Candice Hern (29 page)

"And it only gets worse," Beatrice muttered. "Well, Sister, you have done a good night's work, ruining your entire family. I hope you are pleased with yourself."

"Tell me," Ophelia said in a conspiratorial tone, "why in heaven you refused that young man? You could have been a marchioness!"

Beatrice stood and walked to the door. "I will find your footman and send him to you. Then I trust you will take your leave. You were not invited, after all. Do not worry about Emily. I will do my duty as her chaperone, despite her hatred for me. I will find her a rich husband who will pay off your debts, and then I do not want to see you again for a very long time. I have had enough of you, Sister."

Beatrice left Ophelia alone in the anteroom. The long-suffering footman waited in the corridor and Beatrice sent him in to her. What a mess Ophelia had made of everything. She had no idea how much damage she had done.

Beatrice felt the stares of a hundred eyes as she re-entered the ballroom. She held her head high, but her heart was heavy and her hands were still shaking. Her life had changed this night in so many ways. Her reputation was in shatters. She would now be a disgrace and a burden to the Benevolent Widows Fund. Tonight's ugly scene might do real damage to their cause and future fund-raising.

And then there was Thayne. Had he really thought she would try to save herself by marrying him? She was not as fragile as all that. She would survive. Things would be different, but she would survive.

It was Emily who concerned her. The poor girl might never be able to rise above tonight's fiasco. Beatrice sincerely hoped some nice young man would overlook Emily's impossible mother and her infamous aunt and offer her a good life. She did not deserve what she had been put through this evening.

Beatrice searched the room for her niece, and groaned aloud when she found her. She was already delivering on her promise. She was dancing with Lord Rochdale.

* * *

The scandal spread like a wildfire. Neither Beatrice nor Emily could show her face in public without whispers and stares following in her wake. Two days after the infamous ball, Beatrice had dared to visit Hatchards bookstore, and was snubbed by Lady Morpeth.

She was well and truly ruined. She did not care so much for herself, but worried about Georgiana and Charlotte. Beatrice hoped to God the scandal would blow over and be forgotten entirely by the time of Georgiana's first Season.

The girls knew something was wrong, but neither Beatrice nor Emily told them what had happened. Emily barely spoke a word to anyone. She had grown morose and surly, and seldom left the house. Beatrice's heart ached for the poor girl, who'd had such a brilliant Season until now. The only caller they'd had was Mr. Burnett, who did his best to cheer up Emily, but she just sat there with a glum face and the occasional curt remark. It was left to Charlotte to keep up the conversation, which she was pleased to do.

On the night of the disastrous ball, the other Merry Widows had all pitched in to make the rest of the evening enjoyable and to downplay the scandalous scene. They had huddled around Beatrice like four mother hens, protecting her from staring eyes until she was able to grab Emily and spirit her away.

Beatrice had not spoken to any of them at length about what had happened, nor about her concerns over the effect the scandal might have on the Fund. But she had given it a great deal of thought, and when she arrived at their next meeting, she told them of her decision.

"No, Beatrice," Grace said, "you must not feel you have to resign. It is not at all necessary, I assure you."

"I think is it for the best," Beatrice said. "The scandal is still fresh and I would hate for it to have an impact on fund-raising. I fear some people might not come to the next ball if they believe I will be there."

"I think you exaggerate the effect of what happened," Marianne said. "I cannot imagine people would refuse our invitations on your account."

"In fact," Penelope said, "they might come in droves to get a glimpse of the infamous Lady Somerfield, who publicly rejected the most eligible bachelor of the Season."

"Either way," Beatrice said, "it does not reflect well on the Fund. And you may think I exaggerate, Marianne, but only yesterday Lady Morpeth gave me the cut direct in Hatchards."

"She didn't!"

"I assure you, she did. So you can understand my concern. If this storm blows over, perhaps I can rejoin you next Season. But only if I can be assured my name will bring no harm to the Fund. As I fear it will for the remainder of this Season."

"What an utterly outrageous, idiotic situation," Wilhelmina said, her voice infused with righteous indignation. "If you do not mind my saying so, Beatrice, your sister should be taken out and shot. What an unholy mess she has made of things."

"If you have a gun," Beatrice said, "I just might be willing to do it myself. What she did to poor Emily is beyond comprehension."

"I fear I must take some of the blame for all this," Wilhelmina said.

Grace gave her a quizzical look. "You?"

"If I had been able to offer you someplace else —"

"No, it is not your fault, Wilhelmina," Beatrice said. "If anyone is to blame, it is me. I should never have allowed him to come to my house. Never."

"I will confess," Wilhelmina said, "that I thought him more resourceful than that. Did he really climb a tree? It was a reckless thing to do at best. And at worst ... well, we have seen the worst."

"I thought it rather wonderful when he stepped forward and claimed you were betrothed," Grace said. "Very honorable and gentlemanly."

"No, Grace, it was very manipulative," Beatrice said. "I had refused his offer of marriage the night before. We had quarreled over it, in fact. When he was seen creeping out of the house, it was after a bitter, final parting. It was over between us."

And she had wept buckets over that parting. She'd been miserable over it.

"I am sorry to hear that," Marianne said. "You seemed to be getting on so well. But we all sensed the tension between you that evening."

"We
had
been getting on extremely well, until he proposed marriage and ruined everything, the stupid man. He had no understanding at all of why I refused him. I do believe he'd never been refused anything in his life."

"Hertford was like that," Wilhelmina said. "It is part of their breeding, that arrogance. They cannot help it, poor dears."

"And he tried to convince me," Beatrice said, "that he would not dominate me if we married. He hadn't the slightest notion that he was dominating me in that very moment. And that is what he was doing when he publicly claimed we were betrothed. Trying to control me. To get what he wanted."

"I think you may have misjudged him in that," Grace said. "I believe he was doing the only thing possible to save your reputation."

"I am not a green girl whose virtue had been compromised," Beatrice said. "I did not need Thayne to rescue me. No one expects a widow to be a nun. My reputation will survive."

"And yet you find it necessary to remove yourself from our Fund," Grace said, "for fear of tainting it with your reputation."

"True, but I am resilient and will get through this."

"Brava, Beatrice." Penelope put an arm around her shoulder and squeezed. "Don’t let a bit of scandal broth get you down. If you ask me, most women are probably green with envy that you had that gorgeous young man in your bed. I'll wager any number of them would have given their best diamonds to have Lord Thayne sneaking out of
their
houses in the wee hours in his stocking feet."

Beatrice noticed Grace absently tapping a quill against one of the Fund ledger books and realized there was still business to conduct. It was time to leave. If she was going to resign her trusteeship, she must do it now.

The good-byes were more difficult than she had imagined, with a great deal of hugging and more than a few tears. One would think she was leaving the country, never to return.

"I am not disappearing," she said, swiping at her own tears. "We shall still see one another. I hope you will visit Brook Street now and then on Thursday afternoons. In fact, I shall depend upon it. You may be my only callers for a while."

"We shall be there," Grace said.

"Depend upon it," Marianne added.

"We are still the Merry Widows, after all," Penelope said. "Nothing shall change that."

Beatrice became rather emotional during the drive home. She loved those women. The dearest friends a woman could ask for. The Merry Widows. Only a few days ago, Beatrice had been the merriest of them all, basking in the glow of a thrilling love affair without a care in the world.

How quickly things could change.

She had barely set foot inside her front door when she was accosted by both her daughters.

"Mama, you will
never
guess was has happened."

"It is quite shocking, Mama."

"I never thought she would do such a thing."

"She has been so quiet lately."

"And so down pin."

"We have been worried for her."

"And all the time she was planning this."

"The little sneak."

"She could not have been thinking straight."

"To get into such a scrape as this."

"It is too bad of her, really, Mama."

Beatrice held up her hands. "Stop! Please. One at a time. Georgie, take a deep breath and tell me exactly what has happened."

Her daughter did precisely as asked, and blew out her breath in a loud whoosh. "Emily has bolted."

"And with that dreadful man everyone talks about," Charlotte said. "She has run away with Lord Rochdale."

"Thank God you are still here."

Beatrice had dashed back to Grace's house as soon as she'd had the whole tale from her daughters.

"What has happened?" Grace asked, and came forward to grasp her hand. "You are shaking."

"Emily has run off with Lord Rochdale."

"Dear God."

"You don't mean it."

"Rochdale!"

"I came here to ask your help, Marianne. Adam is Rochdale's friend, is he not?"

"Yes, he is. How may I help?"

"I have no idea where they've gone," Beatrice said. "You know Rochdale well enough to realize there is no question of an elopement. If Emily has run away with him, it is not for marriage."

Surely the girl knew that. This was her vengeance. She would complete the ruin her mother had started. But she was so young, so innocent. She likely had no idea what it meant to be truly ruined.

"I fear you are right about Rochdale," Penelope said. "He will be out for seduction, not marriage."

"I am hoping," Beatrice said, "that Adam will have some idea where Rochdale might take her. She has been gone less than an hour. There may still be time to catch up with them and try to redeem the situation before it is too late."

Marianne stood and shook out her skirts. "I shall go at once, and return here as soon as I have news."

"Not here," Beatrice said. "I must go home. I want to be there in case the silly girl changes her mind, or sends word, or someone else sends word, or ... I don't know. I am at my wit's end. I cannot let that poor girl ruin herself over what happened at our ball. I shall be at home, Marianne. You may find me there."

"You should not be alone," Grace said. "Let me go with you."

"We'll all go with you."

And they did. The four of them waited anxiously for Marianne's return. The others spoke quietly on innocuous subjects while Beatrice wore a path in the carpet as she paced back and forth, silently cursing herself for not anticipating such a scheme. Emily had warned them she would exact her revenge. She would make them suffer. Beatrice ought to have kept a closer watch on the girl. How had she managed it? She must have been in secret communication with Rochdale. Stupid, stupid girl! She had chosen him, of course, because Beatrice and her mother had specifically warned her against him. But she could have no idea why. She was too naive to understand about libertines and what they did. Beatrice only hoped they could find Emily before it was too late.

Where was Marianne?

The sound of voices below brought her pacing to a halt. Thank God. Now maybe they could take action and resolve this miserable business.

But when the drawing room doors opened, it was not Marianne who entered, but Jeremy Burnett. Oh, no. Why now, of all times? Cheevers ought to have told him she was not at home to visitors.

And there was worse to come. Gabriel followed Jeremy into the room. What the devil was he doing here?

Jeremy's usual cheerful smile had been replaced with an angry scowl. "Have you found them yet?"

Good God. He knew.

"What do you know of this situation, Mr. Burnett?"

"I know that Rochdale has made off with Miss Thirkill, and I intend to track him down and kill him for it. I have brought Thayne as my second."

Dear heaven. It was not enough that a young innocent girl had run off with a scoundrel. Now there was to be a duel as well. Beatrice groaned and sank into a chair.

"May I ask," she said, exerting every ounce of control to keep her voice even, "how you came to hear of this, Mr. Burnett?"

"Lady Charlotte told me."

"
What
? Charlotte?"

"She sent me a note," he said. "Said that Emily — Miss Thirkill, that is — had been abducted and had need of rescue. Does anyone know where he's taken her?"

Beatrice would strangle Charlotte. When this was all over, she would surely strangle the child. What had got into her, to send a note to a gentleman, a note airing yet more family scandal? Would this nightmare never end?

"We are awaiting word from Mrs. Cazenove," Grace said. "Her husband is a friend to Lord Rochdale and may know where they have gone."

"And we may as well disabuse you of one notion, Mr. Burnett," Beatrice said. "She was not abducted. My daughter misled you on that point. Emily went willingly. I rather suspect the whole thing was her idea."

"Foolish, foolish girl," he said with feeling. "She believes her reputation is ruined and so she might as well finish the job. But she can have no idea ..."