There. Every word she had uttered was true.
“’Tis a sad crush downstairs.” Claire’s frown deepened and she looked at Beth with growing worry. “He is certain to have been seen on his way out, even if he didn’t speak to anyone. Was it possible to tell . . . ?”
“His head was bleeding.” Beth’s tone was cheerful as she found herself on solid conversational ground once more. In the interests of making it more difficult for Claire to read any wayward quirks of expression, she reached for the brush on her nearby dressing table and then turned toward the mirror again, presenting her sister with her back as she began to tease the knots from her hair. “But only a little. Nothing that one would immediately notice.”
“We’re up to our teeth in it for sure,” Twindle put in with gloomy conviction, taking the brush out of Beth’s hand with a tcch of disgust and applying it to her tumbled hair with considerably more vigor than Beth had used. “With Lord Rosen’s fair coloring, a bleeding pate is not likely to have escaped attention.”
“I feel quite certain he wasn’t seen.” Beth winced as Twindle found a particularly stubborn tangle and, grasping the hair just above the knot on the provably incorrect theory that doing so would mitigate the pain, determinedly brushed it out.
“How can you be so sure?” Claire was staring hard at Beth as if she was beginning to suspect that there was more to the tale than she was being told. “He may even have gone straight to his mother, in which case we are in the suds. She’s looking for him right at this very moment, you know. And for you, too, because he left the ballroom in your company. She was alarmed enough to seek me out to tell me that neither of you was anywhere to be found, which is what brought me up here in search of you in the first place. If Lord Rosen spoke to her before departing, she will now know the whole. And believe me, that stiff-rumped old busybody will have no compunction at all in blackening your name to anyone within hearing distance.”
“But Claire, don’t you see, by blackening my name, she blackens her son’s, and by extension her own as well.” Beth took the brush from Twindle, whose vigor at smoothing tangles was making her eyes water, and proceeded to go about the task of restoring her hair to its normal order herself. Besides, even through the mirror, Claire’s probing gaze was making her uncomfortable, and watching the brush’s progress gave her an excuse not to look at her sister. “She won’t do that.”
“She’s an old witch,” Claire said. “I put nothing past her.”
A peek at her sister showed Beth that Claire was frowning again.
“Believe me, she’ll consider William well rid of me.”
“Yes.” Even as she acknowledged the truth of that, Claire continued to frown. Her tone turned thoughtful. “Still, someone needs to tell Lady Rosen that the engagement is broken, and her son is gone, before she sets the household on its ear.” Claire caught Beth’s eyes through the mirror, and her frown deepened as Beth smiled wickedly at her. Claire held her gaze for a moment, then sighed. “You think that somebody would be me, I suppose.”
“You are the Duchess of Richmond,” Beth responded in what was obvious agreement. “Quite a grand personage, Claire. You must just overawe her with one of your icy stares.”
Claire snorted. “Yes, and I must just become the next Queen of England, too.”
“She’ll likely fall on your neck in thanksgiving,” Beth continued encouragingly. “She feels William can do far better than me.”
“She’ll be as unpleasant as she can hold together, and you know it.” Claire pulled a face. “And as for her son doing better, well, she’s out there: he never will.”
“’Tis we who are well rid of him,” Twindle said, taking the brush from Beth and once again applying it with a ferocity that made Beth wince. “Any man who would use you so before marriage would be a monster after it.”
Beth shuddered inwardly as the truth of that went home. She was still conscious of a lingering warmth in her cheek where William had struck her. Had she been foolish enough to actually wed him . . .
“Exactly,” Claire said. “I admit to being sadly deceived about Lord Rosen’s character, and I am only thankful that we found out the truth in time. Now you must just have a bath and go to bed, and leave it to me to deal with Lady Rosen.”
Claire’s usually tranquil expression was a study in resolve, and Beth had no doubt that Lady Rosen would be vanquished in the most diplomatic way possible, since Claire, unlike herself, was capable of being tactful even while laboring under the most extreme emotions. But for Claire, who disliked confrontation above all things, to be so willing to go to William’s mother as the bearer of bad tidings, was a testament to sisterly love, and Beth knew it. She smiled at Claire through the mirror.
“Thank you,” she said, then added with a twinkle in her eyes, “Clarabelle.”
From earliest childhood Beth had called her sister that—a cow name, as Claire termed it—to tease her, and from earliest childhood Claire had hated the nickname with a passion. Once upon a time, it had been an open invitation to fisticuffs. But the grown-up Claire merely narrowed her eyes at her little sister warningly.
“Careful,” she said. “Or I—”
A brisk knock on the bedroom door interrupted. Beth, Claire, and Twindle jumped and exchanged alarmed glances. Even as Twindle moved with uncharacteristic speed to deal with whoever was there, the sound of the door opening reached them.
Chapter Five
“BETH?” A VOICE CALLED.
Aunt Augusta. Grimacing, Beth exchanged looks of alarm with Claire. Not that she wasn’t extremely fond of her aunt, because she was. When the three Banning sisters had first come to London, short on money and reputation and knowing no one in Polite Society, their deceased father’s widowed, childless sister, Augusta, Lady Salcombe, had agreed to take them under her wing. Now that Gabby and Claire were happily married to wealthy, prominent men and Beth was living with Claire in town, they no longer needed her help. But as the daughters of a father whose shocking behavior and multiple marriages—Gabby, Claire, and Beth each had a different mother—had nearly put them beyond the social pale from the beginning, the three of them were still sometimes looked at askance by society’s highest sticklers.
Which is where Aunt Augusta’s sterling reputation came in. She moved in the highest circles, was known and respected by all, and was bosom bows with Lady Jersey and several of the other patronesses of Almack’s besides. Without her to stand beside them through the various scandals they had tumbled into on their own accord, many of London’s best drawing rooms would have been closed to them by now, Beth knew.
“What, pray, are you doing up here?” Aunt Augusta demanded as, with Twindle just visible behind her, she appeared in the dressing room doorway. At nearly six feet tall, with a broad-shouldered, mannish build, she made the small dressing room seem suddenly far too crowded. Her mauve silk gown, fashioned in the tight-bodiced, full-skirted style that had been all the crack perhaps a generation before, added to the impression she gave of taking up far more than her fair share of space. Although she was upward of sixty now, with iron gray hair wound round her head in a coronet of braids, her skin was smooth and unwrinkled, pale as fine china, and, as she would be the first to confess, constituted her one claim to beauty. But her square jaw, thin lips, and piercing gaze gave her an intimidating aspect that, the sisters had come to realize, was largely misleading. Beneath her stern exterior and tart manner, Aunt Augusta had the kindest of hearts.
Now she paused with one hand on the doorjamb, her gaze sweeping past Claire to fix with disapprobation on Beth.
“There is a rumor flying around the ballroom that you, miss, fearing that Lady Rosen will oppose a marriage to her son, have fled to Scotland with Lord Rosen.”
“There is talk of an elopement?” Claire asked with horror, while Beth had to smile. It was so far from the truth as to be almost ludicrous. Not that Aunt Augusta, who had known about and approved of her acceptance of William’s suit, was likely to find the situation
in the least amusing once she learned the whole of it.
“As you can see, Aunt Augusta, it’s no such thing,” she said virtuously. “I am right here.”
Aunt Augusta frowned at her. “I see nothing to smile about. Your reputation won’t bear a great deal more gossip, my girl. I should keep that in mind, were I you.”
Beth did her best to swallow the smile. Poor Aunt Augusta had been plagued by the three of them to the point where it was surprising that she was even willing to acknowledge them as relatives, much less stand their friend. But Aunt Augusta was a great believer in blood being thicker than water, and she was grudgingly fond of her wayward nieces besides.
“You’re right, of course,” she said. But while her tone was suitably meek, her smile must have lingered, because Aunt Augusta, who was nobody’s fool, eyed her frostily.
“What’s being said?” Claire asked. It was a welcome distraction. Aunt Augusta’s gaze swung toward her.
“Apparently Lord Rosen told several people that his and Miss Sauce-mouth here’s engagement is to be announced tonight, which, as I have informed those who were impertinent enough to ask me, comes as a surprise to me. And then, as word of the impending happy news spread, people began to notice that both Lord Rosen and Beth had disappeared from the ballroom. When Lady Rosen started looking for her son and became clearly upset when she did not find him, the gossip took wing. Gabby is in the library with her right now, trying to keep her calm while the pair of you are located.” Aunt Augusta’s brows snapped together as she looked Beth up and down. “I take it there is a reason why you are up here in your wrapper with your hair around your shoulders, child, in the midst of the biggest ball of the Season?” Her gaze slid to Claire. “And why are you, the hostess of that ball, sitting in her dressing room chatting to her?”
“Miss Claire was looking for her sister,” Twindle said, saving her favorite charge from having to lie.
“My dress ripped,” Beth told her aunt. “I came upstairs to change.”
Once again, it had the advantage of being the absolute truth. As far as she was concerned, there was no need to acquaint Aunt Augusta with the details of exactly what had transpired between herself and William. The fewer people who knew the whole sordid story, the less chance it had of leaking out, and, anyway, Aunt Augusta was going to be upset enough when told of her broken engagement. There was no need to add details that would make her aunt go practically apoplectic. Though most of her anger would be directed at William, Beth knew that if the truth came out, she personally would be listening to lectures for years to come.
Neither Claire nor Twindle said anything to contradict her.
“So where is Lord Rosen?” Aunt Augusta asked, glancing around as if he might be concealed behind the washstand or the tall mahogany wardrobe.
Beth sighed, knowing that the time for confession was fast approaching.
“At home, I expect.”
Aunt Augusta stiffened. Her eyes, which were focused on Beth’s face, narrowed. Her lips tightened. Her complexion reddened. From the corner of her eye, Beth watched Claire wince in anticipation of the question they both knew was coming.
“I may be in my dotage, but I’m not quite a simpleton yet,” Aunt Augusta said, her eyes holding Beth’s. “You’ve thrown him over, haven’t you?”
Beth braced herself. “We decided we should not suit.”
“I knew it, I knew it! I knew we should not get through this Season without another horrid scandal. First Gabby sets the ton on its ear by falling in love with Nick, whom the entire world thought was your brother. Then we had scarcely recovered from that when you, Claire—well, you know perfectly well what you did, and just because dear Richmond married you at the end of it does not mean that people do not remember. The following Season there was still talk, but it was dying down, and when Beth got herself engaged to that nice boy Charles Amperman I thought we were set to come about at last.” Her gaze, which had been briefly excoriating Claire, swung back to fix accusingly on Beth. “And then what did you do? What did you do? You cried off when you were practically in the church! And last year, you threw over Kirkby! Kirkby, who could look as high as he chose for a bride and yet chose you! And now—to jilt Rosen, of all people! A belted earl, with twenty thousand pounds a year. You must be mad.”
“Beth may marry where she chooses.” Claire rose to her feet in her sister’s defense and faced their aunt with a dignity that, Beth thought, did her new station in life proud. “A title and fortune mean little when the man possessing them does not also possess your heart.”
“Twaddle,” Aunt Augusta snapped. “A title and a fortune mean a great deal as far as choosing a husband goes. Do you expect Beth to live with you for the rest of her life? Or with Gabby? Or to shuttle back and forth betwixt and between the pair of you?” Her gaze shifted to Beth again. “Is that what you want, miss? To be forever dependent on your sisters’ charity, with no real home or family to call your own?”
“Aunt!” Claire said in outrage. Then, to Beth, “You know that you—”
“I know.” Beth acknowledged with a nod what she knew would be Claire’s disavowal of any charity, and a continuing pledge of a home with her or Gabby for the rest of her life if she chose.
“Because if you keep whistling suitors down the wind, that’s exactly how you are going to end.” Aunt Augusta glared at Beth. “And, believe me, being alone in your later years is no treat. A woman needs a family of her own.”
Conviction born of experience colored Aunt Augusta’s voice. Beth knew that before she and her sisters had appeared in her life, their aunt, though wealthy and respected, had been lonely. And she knew, too, that Aunt Augusta was right: she did want a home and family of her own.
The sad truth was, she just didn’t want the one ingredient that was necessary to make that happen: a husband.
The thought of having to endure such brutality as William had visited on her for the rest of her life made her go cold all over. Once a female was wed, she was to all intents and purposes in bondage to her husband. Whether he was kind or cruel, it made no difference: there was no help for her anywhere.
“The key is to find the right husband.” Claire answered Beth’s thoughts with uncanny accuracy. “The rest will follow.”
Claire said that bravely, although Beth knew that her sister’s failure to conceive the children she and her husband longed for was a growing dark spot in her otherwise bright existence. But her marriage was happy, as was Gabby’s. They clearly demonstrated that all husbands did not turn into ogres once the vows were irrevocably said.
William’s behavior tonight, as well as their own father’s appalling treatment of his wives and daughters and Claire’s first husband’s cruelty, was not the fate of all, or even most women, and she knew that, at least with her head. Her heart, however, remained firmly unconvinced.
If truth were told, the idea of being subject to a man, any man, irrevocably and forever, filled her with nothing short of dread.
“William was not the right man.” Claire seemed to read her thoughts once again.
“Well, hoity-toity,” Aunt Augusta sniffed. “That’s three of the Marriage Mart’s finest, then, that do not suit her ladyship here. Let me remind you, miss, that there are scores of eager young ladies out there all too willing to snap up your discards.” She glared at Beth again. “And now you’ve got a new scandal-broth brewing besides. If you wish to have any reputation left to you—and, not incidentally, to spare the rest of us from having to hang down our heads whenever we appear in Society—you need to do your possible to salvage this debacle before word of it flies around the ton, which it will do tomorrow. Praise God there has been no official announcement of your engagement! I will put it about, quietly, that it was all a hum: Lord Rosen never actually came up to scratch. You, Beth, will cast down your eyes and say something along the lines of ‘modesty’”—and here Aunt Augusta snorted expressively—“‘forbids me to answer’ if anyone has the temerity to ask you about Lord Ros
en. You, Claire, will follow my lead: Lord Rosen never actually popped the question at all. There may be a few snickers at your expense, my girl, and some gossip along the lines of not counting chickens before they are hatched, but perhaps the worst of the scandal may then be avoided, and Beth may survive to become engaged another day.”
Beth and Claire exchanged glances. It was clear to Beth that Claire was thinking the same thing she was: Aunt Augusta, while knowing only a fraction of the truth, had nevertheless hit on the best possible solution to bring them all about. The only thing missing from the scenario was William’s and his family’s cooperation, and she had little doubt that Lady Rosen, heartened by the news that Beth was not to become part of their family, would embrace the opportunity to keep gossip at bay.
There was, however, still one small problem.
“William sent notice of the engagement to the newspapers,” Beth said in a small voice. “It will in all likelihood appear in tomorrow’s editions.”
Her aunt and sister stared at her, momentarily flummoxed.
“Of course I should have known we were not going to come about so easily.” Aunt Augusta glared at Beth again. “Well. I am growing too old for this. You gels will be the death of me yet, mark my words.”
“It isn’t her fault,” Claire said loyally. “We must just recall the notice at once.”
“It is in all likelihood too late.” Beth cast a quick, hunted look at the clock on the mantel. “It’s nearly midnight.”
Claire’s lips firmed with determination.
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