A Good Debutante’s Guide to Ruin by Sophie Jordan

Chapter 8

Rosalie flopped back on the bed with a heavy sigh. Her feet ached from another night of dancing. It had been much the same for close to a week now with no reprieve. Tonight was especially unpleasant, as she’d danced with a portly baronet with very little grace who trod all over her slippers.

She kicked off both slippers and rubbed her aching, stocking-clad toes. “Can we not have one night where we are not rushing off to some ball or party?” Releasing her foot, she speared her fingers through her hair, tugging the thick mass back from her head.

“You mean you’re weary of it already?” Aurelia clucked. “Oh, dear. You are in trouble, then, for there is no foreseeable end to it. At least not this Season.”

Rosalie propped herself up on her elbows and scowled down at her friend, reclining at the bottom of the bed. “You needn’t sound so satisfied. You don’t appear to be enjoying yourself either.”

Aurelia grinned and shrugged. “I’m accustomed to it. You are not.” She shook her head. She’d already unpinned her head, and the dark, rich waves tumbled around her shoulders. “I simply didn’t think you would be quite so . . .”

“What?”

“Well . . . quite so much like me, honestly.”

Rosalie cocked her head and started to pull the pins from her own hair, not bothering to wait for her maid. “And why does me being like you not sound like a compliment?”

Aurelia made a face. “There’s a reason I’m still unwed.”

“I thought you lost a year while you were in mourning and then another for half-mourning—”

“Yes, but I’ve had one Season. Last year. Mama was hoping for a match then.”

“So how are we alike? Tell me.” Rosalie pulled the last pin and shook her hair free with a soft moan of relief.

“I loathe the balls and parties. Perhaps not at first, but they soon became tedious. One is much like another. All the girls our age wax on and on of fashion and gossip. And the gentlemen . . .” She sighed, falling back on the settee edging Rosalie’s bed to gaze forlornly up at the ceiling. “Have you met a single one to stir your blood?”

Rosalie stared at Aurelia for a moment, caught off guard from her candid speech. But that was only part of her hesitation. She was a little surprised to find that this elegant young lady, brought up with all the polish and advantages afforded one of high birth, wanted something else. Something more.

Aurelia glanced her way. “Come now. Be truthful.”

Rosalie gave a nod, agreeing. “No. No, I have not. Not that I’ve spent much time with anyone besides Lord Strickland in the last week.”

Aurelia grimaced. “Indeed. He did close in rather quickly on you, didn’t he? You’re simply too nice.”

“Should I be impolite?” Rosalie demanded helplessly. “I can’t be caustic and sharp-tongued like—”

“Me?” Aurelia rolled to her side and pulled her knees to her chest, her pastel green skirts a pool around her as she faced Rosalie. The color did nothing for her friend’s olive-toned complexion. Sadly, it made her look mildly ill.

They fell into silence, each lost in their thoughts.

Aurelia bit her lip until she finally said with a heavy exhale, “I don’t suppose I can continue to behave that way either. Mama is at her end with me. She’s complained to my brother . . . he’s threatening to send me to live with my elderly Aunt Daphne in Scotland. Once there, I might as well give up all hope of ever . . .”

Her voice faded and Rosalie prodded, “Ever what?”

“Of ever experiencing adventure, love . . . a kiss that doesn’t make me want to wipe my mouth off afterward.”

Rosalie sat up anxiously. “Someone kissed you?”

“It happened last season. Archibald Lewis, the vicar’s son, isn’t that ironic? He snuck a kiss on me.” She wrinkled her nose. “It tasted of fish and soured milk. Wretched experience. But that’s beside the point.” She fluttered a hand. Rosalie nodded, feeling a bit dizzy in her attempt to follow. “Wouldn’t you want to know what a kiss felt like from someone who knew how to kiss? And isn’t old enough to be our father? And doesn’t look like the back end of a mule?

“Er, well. Yes.”

“Me, too.” Aurelia punched a fist into her palm. “It’s simply not fair that my brother and Dec and that boor Camden can sow their oats to their hearts’ content while we must wither on the vine, waiting to be plucked up by an eligible gentleman.”

Rosalie shook her head. “But what can we do about it?”

Aurelia gestured wildly. “Something. Anything!” Her arms flopped at her sides. “If I’m to be sent to rusticate with Aunt Daphne until I’m old and dead, then I should blasted well live a little first.” Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial pitch. “We should go to Sodom.”

“Sodom? As in Sodom and Gomorrah? From the Bible?” Rosalie frowned, not sure if this was some tonnish expression she had yet to learn.

“It’s a private club host to all manner of illicit activity.”

Illicit activity? Her cheeks warmed even though she was not entirely certain what that meant.

Aurelia continued, “I’ve overheard Dec speak of it with Camden.” She sat up on the settee, apparently warming to the subject. “You must be a member. Or get an invitation from a member.” Her lips twisted wryly. “I’m sure no such invitation would be forthcoming from Dec.”

Rosalie snorted, imagining her stepbrother’s face if Aurelia approached him with such a request. “No. I imagine not.”

“So we would have to secure memberships for ourselves. I’ve enough pin money set aside. I don’t know the cost, but I’m sure we could manage some manner of temporary membership that—”

“Aurelia,” Rosalie broke in. “Slow down a moment. You cannot be serious. Ladies of repute cannot attend such a—”

“I’m certain they do!” Aurelia nodded doggedly. “Wearing dominos, with no threat of discovery, why ever not?”

Rosalie stared at her, trying to process what she was suggesting and come up with a reason why this was the worst idea in the history of terrible ideas. She only arrived at: “You are serious.”

Aurelia nodded. “I am quite serious.” She scooted closer on the great big bed, her brown eyes luminous. “Will you not join me?”

“I—I—”

“Do you not crave a taste of adventure before you marry the likes of Lord Strickland?”

“I’m not marrying Lord Strickland,” Rosalie was quick to object.

Aurelia sank back on the settee with an arch of her dark eyebrow, flopping her arm onto the bed where Rosalie’s skirts pooled. She toyed with the pink fabric. “Indeed,” she said mildly. “You’re not? You’re certain of this?” A decided glint entered her brown eyes.

Rosalie sat up a little straighter, crossing her legs beneath her voluminous skirts. “I think I would know who I will and won’t marry.”

Aurelia made a humming sound and crossed her arms over her chest. “I heard Strickland mention to Mama that he wished to call on Dec.”

Rosalie said nothing for several moments as she processed this. “I’m sure it has nothing to do with me—”

Now Aurelia snorted. “It has everything to do with you. Did you think Mama and Dec were merely planning your social calendar for you? Oh, Rosalie,” she tsked, and shook her head. “They’re planning your life . . . right down to the groom.”

Rosalie inhaled sharply through her nose. “You’re mistaken.”

Aurelia gave her a pitying look that seemed to say, We shall see.

Rosalie shook her head, a sick feeling starting in her stomach as she watched her companion rise from the bed and smooth down her skirts. “If you say so. Meanwhile, if you change your mind . . . I’m sure I can get us inside Sodom.”

“Thank you, but I don’t think so.”

Aurelia groaned. “Oh, very well. I shall die a dusty old spinster with only the memory of Archibald Lewis’s kiss to comfort me.”

Rosalie fought down a grin. Aurelia was nothing if not entertaining. “Dusty and old are not words that come to mind in association with you. I doubt you’ll behave old even when you are.”

“Very well.” Turning, she held up her hand and fluttered her fingers. “Good night.”

“Good night,” Rosalie murmured, rising to her feet as her maid entered the room, bypassing Aurelia.

She moved to stand before the mirror, gazing at her reflection as Sally moved behind her and began unhooking the tiny buttons on her gown.

“Good evening, miss,” the maid said. “Have a nice time tonight?”

“Yes, Sally, thank you.”

“You look lovely in this pink gown . . . so brilliant with your hair.”

“Thank you, Sally.”

“I’m sure all the gentlemen were tripping over themselves for you.”

Rosalie winced and ran a hand down the brocade of her bodice. “Indeed. With my dowry how could they not?”

Sally cast her gaze down and fell silent at this and Rosalie regretted her words, regretted making the poor girl feel uncomfortable. Of course she knew of her outrageous dowry. All of Britain knew by now. That didn’t give her cause to make the poor girl uneasy. She wasn’t any of the countless gentlemen attempting to woo her.

Lord Strickland’s chinless face floated before her mind. It was bad enough that he mildly repulsed her, but to know that he didn’t even really want her, that he wouldn’t be giving her the barest notice if not for the obscene dowry Dec had placed upon her . . .

It was galling. And yet a fact she would have to accept, dismal as it was. Any man she married would be marrying her for that reason and that reason alone.

In that moment, she understood Aurelia’s motives for wanting to break free and do something bold and reckless. Such an act would be purely selfish. It would be about pleasure and fun. It wouldn’t be about the wealth she brought to her husband. It wouldn’t be about marrying for position or title. It would be an adventure.

Rosalie could understand the desire for that. She understood.

But she could never risk it.

“Ah, Your Grace, good morning. I was just coming to call on you.”

Dec froze on the bottom step of his town house. His gaze collided with Lord Strickland as he descended from his carriage and stopped before him. He nodded warily. “Strickland. What brings you here?

“Your sister,” Lord Strickland began, removing his gloves and twisting them nervously.

Bloody hell. What had the chit done now?

He reluctantly waved in the general direction of his front door, not bothering to correct Strickland again. The man seemed determined to view Rosalie as his sister rather than stepsister. “Shall we discuss this inside?”

The man nodded swiftly and followed Dec inside. He waved off the butler who stepped forward to take Strickland’s coat and offer refreshments. Hopefully, this would not take long and he could still keep his appointment at Jackson’s Saloon.

He closed the door to his office and took position near the great hearth, waiting with a knot of dread in his chest, quite convinced he was about to hear some tirade regarding Rosalie. And what could he expect? Stuck in that school for so many years, she was not precisely trained in the nuances of Society.

He nodded grimly at Strickland as the man flipped back the tails of his jacket and sat rather stiffly on the edge of the chaise. He tugged on his collar and began in his mumbling voice, “This is quite . . . awkward. I’ve never done anything like this before—”

“Strickland.” The earl’s eyes shot to Dec’s face. “Just spit it out.”

“Quite. Quite so.” He nodded doggedly and cleared his throat. “I would like to request the honor of your daughter—er, I mean sister’s hand in marriage.”

Dec stared.

Strickland flushed and continued, his words a nearly unintelligible ramble. “I realize I have only made her acquaintance, but I’ve found her to be very amenable. I think she is absolutely the sweetest creature on earth—”

“Rosalie?” he bit out before he could consider his tone.

“Indeed. She is the kindest—”

“Rosalie?”

The earl nodded, his chin lost somewhere in his neck. “I’m not the only one paying particular attention to her—”

“You’re not?” Other than the night he’d danced with her at the Coltons’ ball, Dec had left her in his aunt’s hands, ignoring his aunt’s requests for him to join them again. He’d deemed it unnecessary, assuming Aunt Peregrine was quite capable of ushering the girl about Town. Apparently he had been correct. His aunt had proven herself very adept. Perhaps too much. The girl had already garnered a proposal.

He quickly squashed his annoyance with his aunt. She had accomplished for Rosalie what she had not yet accomplished with her own daughter. She was to be commended. He was free of her.

He realized that Strickland was still talking.“ . . . so I wanted to be the first to declare myself.” His smile wobbled and he looked a little sheepish. “I imagine she will attract other offers, but—”

“I accept.”

“Wh-What?”

“Rosalie will be honored, I am certain.”

Strickland blinked. “Truly?”

Dec nodded, ignoring the small niggle of discomfort at the back of his throat. This was what he wanted. The fact that it happened sooner than expected was a boon he should not examine too closely. Strickland was a good man. He came from good family. He was reputed to be a gentleman. Certainly, Dec had never seen him at Sodom or any of the other less than reputable places he had frequented over the years. She could do much worse. She could have ended up with someone like you.

The thought came unbidden, and he shoved it aside. He’d never agree for her to marry a man of his ilk. It would be unconscionable. She might be Melisande’s daughter, but he would do his duty by her and make certain she only joined with an honorable man.

He focused on Strickland again. Once again the man was babbling, his hands moving rapidly with his enthusiasm as he discussed a spring wedding.

Dear God. Did Strickland actually think he gave a damn over the wedding particulars? He pushed off from where he leaned against the mantel. “You’ve my blessing. I leave you to discuss plans with my aunt.”

“Very good, Your Grace.” The much shorter man seized his hand and pumped it in a handshake several times, simultaneously clapping Dec on the back. For one terrible moment it actually looked as though the man would hug him.

“Congratulations, Strickland.” He extricated himself and made his way to the door. “I believe you can locate my aunt in the salon. Rosalie will likely be with her. You’re family now. You’re welcome to find your way there and tell them the happy news.”

Strickland ran a hand over his bald, perspiring scalp. “Indeed. I shall go find them directly.”

“Good day.” Turning on his heels, he strode from the room, from the house, not considering the clipped pace of his stride. Or that he found himself looking over his shoulder several times, watching as the earl practically skipped toward the salon. Or that his stomach churned like he had just consumed a bad bit of fish.

She would be a countess. He had done his duty by her. And some.

Any female would be thrilled from such an arrangement. He should be thrilled.

A vigorous bout at Jackson’s Saloon would do him some good. Suddenly, he felt the need to unleash himself.

“Ibeg your pardon, my lord?” Rosalie’s hands curled into fists in her lap. “Could you repeat yourself?”

Certainly she had misheard. Or misunderstood.

In fact, nothing Strickland had said since he entered the salon made a dash of sense to her. Nor did she even quite understand his unexpected presence here at all. He had not mentioned calling upon her last night, and on the heels of her conversation with Aurelia, she was not feeling kindly disposed to his sudden appearance.

“We’re to be married!” Strickland dropped beside her on the sofa where she sat before the fireplace, a book forgotten in her lap. For once, his speech rang clear and loud.

She looked from his eager countenance to Aunt Peregrine and Aurelia, who stared back at her with a cocked eyebrow that seemed to say: See there, I told you so.

“Are you mad?” The words escaped without deliberation. It was simply the only thought in her head.

Aunt Peregrine gasped. An irreverent laugh escaped Aurelia, which she quickly silenced by slapping a hand over her mouth.

Strickland blinked, his smile slipping ever so slightly. “Er, what . . . Uh, no. I spoke with your brother—”

“Stepbrother,” she snapped.

He inclined his head at the error. “I only just spoke with him moments ago and he accepted—”

“He told you I would marry you?”

Strickland stared at her as if unsure how to proceed, his mouth parted like a gaping fish.

She demanded again, the point very important to her, “He told you I would marry you?

At last, he nodded and found his voice. “Indeed. Quite happily so, he gave us his blessing.”

The wretch!She pounded a fist into her lap, indifferent to the book sliding from her lap to the carpet.

“Rosalie,” Aunt Peregrine scolded.

She vaulted to her feet, ignoring the warning. “Without even asking me?” She flattened a hand to her chest. It was inconceivable that he would accept an offer without consulting her.

She began pacing the room, heedless of anything in that moment save for Dec’s utter gall . . . his arrogance. She should have known this would come about. He was the one who decided to give her a Season and a dowry without consulting her, after all. All with the express purpose of winning her a husband. It stood to reason that he would accept the offer on her behalf.

“My lord,” Lady Peregrine began in a placating tone. “Miss Hughes is simply surprised . . . delighted . . . but surprised. I am certain you understand.”

Aurelia snorted and muttered indiscreetly into her hand, “More like disgusted.”

Fuming, Rosalie reached for her composure and sucked in a calming breath. Before she did anything else, she must dispel the notion that she would be marrying Lord Strickland, and she needed to do that as graciously as possible. Stopping, she faced him and forced a brittle smile. “I am truly honored. You humble me with your offer, but I’m afraid I cannot accept, my lord.”

Aunt Peregrine cleared her throat in the sudden silence. “Rosalie, dear—”

She held up a hand, cutting off Lady Peregrine. She held the earl’s gaze, waiting for him to say something.

Strickland blustered, his face flushed varying shades of red. “But your brother—”

“My stepbrother was working under the misapprehension that he has the authority to accept marriage proposals on my behalf. I apologize for any embarrassment this has caused you.”

“Apologize! Apologize!” Strickland lurched to his feet. “I should say so!” He wagged a finger at her. “I was under the impression you welcomed my suit . . . your brother—”

“Stepbrother,” she interjected, not that he paused for breath to acknowledge his mistake.

“—made a fool of me by accepting my offer of marriage before the words had even left my lips. He was that eager to be rid of you!”

The words shouldn’t have stung. They shouldn’t have.

She shook her head. “I am very sorry . . . I just do not feel we suit, my lord.”

He stormed toward the door and yanked it open, rattling the wood on its hinges. “Indeed! We do not! I should have known better to consider anyone connected with Banbury! He’s a morally repugnant scoundrel unfit for good company! Duke or no duke! Any sister of his is equally tarnished, I’m quite certain. And there is the matter of your mother.” His lip curled. “If half the rumors of her misdeeds are true, I was quite cracked in the head to consider you for a bride.” With that parting shot, he stormed out of the room.

They held silent for some moments, staring at the empty door.

“Well,” Aurelia began—no surprise she should find her voice first. “I suppose that tirade nursed his wounded ego.”

“Let us hope.” Lady Peregrine sighed. “Oh, Rosalie, what have you done? He shall not have kind words to say of you! He’s probably on the way to his club to share with everyone how— ”

“He’ll do no such thing. He’s a proud little peacock and will not wish to advertise his shame,” Aurelia interjected. “And her dowry will not slow the flow of suitors pursuing her.”

Rosalie settled her gaze on them both. “What I have done is establish that I alone shall choose my husband.”

Lady Peregrine shot accusing eyes to her daughter. “Is this your doing?”

Aurelia held up both hands, palms facing out. “Do not look at me. I didn’t tell her to reject him.”

Rosalie dragged in a deep breath, expanding her lungs. Anger simmered in her blood, ready to burst free, looking for release. There was only one person who deserved it. “Where is he?”

Lady Peregrine shifted on her chair, looking uneasy. She began petting her fat tabby cat faster. The animal meowed plaintively and stared unblinking at Rosalie. Almost accusingly. As though the beast knew Rosalie was responsible for the rough treatment.

“I heard him mention to the housekeeper that he was going to be gone all day and not to wait dinner for him,” Aurelia volunteered. “You shall have to wait to vent your spleen, although I hope I can stand witness. Please?” She turned to her mother. “I’m so glad we came here. This is the most entertainment I’ve had in . . . well, ever.” She frowned, her shoulders slumping a little. “Oh, that’s a depressing thought. I really do lead a dull existence.”

Rosalie resumed her pacing. This was really beyond the pale. If Dec thought he could plan her life, her future, right down to her husband, then she would dissuade him of that notion posthaste.

“Rosalie, you’re giving me a neck ache.” Aunt Peregrine motioned to her neck. “Seat yourself. Let us talk this through.”

Shaking her head, she sank back down on the settee. “There is nothing to discuss. I will have a say in who I marry—no, I will choose.” She patted her chest.

Lady Peregrine looked at her rather sadly, slowing her death pet on Lady Snuggles. “What were you expecting, my dear? A knight on a white horse? Strickland would have been a brilliant match . . . do you hope for better, then?”

Yes.

Why did she feel so wrong admitting that? Why was it wrong to want more? She had hoped for better. If not love, then something close. Affection at least.

She met Aunt Peregrine’s suddenly grim stare and read her thoughts perfectly. Just for good measure, she added, “Not better precisely.” She was such a coward. She couldn’t even state the truth of her desires. “Simply different. I want something more.”

“More?” Lady Peregrine shook her head. “You sound like Aurelia here.” She tsked. “Don’t let her fill your head with foolish ideas.”

A marriage of her choosing? That was so foolish, then.

Realization dawned. She finally understood. This jaunt down the marriage mart—she was never expected to voice an opinion through any of it. Her fate was to be decided by Dec all along. That was the price to be paid for the gift of a dowry.

This was her fate, then. Spinsterhood or a loveless marriage to the likes of Strickland.

Only she did not even have the luxury of spinsterhood to fall back on. Her fate was less secure than Aurelia’s. She did not have an elderly aunt in need of a companion. Or Will for a brother who would always see to her care. She had her mother. And Dec. Neither of whom wanted her around. Her mother neglected her for years and Dec had tossed her to the first suitor to come calling.

She looked with singular focus at Aurelia, trying to convey what she was thinking, feeling, in one look—what she dared not declare in front of Lady Peregrine.

Aurelia’s eyes widened and her lips parted in a surprised little O.

Rosalie nodded once. Swift and emphatic, sending her friend a silent message.

She wanted more. And she was willing to take a risk to get it.