Page 7 of His Haunted Duchess
Or the damage, Frederic thought grimly. He remembered too well the sting of the ton’s gossip—the whispered lies and the twisted truths that had haunted him and his mother during his father’s scandalous sprees. His father, of course, had done nothing to remediate matters and rather drove into fresh examples of disgrace to whet idle tongues.
“What a truly noble action on the part of the viscountess to sponsor a child deprived of parents and patronage so suddenly,” the duchess said, pityingly. She looked at Frederic with grieved eyes. He slipped his hand into her arm and patted it.
Felicity smiled until her eyes disappeared into fawning half circles.
“But of course, especially since some claim that the child—grown to be a lady—carries with her a grievous curse.”
Frederic snorted. Felicity, intent on her story, didn’t notice. His mother tightened, ever so slightly, her grip on Frederic’s arm.
“The lady—it’s said—carries a curse so severe that it only can be to blame for the deaths of her family and their staff.” Felicity nodded meaningfully, as if letting them into a secret. “Five of the Dreshers and countless staff perished because of that black, grievous curse. And that lady—that scarred, cursed lady—is here tonight!”
A woman—short, grey-haired and in possession of a prodigious set of blowsy curls—frowned, turning her head in their direction. Her deep blue taffeta ballgown crinkled in objection.
Frederic, worn down at last, curled his lip.
“I really am surprised at you, Lady Felicity, for repeating idle gossip on such a tragic topic.”
The woman nodded approvingly and moved past them, shooting Felicity a dangerous glance. The duchess fixed Frederic with such a glance herself, her lips pursed. Felicity blinked.
“Excuse me, Your Grace—I thought?—”
“You thought wrong.”
Felicity bobbed a quick curtsey and left as her ears tinged a self-conscious pink. Esther sighed. Frederic spared her any further consternation with a quick bow.
“I’m stifled with this heat,” he said, pulling at his cravat. “I’ll return after a brief walk in the cool air.”
He stepped away, purposefully ignoring hopeful and suggestive glances from several feminine parties, and passed through to the garden. The nerve of these ladies and their idle gossip! The loss of an entire family dressed glibly in insincere regret to garnish a threadbare conversation! His indignation pulsed like a kettle set for tea. He stepped into the garden and strode behind a set of tiered topiary.
The cool evening air blessed his forehead like a wandering fairy, soothing and caressing his brow. Frederic breathed it in, savoring the stability, calm, and silence.
Voices floated through the shrubbery. Almost automatically, Frederic turned to move away from them. He would infinitely prefer a solitary walk.
“…an abomination, cursed by fate…”
He turned back, frowning. The acridity in the words stung his ears. He turned his attention from the garden and headed towards the sound.
CHAPTER 3
It was a lady. Or rather, a group of ladies gathered around another. One of them fluttered her fan like she was brushing away a beetle.
“It really is too much to express. I’m beyond astonished at your audacity.”
The second followed where the first had led, sniffing into a large handkerchief.
“Why did you even come, knowing the dreaded curse you bear and the imminent displeasure it would cause to all present?”
“Perhaps she thought herself above us,” another chimed in. “Or wished to do us away.”
The first, a tall woman in a ghastly orange spencer, raised herself on tiptoe, craning over the other two like an oak above hemlock.
“I heard on very good authority that everyone and anyone close to you suffers an immediate and ignominious death.”
“Is it only those you love—excuse me,loved—who die,” the second lady added, “or also those with whom you come in contact?”
All three girls feigned to fall back then recovered, laughing. Frederic felt the heat rising through his jacket. He would expect as much, perhaps, from an illiterate unfortunate but from ladies of the ton! Not even wine could excuse comments so unfeeling, so vulgar. He turned his head, breathing through his nose. It was too much to be borne, too much to endure. And yet, she—the silent listener—only sighed and looked at the ground.
The second lady pulled at the sleeves of the other two. She fidgeted with her handkerchief, lowering her voice so that Frederic strained to catch it.
