Page 68 of The Duke of Scandal

Andrew regarded her with incredulity. “You would spare a man that harmed you?”

She looked down at her hands that now lay on her lap. “I do not care for Magnus. You are my brother, and I wish for you to live a long and full life. Think of the consequences if you duel him and he strikes you.”

“…I suppose you are right. You have always been smarter than I am,” he said and Bridget smiled.

They rode the rest of the way in silence, and when they arrived, Andrew led her to the drawing room.

“Would you like to drink something?” he asked as she lowered herself onto a sofa near the fireplace.

“Yes, some sherry, please.”

“Would you not want something better? Stronger, perhaps?” He raised a brow as he asked.

“I suppose I would rather have some whiskey then,” she replied, realizing she would need it after what she had faced tonight. As he moved to a table that held a tray with several decanters and glasses, Bridget gazed into the fire, wondering how her life had turned out this way.

Three weeks ago, she had been preparing to marry Magnus. Now, she was doomed to live the rest of her life as a spinster after the same man, who had once written her sonnets, spread word of how he had ruined her. Introducing her to the woman he had replaced her with had caused her more pain than she wished to admit.

“Bridget?” Her brother’s voice tore into her unpleasant thoughts, and she started. With a commiserating countenance, he handed her a glass of whiskey. “I should apprise Father of what occurred tonight.”

“Must you tell him this instant?”

“Yes, I must. We cannot allow Lore to continue to dishonor us.”

The only response Bridget could give was a nod as she raised her whiskey glass to her lips for a sip. The liquor was warm and burned a trail down her throat, but it did little to make her feel better.

After Andrew had left the drawing room to find their father, she stood and walked to a window, staring out and endeavoring not to think of her unfortunate circumstances. There was no knowing how long she stood there, but her attention was drawn back sometime later when someone walked into the room. She turned to find her lady’s maid and dearest friend, Sarah Mills.

“Did something happen?” she asked, coming to stand beside Bridget, her blue eyes full of concern. “I saw Mr. Turner in a foul disposition.”

Bridget swallowed. “I met Magnus at the ball, and he was most unkind.” She proceeded to recall the events to Sarah. “I am certain that no one will marry me after this.”

“Oh, do not say that, Miss!” Sarah’s cap slid back a little as she shook her head, revealing her brown hair. “I am sure thetonwill find another scandal with which to divert themselves.”

Bridget shook her head. “What Magnus did…” She did not know why she still thought of him by his Christian name, and it annoyed her.

Sarah placed a hand on her shoulder. “Everything will be all right, Miss.”

“It is very hopeful and kind of you to say that, Sarah, but I know the truth of my situation and the hidden cruelty of our society. No one will marry me."

“No one?” came her father’s deep voice. Mortimer Turner, the Viscount of Malmore’s brows were drawn together, but his eyes were kind and gentle. “Are you certain, my dear?”

Sarah immediately curtsied and excused herself, while her father came to stand where she had been.

“Did Andrew tell you what happened?” she asked, setting her now empty glass down on a nearby end table.

“Yes, he did.” He took both of her hands. “Do not despair, Bridget, for you shall marry. Very soon.”

“How can you be certain, Papa?”

“Because you have an offer.” Mortimer smiled. “And should you accept, you shall become the Duchess of Alderham.”

Bridget’s eyes widened. “The offer is from the Duke of Alderham? The Beast of Grayfield?” She took a step back, her stomach knotting. The back of her legs touched the edge of a chair, and she sank into it, despairing more than before.

Everyone who had heard of him knew he was not a man that any sensible woman would wish to marry.

“Now, Bridget, we must not refer to him as such. He is a good man, and not at all what people have made of him,” her father said.

She had never met the duke but had heard many tales about him. And she did not know if marrying an old, ill-tempered recluse was better than becoming a spinster.

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