The Scoundrel’s Daughter by Anne Gracie
Chapter Sixteen
Alice’s idyll was over: it was time to go home. They’d spent four days in the little cottage, eating, talking and making love. Alice had never passed such a blissful time in her life. Truth be told, she never wanted to leave.
It was difficult being a mistress, she thought as she packed. Glorious, but also tough on the emotions. Once they were back in their normal lives, it would all be different. They’d have to be discreet. They couldn’t see each other whenever they wanted. They wouldn’t wake up together, wouldn’t make love in the middle of the night and again in the morning. Wouldn’t eat breakfast together—in bed—in such a delightfully decadent fashion as they had. No more evening strolls in the twilight, coming home to a cozy fire, a simple dinner and a glass of wine. And bed.
She’d learned so much about her body—and his—in the last four days. She was saturated with pleasure—more than pleasure. The last few days had given her a new understanding of herself. And not just in bed—though that had been glorious, and eye-opening.
When the weather had allowed, they’d gone for long walks. And in bed or out of it, they’d talked and talked and talked—of everything: stories of their past, thoughts about the world, even favorite books, because James was a reader. Alice couldn’t have imagined a more perfect time. But now it was over.
“This has been the happiest four days—and nights—of my life,” she told James as they waited for the carriage to collect them.
“I’m glad.” He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her, a long, passionate kiss.
“Can we do it again sometime?” The chaise arrived as she spoke.
“What? Come here, do you mean? Why not? I paid the rent for a couple of months.” He grinned down at her and opened the front door. “It can be our secret getaway place.”
They traveled back to London in relative silence. Alice, with James’s arm wrapped around her, felt a little blue. James appeared to be lost in thought. It hardly seemed to take any time at all before they were pulling up outside Bellaire Gardens.
Too public a place for one last kiss, so James simply pulled out her valise and handed it to Tweed, then said a polite goodbye—his eyes said more—and left.
“How is your friend, m’lady?” Tweed asked.
Alice blinked and then remembered. “All better now, thank you.”
She pulled herself together and walked up the stairs. James had made no attempt to speak of marriage again. Not this time, not anymore. She was his mistress now, and mistresses didn’t get asked to be married.
Ironic that now she was ready to take the plunge, he’d changed his mind.
It was her own fault. Had she had more courage, she might have had it all: marriage to James and the glory of going to bed with him. But she’d chosen to become his mistress instead, and now she had to live with her choice. And she would, according to her new principle to live by: no regrets.
She’d had four glorious days and nights in James’s arms. And she didn’t regret them in the least.
* * *
Gerald’s grandmother, Lady Stornaway, was a bit of a surprise. She’d obviously been a beauty in her day, and was still very good-looking in a plump-old-lady way. Her silver hair was swept up in a stylish arrangement, and she was simply but fashionably dressed.
She welcomed them warmly and, once they’d refreshed themselves after the journey, settled them down in a comfortable, elegantly appointed sitting room with sherry and biscuits.
“Congratulations on your betrothal, dear boy,” she said to Gerald. “I suppose Almeria is delighted.”
“Not exactly,” he admitted.
“Not at all,” Lucy said.
The old lady turned to Lucy with a faint frown. “My daughter doesn’t approve of you?”
Lucy grimaced. “Your daughter despises me.”
Lady Stornaway brightened. “Really?”
“Yes, really. And also, Gerald and I are not betrothed, not really,” Lucy said, making a clean breast of it.
“We are betrothed,” Gerald insisted. “And it’s still official as far as society is concerned.”
Lady Stornaway gave them a shrewd look. “Quarreled, have you?”
“No,” Lucy said. “It was never a proper betrothal in the first place. It was a . . . a stratagem. And I didn’t want to lie to you about it.”
The old lady sipped her sherry. “Fascinating. Tell me more.”
So Lucy explained. She didn’t leave anything out, not her lack of family, her irregular upbringing, her many schools and her time as pupil/maidservant to Frau Steiner and the comtesse. From time to time, Gerald interrupted to add something, but for the most part he let her tell her own story.
She’d just reached the part about her father’s blackmail of Alice and her consequent entry into the ton, when the butler announced dinner. With the old lady’s encouragement, she related that little episode over the soup.
“And you say my daughter dislikes you,” Lady Stornaway said when Lucy had finished.
Lucy nodded. She didn’t like to stress how much.
“Most edifying,” the old lady said. She turned to her grandson, “Now, Gerald, you mentioned in your letter that you had decided to enter the diplomatic corps. How is that going?”
While Gerald explained, Lucy ate her dinner. She was rather taken aback. The old lady had barely reacted to Lucy’s confession and had simply moved on to the next topic of conversation as if it were perfectly normal to hear about blackmail and deception.
Bemused, Lucy caught Gerald’s eye and raised her brows in a silent question. He simply shrugged and went on telling his grandmother about his plans for his future career. And then he filled her in on the news of various acquaintances she had in London.
And at the end of the meal, the old lady rose from the table and said, “A most interesting meal, thank you. Now, I expect you’re very tired after your long journey. We keep early hours here, so I’ll bid you both good night.”
She left. Lucy looked at Gerald, totally bewildered. “I don’t understand. She didn’t even react.”
Gerald shrugged. “No one can ever tell what Grandmama is thinking. Just go to bed and try to sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Which was no help at all.
* * *
The following morning after breakfast, Lady Stornaway invited Lucy to go for a drive around the estate. Just Lucy, she said. Gerald could entertain himself.
Lucy swallowed her misgivings and fetched her shawl.
They set out in a smart little tilbury. Lady Stornaway drove. There was no groom. It was clear the old lady wanted a private conversation with Lucy. Despite breakfast, Lucy’s stomach felt hollow. Lady Stornaway was, after all, Almeria’s mother.
For the first twenty minutes, the old lady simply pointed out local sights. Lucy’s tension mounted. What was the purpose of this drive?
Finally, they drew up outside an old cottage with a thatched roof and a crooked chimney. It was small and neat but not particularly prepossessing. They contemplated it for a few minutes. Were they going to visit someone? Children and hens ran about in the yard, and when the children saw Lady Stornaway, they ran eagerly toward the carriage, calling out greetings.
Lady Stornaway smiled and produced a bag of sweets, but apart from exhorting the recipient to share them out fairly, she made no move to get down. And no adult came out to greet her.
“I expect you’re wondering what we’re doing here?” Lady Stornaway said after a while. Lucy couldn’t deny it.
“I was born in that cottage.”
Lucy turned to her, shocked. “You were?”
The old lady nodded. “I have no connection with the tenants now, except as lady of the manor, but when I was a gel, Papa was a tenant farmer. Not a particularly good one.”
“But . . .”
“How did I end up a lady?”
Lucy nodded.
“I married Gerald’s grandfather.” She smiled. “There was a terrible fuss at the time, but we didn’t care—we were in love. Albert got a special license, and we went off and got married without anyone being the wiser. Then he took me to London, to a top modiste, and had me dressed from the skin out. That’s your first lesson, my gel, and I can see you’ve already learned it. It’s hard for people to put you down when you’re better dressed than they are. And with the right clothes, you feel up to anything.”
Lucy agreed. Wearing Miss Chance’s dresses, she felt quite different from the girl who’d arrived in London in that horrid frilly pink dress.
“So now you know where I came from.” She glanced at Lucy and chuckled. “That’s why my daughter Almeria is so frightfully toplofty—living me down, you see. Or imagining she is. Really, nobody worth anything gives tuppence about my background. Oh, some might whisper about it behind my back, but how does that hurt me? It’s who you are and what you do and say that’s important, not where you come from. Are you listening to me, gel?”
“Of course I am.” Lucy’s brain was whirling.
“So you need not have any qualms about marrying my grandson.” Lady Stornaway snapped the reins and the tilbury moved on. “If you’re young and in love, you should marry.”
“But Gerald and I are not in love.”
The old lady gave her a sardonic glance. “Pish-tush! You told me you weren’t going to lie to me.”
Lucy blushed.
“You care for my grandson, don’t you?”
Lucy hesitated, then nodded. “Yes, but—”
“But nothing. Now, you listen to me, my gel—you don’t get many chances for happiness in this life, and when you get one, you need to seize it and hang on to it.”
“But what about—”
“Seize it and make it work. Be the woman you want to be and take no nonsense from anyone.” She eyed Lucy shrewdly. “You don’t want people to look down on you, and I appreciate that, but you’re also thinking of Gerald, aren’t you?”
Lucy nodded. “I wouldn’t want to embarrass him.”
“Then don’t. He’s chosen you out of all the silly high-born widgeons who’ve been setting their caps at him for the last couple of years. Gerald takes after his grandfather, my Albert—he knows what he wants.”
Conversation paused as they negotiated a shallow ford, then she continued, “If Gerald is the man you want, then take him and make it work. But be the woman you are, not the woman you imagine he ought to want. That’s the quickest way to drive a wedge between you. Be honest with each other, and for God’s sake, talk things over.”
A flock of sheep surged down the road toward them, and the carriage stopped as the sheep flowed around it. The shepherd tugged his forelock to Lady Stornaway and nodded at Lucy.
“And forget about separate bedrooms,” the old lady said when the baaing of the sheep had become sufficiently distant. “Bed is where you and your husband will do the best talking, before or after you make love.” She darted a glance at Lucy. “Shocked you, have I?”
Lucy laughed. “A bit.”
“Good. I like to shock people every now and then. Stops people taking me for granted. You should think about doing that, too. It’s also enormous fun.”
Lucy laughed again.
A few minutes later Lady Stornaway said thoughtfully, “And you know, your father—scoundrel as he undoubtedly is—didn’t give you such a bad start in life.”
Lucy turned to her in surprise, but the old lady continued, “He put you in good schools, even if only for a limited time, and there are worse assets a diplomat’s wife can have than fluency in two major European languages. Not to mention an ability to adjust to new situations. And giving you to Alice Paton to launch was a stroke of genius, even though his methods were wicked.”
Lucy frowned. She had never considered Papa’s actions in that light, but now that she thought about it, there was something in what Lady Stornaway said.
They reached Stornaway Manor, and the old lady handed over the reins to a groom. “I enjoyed our little chat, Miss Bamber, and I hope you’ll think about what I said.”
Gerald came out to greet them and helped his grandmother down. “This gel,” she said to him, “if you let her get away, you’re not the man I hope you are.”
He grinned. “Grandmama, I will do my best not to disappoint you.”
Lucy didn’t know where to look.
* * *
Gerald took Lucy straight into the small sitting room. “See, my grandmother knows everything, and she still approves of you. So can we agree that the betrothal stands? And when we get back to London, we can start to make arrangements for the wedding.” He reached for her, but she pushed his hands away.
“Are you sure, Gerald, because I need you to be very sure.”
“Sure of what? That I’ll make you happy? All I can promise is that I’ll try my very best.” His eyes darkened. “Am I sure that I love you? Oh, yes, I’m very, very sure of that.”
Lucy’s heart missed a beat and then started to thump in a rapid tattoo. Stunned, she stared at Gerald. “You love me?”
“Of course I love you, you goose. Haven’t I made it obvious?”
“Don’t call me a goose!” She was breathless, shocked, poised between tears and laughter.
“But you lovvve geese. And so do I, ever since we were introduced by a goose called Ghislaine.” He reached for her again, but she stepped away.
“Stop it. Be serious and think about how it would be. There is so much I don’t know about how high society works. I’m never sure about precedence, for instance—”
“You can learn.”
“Or how to address a duke or a marquess—”
“You’ll pick it up. You’re very clever.”
“Then there’s all that cutlery at those big formal dinners.”
“Work from the outside in.”
“See? You know all that stuff without even thinking, because you were born to it. I wasn’t.
He caught her hands in his. “None of that stuff—none of it—matters. I love you and I want to marry you. There is only one reason I will accept that you can’t marry me.”
Her insides tightened. “And what’s that?”
“That you don’t love me.”
There was a long pause. She eyed him from under lowered lashes, then made a frustrated sound. There was a limit to self-sacrifice. “Oh, very well, but if—when—I mess up and embarrass you, and make terrible mistakes and inadvertently insult important people, or unimportant ones, you must never reproach me or blame me or yell at me. Because I won’t allow it, do you hear? If you take me, you take me warts and all.”
He grinned. “That’s my girl.”
“Didn’t you hear me?”
“I heard every word.” His smile widened. “And I understood you, too. You love me.”
How did he know? “I didn’t say that.”
“Of course you did.” He drew her into his arms and kissed her, and giving up all thoughts of directing him to a better match, she kissed him back with all the pent-up love in her heart.
“Now,” he murmured after a while. Somehow they’d moved to the sofa. “Where are these warts you mentioned?”
She shoved him lightly on the arm. “I don’t have any warts, you fool.”
“Oh well, nobody’s perfect.” He gave her one more long, luscious kiss, then hearing footsteps outside in the hall, he sat up with a sigh. “We’d better save things for the wedding night.”
“Then we’d better make the wedding soon.”
He laughed and hugged her again. “A wench after my own heart. The banns will be called for the third time this Sunday. We can wed anytime after that—or sooner if you like, with a special license.”
“As long as Alice is there, I don’t mind.”
“And Grandmama. She will want to attend, if only to watch my mother gnashing her teeth.”
She laughed. “And I’d like a new dress.” Something she hadn’t worn before.
“Naturally. And a trousseau, I suppose.” He sighed. “I can see the date stretching further into the future.”
“No, the clothes don’t matter. Only the people.” She wound her arms around his neck and kissed him again. “I do love you, Gerald.”
“I know.”
* * *
When they arrived back in Bellaire Gardens, Alice took one look at them and hugged first Lucy, then Gerald. “I’m so pleased. You two are finally smelling of April and May. You’ve sorted things out, haven’t you?”
Lucy’s blush and Gerald’s possessive grin confirmed it. They were in love.
Gerald left, and Alice and Lucy decided to go to Miss Chance’s establishment after lunch, to order Lucy’s wedding dress. Alice couldn’t help feeling a little wistful, but she pushed those thoughts aside. No regrets.
They were in the hall, debating whether they would need umbrellas or not, when the front doorbell jangled furiously. Tweed had barely opened the door when Gerald burst in, waving a small, slender book bound in red leather. On the cover, elegantly tooled in gold, was the title, Letters to a Mistress, by a Noble Gentleman. “That unprincipled swine Bamber has broken his word—he’s published those damned letters!”
For a moment, Alice thought she was going to faint. Or throw up.
“Alice, are you all right?” Lucy led her into the drawing room, where she sank onto the sofa.
“Are you sure they’re the letters that Thaddeus wrote?” It was a foolish question; of course Gerald was sure.
“See for yourself.” Gerald offered her the book, but she waved it away. She didn’t want to touch the vile thing, let alone read it. “An advance copy was sent to my father,” Gerald continued. “They don’t use names, of course, but most of the ton will understand who Lord C. and Lady C. and Mrs. J. are, especially given the scandalous way Uncle Thaddeus died in Mrs. Jennings’s bed. Papa didn’t read it, but Mama did, from cover to cover. I stole her copy.”
Alice groaned.
The doorbell jangled again, and this time it was James who burst into the room. “Have you heard—” He broke off, seeing the small red book in Gerald’s hand. “I see you have.” He crossed the room in two steps and sat down beside Alice, taking her hands in his. “Are you all right?”
She nodded. “Just a bit shaken. I’d thought we were finished with all that.”
“I’m sorry,” Lucy croaked. “I’m so, so sorry.”
“It’s not your fault,” Alice assured her.
“I should have known.”
“How could you possibly have known?”
Lucy’s eyes were tragic. “It’s not like Papa to pass up an opportunity to make money and—oh! That’s what he meant by that last part in his letter—when he apologized to you, Alice, and claimed he had no choice. I thought at the time he was apologizing for the blackmail. Why didn’t I realize there was more to it? No choice, indeed.” She bit her lip, then glanced at Gerald. “Is there nothing we can do?”
“There certainly is,” James said decisively. “I only came here to warn you. I’m off to the publisher’s.” He picked up Letters to a Mistress and pocketed it. “I’ll do what I can to stop this nasty little book from being distributed.”
“I’ll come with you,” Gerald said.
Alice rose to her feet, a little shaky but determined. “I’ll go, too.”
James shook his head. “It would be better if you didn’t. So far, given that only initials have been used, there’s nothing concrete to link you with the book. But if you’re seen going into the publisher’s . . .”
Alice could see his point, but she didn’t like it. “But I can’t just sit here and wait.” That would be too feeble for words.
Lucy linked her arm through Alice’s. “We planned to go shopping this morning. It’s probably the last thing either of us feels like doing, but . . .”
Alice took a shaky breath, then nodded. Lucy was looking pale and shamefaced. The poor girl must be feeling dreadful about her father’s betrayal. This morning, after Gerald had left, Lucy had been radiantly happy; now she looked pinched and miserable. Alice could wring Bamber’s neck.
“Very well, it’s not the kind of bold action I’d prefer, but I will not allow this horrid little book to get in the way of your wedding plans. So we will go out and shop. In style. Heads held high.”
James squeezed her hands. “That’s the spirit. Come, Gerald, let us deal with this grubby little publisher.”
* * *
The publisher’s premises was a narrow building in a lane off Fleet Street. It was a small operation, and as James and Gerald entered, they could see men and women at work, printing, binding and packing books. All with red linen bindings and bearing the title Letters to a Mistress. The leather ones that had gone out were no doubt to entice members of the ton to open them. Elegant and salacious. And vicious.
Their entry caused a stir, but there was no lull in the activity. A plump, fussily dressed little man peered out from an office and emerged smiling. “Ebenezer Greene at your service, gentlemen. How can I help you?”
James pulled the small red book from his pocket. “You are responsible for this, I believe?”
The smile vanished. “Yes,” Greene said cautiously. “What do you—”
“The original letters, if you please,” James said crisply.
“The orig—?” Greene glanced toward his office. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. What letters?”
“The letters you’ve printed in this grubby little book.” James seized him by the collar. “Now, unless you want to see the inside of a prison cell . . .” He marched the man into his office and thrust him with a shove toward a large iron safe.
“But, but, but—”
“Those letters were obtained illegally, and I will have no hesitation in prosecuting you to the limit of the law. Now, give me the letters and I will be prepared to purchase all the copies currently printed. Otherwise . . .”
There was a crash from the room outside. Greene rushed out. “My formes! No! You can’t—”
“Can’t what?” Gerald said, heaving another frame full of print to the floor and smashing it up with his boots. Tiny metal letters burst from their confinement and scattered across the floor. The workers, some of whom were women, stood back watching. Nobody seemed interested in interfering.
Gerald picked up another frame and tipped it onto the ground. The wooden frame shattered. Pages of type broke into a thousand pieces, becoming meaningless. James smiled. No chance of reprinting the book now.
Greene moaned and wrung his hands.
James said, “So far we’re only interested in preventing you from printing any more copies of this nasty little publication. But if I don’t get those letters, my friend and I will destroy your printing press as well as the—what did you call them?—the formes. I fancy a press will be harder to replace.”
Another forme crashed to the floor, another sixteen pages destroyed. Tiny metal letters were scattered everywhere.
“No, no, I beg you, stop it. I bought those letters in good faith.”
“Vile letters that don’t deserve to see the light of day.”
Crash! It sounded as though Gerald was enjoying himself. James glanced at the printing press and said meditatively, “I’ve never tried to destroy a printing press before, but it can’t be too difficult.”
“Oh please, no.” The plump little man was almost weeping. “I’ll give you the cursed letters, just leave my press alone.” He hurried into his office, opened the safe and pulled out a thick sheaf of letters tied with a ribbon. “Here—take them. And then leave.”
James flicked through the sheaf. “They’d better all be here, because if not . . .”
“They’re all there, I assure you, all that that wretched man sold me. It’s him you should be punishing, not me.”
“You’re both despicable,” James said coldly. He held up the leather-bound copy. “How many of these did you send out?”
Greene glanced at a piece of paper on his desk. “Twenty-five,” he said sulkily. “They cost a fortune, too.”
“That’s the list, is it? Good.” James picked it up, glanced at the list of names, and pocketed it, ignoring Greene’s protests.
He returned to the print room and held up the book to the watching workers. “There is a large black carriage waiting in the lane outside. Sixpence for every box of these books that you load into it. My coachman is expecting you—he will keep tally and pay you.”
The workers glanced at one another, then rushed to grab boxes of books and carry them downstairs. In minutes not a single box or book remained. James glanced around the room and gave a satisfied nod. He turned to Greene and held out a ten-pound note.
Greene eyed it suspiciously. “What’s that for?”
“To pay for the books, of course,” James said in a bland voice.
“You’re paying me for them?” he said incredulously.
James arched an eyebrow. “Naturally. I’m not a thief.”
Greene glanced at the shambles that was his printing works. But he didn’t utter a word.
“Did you have enough money?” James asked his coachman when he went downstairs.
“Yes, m’lord. With three and six left over.”
“Keep it.”
James and Gerald fitted themselves in around the boxes of books. “That was fun,” Gerald said as they drove off. “Filthy work, though. Ruined my gloves.” He pulled his ink-stained gloves off and tossed them out of the window. “Probably wrecked my boots, too, but it was worth it.” After a moment he added, “Lucky your coachman had enough change on him.”
James gave him a sideways glance. “Luck never came into it. You should know from your years in the army that preparation is all.”
“Of course. Clever.” After a moment Gerald asked, “What will you do with all these books?”
“Burn ’em.”
They drove in silence for a while. “You don’t look as happy as I expected,” Gerald said. “I thought it went quite well.”
James shook his head. “These damned leather-bound copies are still out there.”
“Oh hell, I never thought of that. How many do you think went out?”
“Twenty-four, not counting your mother’s copy. I got the list from Greene while you were busy smashing things.”
* * *
You can’t be sure that’s what they were whispering about,” Lucy insisted. She and Alice had returned from seeing Miss Chance. Alice had found the experience uncomfortable. The minute they’d arrived, two ladies in the shop had fallen silent. Then they’d started whispering, glancing at Alice from time to time as they did.
Miss Chance had taken her and Lucy into the back for a private consultation, and when they returned, all the other ladies in the shop were covertly staring at Alice, some with expressions of sympathy, others with ill-disguised salacious glee. It was obvious to her that they knew about the letters.
“I think we can assume that it was,” Alice said. “Gossip travels like wildfire.”
Tweed was hovering, looking concerned. He didn’t know quite what was up, but he could tell she wasn’t herself. Alice ordered tea and biscuits.
Lucy frowned. “What are we going to do about the Reynolds’s ball tomorrow night?”
What indeed? Alice was warmed by Lucy’s use of we, indicating she would loyally stand by Alice. But by tomorrow night, barely a soul in the ton would be unaware of the letters. Word of mouth would happen first—whispers carried from house to house during morning calls, and details shared and discussed, details of the most humiliating moments of her past brought to life by Thaddeus’s clever, vicious pen.
Scandalous stories about one of their own. Servants would be sent to the bookshops, the books would fly off the shelves and later be passed around.
James and Gerald arrived and Alice called for more biscuits and a fresh pot. James asked for a fire to be lit, which was odd because it wasn’t a cold day, but she asked Tweed to light the fire anyway.
While the fire was getting started and the tea and biscuits were being handed around, Gerald enthusiastically described their adventure at the publisher’s.
“And now, here’s something for you,” James said, passing a small bundle to Alice. A thick sheaf of letters bound with a puce ribbon.
And suddenly Alice realized why he’d wanted a fire lit. She received the letters with nerveless fingers.
“You do want to destroy them, I presume,” James said when she’d sat in silence for several minutes.
“Oh yes, oh yes indeed.” She knelt before the fire, pulled the ribbon off and fed the letters one by one into the fire. She watched as each one smoked and twisted, then burst into flames. Sparks danced up the chimney, leaving a pile of gray ash behind.
With every letter burned, she felt lighter, freer. It was a cathartic experience—she was purging herself of Thaddeus, finally and forever.
The last letter curled up and crumpled into ash, and she dusted off her hands and rose. Turning, she saw the little red leather book sitting on the side table. She would like to burn it, too, but it would make a terrible stench, and she didn’t want it polluting her home. The purge was not yet complete, but she felt so much better already. “Did you secure all the copies?” she asked.
“All but the leather-bound copies that were sent out in advance,” James said.
“Like that one of Mama’s.” Gerald indicated his copy.
“Don’t worry, we’ll get them back,” James assured her. “There are only twenty-four, and I have a list.”
Yes, but if Almeria had already read it cover to cover, then others would have. Alice could tell by his somber expression that James knew that. Pandora’s box was already open.
“Maybe we should send our apologies to Lady Reynolds,” Lucy said. “She and Sir Alan are very kind—they’ll understand.”
“Lord, yes, the Reynolds’s ball tomorrow night,” Gerald exclaimed. “I forgot about that. Of course you won’t want to go.”
James nodded. “If you like, I could take you—and my girls—Lucy, too, of course—to Towers, my country estate. We could stay there as long as you want, wait until this thing blows over.”
Alice sipped her tea in silence. Run from the gossip? Hide?
Thaddeus had already done his best to ruin her life. Now it was Bamber using Thaddeus’s words from the grave—and what a fool she’d been to trust the promise of a blackmailer. She thought about her sister-in-law, Almeria, avidly devouring the letters that shamed her. She thought about the ladies in Miss Chance’s shop and their ill-natured whispering.
She put down her cup with a snap. “I’ve had enough.” They all looked at her cup, which was three-quarters full. “I won’t run. I won’t hide. I refuse to be a victim a moment longer.”
They blinked at her in surprise. “I am eight-and-thirty years old, and I don’t care what others think of me—especially ill-natured gossips who mouth pious words of sympathy while secretly enjoying my misfortune.”
She gestured to the ash in the fireplace. “I am not the same girl whose misery those letters described so despicably. I am a different woman now—my own woman—and I refuse to hide away from awkward social encounters or cower in the country, no matter how beautiful and welcoming I’m sure Towers is.”
Her glance took in all of them. “This horrid little book will reveal people for who they truly are. You, my friends, offered instant support. There will be a few others, I know. And those who don’t, those who secretly revel in what they will see as my humiliation—well, who needs that sort of friend anyway? Not I.” She rose to her feet. “And I am going to the ball.”
“Brava!” James applauded, and the others joined in. “So, Cinders,” he said when the excitement and congratulations had died down, “what time shall I bring the pumpkin around to collect you?”