swell of her stomach as if suffering a stitch. “They took ’er, Your Grace.”

“Her? You mean Rosalie? Who took her? They who?” he demanded, even though he already knew. With a sinking sensation in his gut, he knew. He just didn’t know why. Revenge? Were they that stupid? He’d hunt them to the farthest corner of the earth. If they hurt even a hair on her head, there was nowhere he wouldn’t find them.

The woman nodded. “I was in the kitchen, but I came out when I heard the commotion. They shoved her out the door into the carriage. I tried to help, but they had Tom, the footman, and he’s the size of a mountain—”

He shook his head. “I understand. Of course. Do you have any clue where they were taking her?”

She swiped several graying hairs back from her sweating cheeks. “I heard Lord Horley tell the driver they were heading to Scotland.”

“Scotland?”

“Aye, Your Grace. He means to marry her.”

“What?” He blinked.

“Lord Horley means to marry Miss Rosalie.”

Aurelia gasped beside him.

He froze. Everything in him turning cold. “He can’t.” He could think no other words.

He can’t. He can’t.

Rosalie was his. He couldn’t lose her.

He vaulted inside the waiting carriage, hardly even aware of Will and Max hopping inside with him or Will forbidding his sister from joining them. His only thought was catching up to Rosalie. His hands opened and closed at his sides on the seat.

“Dec? Are you all right?”

He looked up and met his cousin’s stare. “I have to get her back, Will.” He had to. Somehow, in only a short time, she had come to be everything to him and he couldn’t imagine a life without her.