Page 41 of Heartbreaker of the Ton
“She’s entering her confinement, otherwise I suspect she’d have asked to come with me. You should write to her. Or you could pay her a visit. I could take you in the carriage.”
Juliette’s gut twisted with shame. “I-I couldn’t, Papa. She must hate me for what I did—and I doubt her husband would let me near her.”
“Your sister is too generous for that. As for Whitcombe, he’s so smitten with Eleanor, he’d do anything she asked. He’s a changed man since he married her. As soon as I returned to London last month, he invited me to dine with him at White’s.”
White’s—the lair where Society’s predators presided. Where…
She shuddered, hating herself for wanting to ask… “Was…hethere?”
After a pause, Papa responded. “He’s rarely seen in London. Whitcombe told me he’s married.”
Etty’s heart ached. So, her former friend and rival had secured the prize.
“Juliette, there’s nothing to hope for with regards to Dunton.”
Etty shook her head. “I had no hopes for myself, I assure you, but Arabella deserves a better fate than to be his wife.”
“Arabella?” Papa raised his eyebrows. “You think…”
“We may have parted on sour terms,” Etty said, “but she was the only friend I had, shallow though that friendship was. When there are few true friends in the world, I must be grateful for the friends I have.”
True friends—such as the vicar.
Andrew…
The memory of his kiss still lingered—his soft lips, teasing hers open, before his tongue probed gently, tentatively, as if he feared her rejection. An innocent, but all the more desirable, for his gentle touch was not born of design or stratagem—it was not the act of a lecherous rake wanting to prove his prowess by seducing a maiden into ruination. It was the purest act of all—an innocent soul seeking pleasure.
“Dunton hasn’t married Arabella,” Papa said, returning Etty to the present. “He’s married her aunt.”
“Heraunt?”
“Whitcombe arranged it—it seems as if Dunton disgraced himself by indulging in a little fraud over Lady Arabella’s fortune. He’s now living a quiet life in exile, with hardly any funds and fewer friends, while your friend is now the wife of a gardener.”
“Arabella married agardener?B-but she has a title!”
Papa grinned. “It’s possible for a lady of rank to marry a commoner, Juliette.”
“Forgive me, Papa, I didn’t mean to impugn Mother’s choice in marrying you.”
“It matters not, my dear,” he said, patting her hand. “Though I daresay Lady Arabella will be more satisfied with her lotthan…” He shook his head. “It matters not. Whitcombe tells me they’re very happy together. The man—Baxter, his name is—is redesigning the gardens at Rosecombe, and they’re frequent visitors there. Arabella and Eleanor have become friends—would you credit that? I’m sure she’d like to see you again as much as Eleanor would.”
“I’m glad for Arabella,” Etty said, “but I no longer belong in their world.”
“You’re happy here?”
“As happy as I deserve to be, Papa. And I’m more fortunate than most.”
“Dear daughter!” he said, and Etty’s throat tightened at the affection in his voice. “Perhaps you can find peace by helping those less fortunate—not only by helping others, but by giving yourself a purpose. There is much to be gained from knowing that you’ve changed the world for one individual, even if you cannot change the whole world.”
“Oh!” she cried. “That’s what Andrew—I mean, Mr. Staines—said.”
“And he’s right, Juliette.” He tilted his head to one side. “Mr. Staines—Eleanor has spoken of him. The vicar, yes? He was kind to her when she lived here. Does he speak of her much? I’m sure she wouldn’t mind your passing on her good wishes.”
Etty withdrew her hand, her cheeks warming. “H-he speaks much of her—and of his anger at the sister who tried to destroy her.”
Papa’s eyes widened. “Then…”
“He doesn’t know who I am, Papa. Nobody does. I’m Mrs. Etty Ward—not Miss Juliette Howard. I have no wish to lose his friendship when he’s the only friend I have.”
