A Good Debutante's Guide to Ruin

by Sophie Jordan

  He had changed. At age fifteen he had been a mere shadow of the man he was now. He was more fleshed out now. Muscular, his chest and shoulders broad, filling out his jacket to an impressive degree. She’d seen very few gentlemen in Yorkshire. Just local villagers and neighboring farmers. If she wasn’t careful, she would let the old infatuation return. And nothing good could come of that.

  Declan would not—­

  She stopped the thought, crushing it with a wince. She must cease to think of him thusly. She was practical. He was a duke. She was a nobody. Daughter of a barrister and a woman he had never accepted as his father’s wife. She should simply consider herself fortunate he had agreed to let her stay on . . . and begin planning for the future.

  She blinked in the darkness and closed her eyes only to a deeper dark, wondering why that thought did not provide her with any real comfort. It was well and good to decide she needed a plan, but until she had that plan, she doubted she would sleep well.

  With a sigh, she opened her eyes again and stared sightlessly ahead for long hours into the night, her mind churning. Only as dawn tinged the sky, peeking through the partially opened drapes, did she succumb to sleep.

  Chapter 4

  Aunt Peregrine and Aurelia arrived soon after breakfast—a feat that duly impressed Declan. Especially since they came armed with their maids, too many trunks and valises to count, and a slit-­eyed cat that looked thoroughly displeased to be carted about.

  He had sent a missive explaining the situation and requesting that they stay with him until the matter with Rosalie could be resolved. He could not imagine he would require their presence longer than a week. He’d already sent several of his footmen about Town. He was confident he would know the location of Melisande by the end of the day. She was hardly inconspicuous. She thrived on attention.

  Although he didn’t expect her to be in Town. That would be too easy. And he would have likely heard if she was. He always heard. Rumors he ignored. ­People dropped tidbits of his stepmother’s activities in his ear as though he might actually care. They watched his face closely as though they might witness his outrage at the exploits of his father’s widow. They were disappointed every time.

  She was the type of female that caused ripples wherever she went. She’d taken many a lover since his father’s death, and doubtlessly during his father’s life—­only then with more discretion. He’d heard no gossip of late, so she must be out of Town. Perhaps in Bath. Or the Lake District. Over the years, whenever his mind brushed on the memory of Rosalie, it was with the thought that she was better off away at her rustic school. He supposed it should have occurred to him that she would eventually leave the schoolroom.

  He joined his aunt and cousin in the drawing room. The same room where he had found his stepsister the night before, sleeping like some child who had fallen to slumber with no care or thought for her surroundings. He had directed the massive amount of luggage to be carried upstairs, with Aurelia’s belongings being placed in the bedchamber beside Rosalie. They were of like age, and he rather liked Aurelia, even if she was one of those creatures he dreaded—a young lady of the ton. She would be a good influence.

  Rosalie with her candid stare and drab garments flashed before his eyes. She dressed atrociously. Clearly, a proper lady’s wardrobe was not of any importance at the school she had attended. Or was it simply because her mother had neglected to send the necessary funds? In any case, he was certain his aunt and cousin would see that she was properly attired. They could also polish any rough edges off her.

  He frowned at the direction of his musings. How she dressed or comported herself was not his concern.

  Aunt Peregrine looked up from her tea as he entered the room. “Ah, there you are, Declan-­dearest. I began to fret that you had forgotten us.”

  “Hello, Aunt Peregrine.” He bent and fondly kissed the cheek of his father’s sister.

  The enormous cat in her lap hissed at him, not caring for his proximity. Dec bared his teeth at the beast and the cat growled. His cousin giggled and his aunt sent him a cross look. “Be kind, Declan-­dearest.”

  She only ever addressed him as Declan-­dearest. As if that was his full name. She was kind if not a little vacant-­minded at times, but he could not fault her for that. When his father cast him out, she had always welcomed him into her home. Every holiday from school, he always had a place beneath her roof and at her table. She was the closest thing to a mother he had ever known. Will and Aurelia were more like siblings than cousins.

  He bent and kissed his cousin on the cheek as well. “You’re looking well, Aurelia,” he greeted.

  Aurelia patted the space between her and her mother as though she expected him to squeeze between them. That infernal cat growled low and deep again as if to warn him not to even consider it.

  “Come, seat yourself and tell us of this . . .” Aurelia paused, watching him carefully. Unlike her mother, she was ever astute. Her doe eyes were watchful and took everything in at a swift glance. She finally arrived at her words. “Tell us of this new development, cousin.”

  Development. Trust Aurelia to use such a vague term with such meaningfulness.

  Aurelia was not like other females, given toward emotion and histrionics. At two and twenty, she was a bookish girl with a stinging wit. She missed her first Season when her father passed away, casting the family into deep mourning. A setback she never seemed to recover from. Now with one Season fully behind her and well into her second, Aunt Peregrine never hesitated to bemoan her only daughter’s unwed status. Aurelia teased that she would reside with Will once he married and produced the requisite heir.

  I’ll play doting aunt, she always declared. Will always looked terrified at that announcement. Whether it was the prospect of him marrying and becoming a father or his sister living with him permanently, Dec could only hazard a guess. His cousin grumbled enough at having his mother and sister spend the Season with him. Will would probably thank him the next time he saw him for taking them off his hands and out from beneath his roof for the Season.

  Dec seated himself across from them on an overstuffed sofa chair. “It is no more than I said in my letter. Rosalie . . .” He paused and looked at each of them. “Do you recall the girl?”

  His aunt’s eyes brightened and she sat straighter. “Was she not Melisande’s child with that dreadful orange hair?”

  “Er. Yes.” He didn’t bother adding he thought the color rather pretty. Unique. Then and now.

  She sniffed and her shoulders slumped back. “Tell me her hair has faded to a more palatable auburn.”

  “Not quite.”

  “Well, unfortunate that. Red hair is not the most fashionable. So many fabrics and colors don’t suit.”

  Aurelia rolled her eyes and took a sip from her teacup.

  He stifled a smile. He was familiar with his aunt’s inane comments and his cousin’s thinly veiled forbearance.

  “Yes, well it seems that Rosalie has completed her studies and her mother . . . forgot to collect her.” He didn’t bother adding that she forgot to collect her two years ago.

  Aunt Peregrine tsked. “She doubtlessly doesn’t want her. Shame on Melisande. It’s time the girl was ushered into Society properly.”

  He shrugged. “That is not my responsibility.”

  “Is it not?” his cousin asked, her brown eyes wide over the rim of her cup. “She is your stepsister.”

  He glared at Aurelia. “I’m not her father. Or even her brother.”

  “But you are the head of her family . . . as far as Society is concerned,” Aurelia replied, unruffled. “That does make you responsible for her, does it not?”

  His aunt nodded, her gray-­blond curls bobbing. “True. That is true, Declan-­dearest. This does cast light upon you.”

  He ground his teeth and sent Aurelia a look that clearly did not convey gratitude to her for pointing this
nuance out to Aunt Peregrine. “No. I am only responsible for her if I take responsibility.”

  Aurelia and Aunt Peregrine stared at him, looking unconvinced.

  He stared back, astounded that they should give him such looks. His father had cast him out in favor of Melisande. They could not expect him to go to such lengths for her daughter as though all was well and right between them. “I intend to leave her in the care of her mother once she—­”

  Aurelia lowered her teacup to its saucer with alacrity. “Well, that might be difficult to do considering she is in Italy with her latest paramour.”

  His aunt swatted her daughter’s arm. “Aurelia, where did you hear such a thing? That is far too risqué to fall from your lips.”

  Aurelia lifted her chin, looking exasperated. “Mother, you would be surprised how much one hears when they are invisible.”

  “You’re not invisible,” Aunt Peregrine objected. “And who said such things in your hearing, I’d like to know?”

  “Mother, I’m not a child . . . and to answer you precisely . . . everyone.”

  Dec would have smiled over their banter. It usually amused him, however, his cousin’s proclamation was the only thing he could think upon—­the only thing he could feel. Like rocks sinking to his stomach. “Melisande is in Italy?”

  “Yes,” his aunt admitted, sliding her much aggrieved gaze from her daughter with a sigh. “She departed a week ago with her latest . . . friend. It has caused quite a stir, you see, because the viscount is a good deal younger than she is.”

  He grimaced. She always did like them young.

  His aunt continued, “Everyone had thought he was shopping for a bride this season, as he is quite destitute, but then your stepmother—­”

  “I understand,” he broke in, tempering his tone with a smile. He really did not wish to hear of his stepmother’s exploits. “So that leaves me with Rosalie.” He rubbed his forehead. “What am I supposed to do with her?” He lifted his gaze to his aunt and cousin almost pleadingly.

  “Oh, we can’t take her. We live with William. That wouldn’t be suitable. And I already have one unwed daughter to contend with.”

  Aurelia flinched. It was imperceptible, but Dec noticed it. Aurelia lowered her gaze and took another long sip from her tea.

  “No, I should not wish to impose on you,” he murmured, his mind racing, working . . . wondering a little desperately if he could not simply dump a settlement on her and never have to see her again. Much like the arrangement he had with his stepmother.

  Melisande received a town house and a settlement upon the death of his father—­a settlement that she had obliterated in under a year’s time. She had come to him then, full of tears and pleas. She was penniless, money lenders hunting her down all hours of the day.

  She had wept in his drawing room like there was nothing between him. No ugliness. No past. No night ten years ago where his world had died. Jumped off its axis and placed him on the path that led him to where—­and who—­he was today.

  She was going to have to sell the house. She had nowhere to go. She would have to plead with friends to keep her . . . and oh, how ill that would paint him, she pointed out. Her own stepson did not care to support her. Tongues would wag.

  He no longer cared what others thought of him. Everyone knew his father died despising him. The speculation over that did him no favors. He was accustomed to others thinking the worst of him.

  He could have cast her out . . . much like his father had done to him. And perhaps that was why he did not. Instead he had agreed to give her an allowance every fortnight, and paid off her debts while spreading word that the Duke of Banbury would not honor her debts again.

  He had not seen her since. He assumed she had grown some sense of economy. He snorted. Apparently she had not wasted a penny to look after her own daughter these last few years.

  “Might I make a suggestion, Declan-­dearest?”

  His attention snapped back to his aunt. She shot a quick glance to Aurelia and then looked back at him, her eyes bright with whatever plan she was hatching.

  He nodded.

  “Why not usher her into Society this Season alongside your cousin.” She smiled almost ruefully. “Perhaps the attention of two might draw more bees to the honey pot.”

  Aurelia’s face reddened. “Indeed, what’s another sow to market?”

  “Aurelia!” his aunt cried in outrage. “Must you be so vulgar?”

  “I did not just use an offensive bee metaphor, Mama.”

  Declan casually covered his mouth to stifle his laughter.

  “Assuming this girl does not bear some hideous deformity and you bestow a respectable dowry on her and she can smile like any well-­trained monkey, you should be able to marry her off, cousin,” Aurelia offered in her most sober tones, nodding her head with over-­exaggeration, her brown curls bobbing. “Only I can’t seem to manage it.”

  Aunt Peregrine nodded agreeably, missing her daughter’s sarcasm. His aunt fairly bounced in her seat. It was the final straw. Her cat meowed its protest and bounded from her lap, waddling its fat arse somewhere behind the settee. “Indeed, indeed! Place a dowry on her, if you truly want to be rid of all responsibility for her. Who knows when her mother will return?”

  Dec considered their words. His aunt was serious. His cousin looked like she couldn’t care one way or another. This would involve more than a week. And yet he might be rid of her faster and permanently if he helped her secure a match for herself.

  As much as he didn’t relish ushering Rosalie through a Season, he recognized the merit behind the plan. It was a short investment of time, but then he’d be finished with her once she married. He wouldn’t have to worry about her turning up on his doorstep again when her mother shirked her responsibility.

  “Very well,” he agreed. “I’ll give her a dowry.” He’d give her an obscenely fat dowry. “And I give you leave to do whatever you need in order to prepare her.”

  Aunt Peregrine rubbed her hands together with satisfaction. “We’ll stay here with you through the Season, but the world needs to see firsthand that the Duke of Banbury has taken her under his wing. The ton needs to laud her as much for her connection to you as for her dowry.”

  “Meaning?”

  “We request your presence at several of the Season’s functions.”

  He sighed, nodding. “Very well. Let’s do it properly and then be done with it.”

  Aunt Peregrine grinned. “The Colton ball is next week. We can introduce Rosalie then. That should give us enough time to ready her. Oh! We have much to do.”

  He nodded, not really caring, just grateful that he could pass the chore of shepherding Rosalie through the marriage mart to his aunt and cousin. He’d endure a few balls for that.

  “Make certain your calendar is cleared.”

  He winced, not liking the sound of that.

  She continued, “Everyone needs to see you there like a proud papa—­”

  “I’m not her father.”

  Aunt Peregrine shrugged her thin shoulders. “Very well, then, a doting brother.”

  “Nor am I her brother,” he said tightly, his jaw aching with sudden tension.

  “It might help if you behave as though you can abide the girl,” Aurelia pointed out.

  He forced his jaw to relax. “Of course I can abide her.” It was her mother he despised. He simply wanted no contact with either one of them, but he wouldn’t dwell on that. This was the situation he found himself in and he would suffer it. “You have carte blanche to do what you must to see her wed as soon as possible.”

  Then he would have his life back.

  “Carte blanche?” Aurelia tsked. “Two little words you should think about carefully before saying them to Mama.”

  Aunt Peregrine’s eyes fairly glazed. Will kept his mother on a fairly strict allowance, cla
iming it necessary. Dec knew his uncle had left them with little other than the entailed properties. Will had mentioned on more than one occasion that he would have to wed an heiress sooner rather than later. Aurelia’s dowry was woefully insubstantial, doubtlessly explaining why she remained on the shelf. That and her sharp tongue.

  “Ladies.” He rose. “I think everything is well in hand. I’ve an errand.” He was meeting with his solicitor today over another matter, but now it was just as well, considering he would have to make arrangements for a dowry for Rosalie.

  “I trust you will reintroduce us to Rosalie before you scurry off,” his aunt said. “It’s been years since we last clapped eyes on the girl.”

  “You’re family, Aunt. You don’t need me here to become better acquainted.”

  She started to protest, but he said his farewells and made a hasty retreat.

  Chapter 5

  Rosalie woke slowly, stretching languidly. She felt delicious . . . the bedding was positively the most luxurious thing to ever touch her skin. She had been too weary the night before to even dig through her valise for her nightgown. She had merely stripped down to her shift and climbed into the vast bed.

  She must have slept late. Sunlight poured into the room through the parted damask drapes. She blinked up at the canopy overhead as she replayed the events of the night before.

  She had seen Dec. He had been cold and harsh and uncompromising.

  And even more beautiful than memory served.

  She sighed and dropped her hands to her stomach. It was such a disappointment to see that he had grown into such a beast. Clearly, he loathed his connection to her. He was probably embarrassed. She was without rank or standing in Society. She didn’t possess money or even clothes that qualified her to rub elbows with him.

  His words echoed through her head. Stay out of each other’s way. Indeed. She would quite gladly stay out of his way.