Page 14 of His Haunted Duchess
The Duchess of Blackmore’s mouth straightened into a prim line.
“To be sure. The lady with whose name yours is now tied in ignominy.”
Frederic gave her a level look.
“What exactly do you believe, madam, passed between us in the garden?”
She raised her eyebrows.
“Absolutely nothing. I would be surprised if you looked at a woman favorably, much less spoke to one voluntarily.”
Frederic frowned. That did seem a little unfair. He had, after all, accompanied her to the ball in the first place, and he had remained to socialize even with the scandal spreading. The Duchess of Blackmore ignored his scowl.
“It doesn’t matter what I believe.” Her fan and shawl joined the pile with her gloves. “It matters what they believe—the ton.”
“And their wagging tongues,” Frederic said. His simmering irritation, which he had bottled and ignored at the ball, started to boil. “Filled with false invective and blind understanding.”
She sighed.
“They say you and Lady Caroline were lovers?—”
“Absolute nonsense.”
“That you went to the garden to lure her into your arms, and?—”
“Preposterous!” Frederic stood. Heaven forbid he should listen to this senseless drivel twice in one night. “Really, Mother. I’m surprised?—”
“They say,” she continued, raising her chin and her voice, “that you’ve known her for many years.”
Frederic shut his mouth. That, at least, was true. It had come back to him, when her aunt had said her name—Lady Caroline.How had her name come into his mind so quickly? In confusion, Frederic lowered his eyes.
The Duchess of Blackmore raised her eyebrows.
“All of which is beside the point.” She took a seat, lowering herself into it as if she were grateful for the support. “The most salient issue now is how you will address the tide of opinion, not whether you continue to deny it. What will you do?”
Frederic shut his mouth stubbornly. The Duchess of Blackmore sighed.
“The real damage,” his mother continued, “won’t be to you but to the lady—and to her honor, specifically. Again, I repeat—what are your plans to remediate the situation?”
“On second consideration,” Frederic said, standing, “my headache from earlier this evening has returned to plague me.” He bowed. “I shall retire to prevent its progression.”
He turned on his heel and retired to his study, shutting the door behind him and collapsing gratefully into a tufted chair.
It really was too much. How could a gentleman of his standing and a lady—quite unknown, except for malicious and uniformed rumor—become embroiled in such a web of scandal and falsehood? He had spoken to her, no more. What shock would the ton have left had he the audacity to earnestly solicit a woman’s affection someday? He almost wished he had done itwith a flourish if he was to be punished as assiduously as if he had.
He placed a hand over his mouth, breathing slowly through his nose, until the vexation subsided.
Regularity of breath quickly welcomed regularity of thought.
Nothing, it is true, would have likely happened if he had not tried to meddle. The ladies had been ill-mannered in their attacks, it could be accurately said, but no real danger had been extended to the Lady Caroline—other than the scandal his interference had initiated. He could have walked silently on into the shrubbery, and so, too, would have she, then nothing of the situation would have escalated to disastrous proportions.
But how could he really have been expected to say nothing? To pass by and turn his head to the shrubs while he knew persecution was taking place just a few leaves away?
He had taken what action he had seen best. He had intervened as well as he could, and the ton, with their overblown decorum and incestuous invective, had turned an act of kind compassion into a crime of self-interest and seduction.
It wasn’t his responsibility to?—
He paused. The echo of his father’s voice reverberated about his mind. He had heard him utter those very words—those very same, damning words—time and time again. He shivered.
