A Good Debutante’s Guide to Ruin by Sophie Jordan

Chapter 5

Rosalie woke slowly, stretching languidly. She felt delicious . . . the bedding was positively the most luxurious thing to ever touch her skin. She had been too weary the night before to even dig through her valise for her nightgown. She had merely stripped down to her shift and climbed into the vast bed.

She must have slept late. Sunlight poured into the room through the parted damask drapes. She blinked up at the canopy overhead as she replayed the events of the night before.

She had seen Dec. He had been cold and harsh and uncompromising.

And even more beautiful than memory served.

She sighed and dropped her hands to her stomach. It was such a disappointment to see that he had grown into such a beast. Clearly, he loathed his connection to her. He was probably embarrassed. She was without rank or standing in Society. She didn’t possess money or even clothes that qualified her to rub elbows with him.

His words echoed through her head. Stay out of each other’s way. Indeed. She would quite gladly stay out of his way.

“Well, you’re not so hopeless. Not hopeless at all. I see we have much to work with despite that shocking hair.”

Rosalie squeaked at the sound of the voice and yanked the counterpane to her chest, popping upright in bed.

Her gaze landed on a well-dressed lady holding an absurdly fat cat in her arms. The stranger approached the bed, scrutinizing her carefully as she stroked the animal in her arms.

“Who are you?” Rosalie demanded, her fingers tightening around the bedding, quite certain good manners weren’t necessary when one was confronted in a state of dishabille in her bedchamber.

“You don’t remember me? I’m Lady Merlton. Declan’s aunt. He sent for me.”

Staring at Lady Merlton, she vaguely recalled her now. Mostly Rosalie recalled that her mother had not liked her. Lady Merlton was far too pretty. Even now with her ashy blond hair and past the first blush of youth, she was an attractive woman. And Mama didn’t like pretty ladies. It drew too much attention away from herself.

Lady Merlton’s words slowly registered, sinking into her spinning thoughts. “He sent for you? The duke? Declan?”

“Yes. It seems we’re to find you a match this Season.” She cocked her head, continuing to evaluate Rosalie. “Not such an impossible task, I think. Especially not with the dowry that Declan has placed upon your head. And oh my, your shoulders and arms are quite lovely . . . we shall have to show those to full advantage.”

Everything inside her seized. “I’m to . . . marry? Who?”

“Well, that remains to be seen, dear girl.”

So they had not at least presumed to choose a husband for her? Small blessing.

Lady Merlton dropped down on the bed beside her. The cat rolled out of her arms and made itself comfortable, pawing and scratching at the counterpane before circling several times and dropping onto the bed with a plaintive meow.

Lady Merlton’s face lit with animation. “You shall be the toast of the Season.” Her keen eyes scanned her, still assessing, evaluating as though Rosalie were some fatted calf to deliver to market. “Fortunately the pastels so expected among the debutantes will look quite lovely on you. Don’t you agree, Aurelia?”

It was only then that Rosalie noticed there was a second woman in the room. She lurked near the door, watching in silence, her arms crossed. An air of wariness clung to her, as though she did not fully trust Rosalie. Which was strange. Why should she view her suspiciously?

The young woman—Aurelia—was elegantly dressed, in the pastels Lady Merlton had just mentioned. Only they did not look quite flattering on her. She was dark-haired and olive-complexioned. Perhaps there was the bit of the Mediterranean in her ancestry. The pale green she wore made her look rather sickly.

“Indeed, Mama.”

Mama?So this was Dec’s cousin. She searched her memory, vaguely recalling a dark-haired girl a little older than herself with her nose perpetually buried in a book.

Aurelia stopped at the foot of the bed. One corner of her mouth curled upward. Almost as though she were smirking. “She will be a diamond of the ton.”

Something snapped inside Rosalie. A fine thread she had not even known existed simply broke loose from within her. She hopped up from the bed and marched toward the chair where she had laid out her clothes from the day before. She struggled into them, pulling them on over her shift, indifferent to her audience. Her fingers worked furiously up the row of tiny buttons lining the front of her dress.

“Rosalie?” Her name hung on the air, an unspoken question attached to it.

Her gaze snapped up to meet Declan’s aunt directly. “Yes, my lady?”

“Are you going somewhere? Shall we ring for a maid to help you—”

“I’ve been dressing myself for quite some time, thank you very much.” Her gaze flicked to Dec’s cousin. Her expression had altered. She did not quite smirk anymore. Instead, she looked . . . intrigued as she studied her.

Lady Merlton’s lips thinned into a line of displeasure. She looked to her daughter as though seeking assistance. “That is a matter that should be rectified, my dear. We must have Declan assign a maid—”

“Is your nephew at home?” Rosalie asked, cutting her off. Rather rudely, she supposed, but there was no help for it. Matters were dire as far as she was concerned and must be attended to at once.

Lady Merlton blinked. “He was on his way out. We just left him moments ago in the—”

Her voice died as Rosalie swung on her bare heels and began marching toward the door of her bedchamber, heedless of her bare feet and untended hair. She was past caring what kind of impression she made on her stepbrother.

She grabbed the door latch, freezing at the strangled shriek behind her.

Startled, Rosalie tossed a look over her shoulder.

Lady Merlton stretched out a hand as though she meant to grab hold of her. “You cannot mean to step out of this room looking like that?”

“Mama, it’s not as though she’s stepping out of doors,” Aurelia offered dryly.

Lady Merlton shot her daughter a quelling look. “The staff shall see—they shall know.” Her voice dropped to a harsh whisper. “And heavens knows how they gossip with the staff of other households! It would not serve to have her gossiped about before she even makes her first appearance in Society.”

Rosalie shook her head. It wasn’t to be borne. This discussion about her—about her life, her very fate!—she had not been consulted on any of it.

Lady Merlton waved a hand wildly in her direction. “You c-cannot go about thusly,” she sputtered.

Rosalie didn’t even bother looking down at herself. She knew she looked a fright in her travel-worn garments that had not been the height of fashion even when they were new and her hair a tangled nest. She simply did not care. She could not stand by as Dec—argh!—the Duke of Banbury decided her fate as though it were his right. He was not her father. He wasn’t even her brother.

The sound of laughter suddenly drew her attention to Lady Merlton’s daughter. She had dropped to sit on the edge of the bed. The cat took objection to sharing the bed with her and swiped a paw at the girl.

Still laughing, she slapped back at the cat, the gesture automatic, as if it were normal byplay between them.

She held her side as if her laughter actually hurt. “Oh, oh!” Aurelia gasped. “This is going to be brilliant.” She pointed to the door Rosalie was on the verge of escaping through. “If he’s still here, you’ll likely find my cousin down the hall. Take a right at the turn. His private study is near the top of the stairs. Hurry if you wish to catch him.”

“Aurelia!” Lady Merlton scolded. “You’re not helping.”

Shaking her head at the odd girl, Rosalie charged from the room and down the corridor, following her directions.

She didn’t bother knocking. She was too angry. Emotion ruled her. She’d never been quite this infuriated. Well, her mother managed to annoy her, but then, her mother was never around to face the brunt of her ire. Perhaps for the first time she would vent her spleen on the subject of her wrath.

Wretched man! He’d said nothing of marrying her off last evening. Plan her future, would he? Marriage! Un-bloody likely.

She barged into his study to very nearly collide with him. His hands settled on her shoulders, steadying her. She stepped back quickly, severing the contact, relief coursing through her that he had not yet departed.

“Miss Hughes,” he greeted evenly. “Forget to knock?”

“I needed to speak with you,” she said breathlessly.

His gaze scanned her, skipping down to her bare feet and back to her face, eyeing the mess of her hair. “It appears you forgot more than how to knock.” He arched a dark eyebrow at her, and that supercilious gesture only provoked her further.

“I have forgotten nothing,” she snapped, propping one hand on her hip and fighting back her nervousness. Perhaps she should have composed herself before this confrontation. He looked unflappable. Tall and beautiful and . . .

Perfect.

She moistened her lips and reminded herself that no one was perfect. “It seems you, however, have forgotten something, Your Grace.”

“Indeed?” The eyebrow winged even higher.

“Indeed,” she echoed, mimicking his haughty tone, and that chased away the mild amusement lurking in his eyes. Now he just looked annoyed. His square jaw locked tight. Good, she thought with some satisfaction. Because that is precisely how she felt. Let him be annoyed. “You have forgotten yourself. At least when it comes to your role in relation to me. You’re not my guardian, but it seems you have taken it upon yourself to act as such.”

He crossed his arms. “I take it you heard the news.”

“That I’m to be married.” She nodded once. Hard. “Not that I was consulted, but that’s the news I woke to this morning.”

“And you’re not happy about this?” He snorted. “Well, that’s foolish.”

She released a breath in a hiss. “How’s that?”

“I’m offering you a Season, a future free from the unreliability of your mother. Unless you prefer to live with uncertainty, one step from the gutter. Begging for favors from people you hold only loose connections to.”

Meaning him. He was right. The truth stung.

They studied each other for a moment. Her initial anger began to fade as she considered that what he was offering her was so much more than anything she had hoped for. So much more than many women ever received. A Season as a debutante. The thrill of parties and balls. Excitement, adventure. Suitors. The possibility of finding someone. A chance at love. To put a life of loneliness behind her.

“I see,” she finally said, lacing her fingers together in front of her and now feeling a little foolish for barging in here after all.

He angled his head. “Do you now?”

She did. “I suppose I owe you my gratitude.”

He let loose a bark of laughter. “Doesn’t sound too heartfelt.”

Heat scored her cheeks. “My apologies,” she mumbled, flexing her toes in the carpet. “You’re very generous. You don’t have to do this.”

He smiled thinly. “I’ll tell you what I told your mother the last time I saw her. My generosity has its limits. Don’t squander this opportunity.”

She nodded once. “Understood. Now understand this. I’m not my mother.”

He looked her up and down and his smile turned faintly smirking, as if amused. As if he didn’t believe that. Indeed, he didn’t believe that at all.

“Noted. Now. If you’ll excuse me. I’m late for an appointment.” He stepped past her and exited the room, leaving her alone and staring after him.