“Yes, My Lady. And he had been away in the country for some weeks. I didn’t know he’d come back to London.”
“But what kind of scandal would cause a gentleman to hide away in the country? What could Lord Robert have done to be so disgraced?” Lady Phoebe’s eyes met Mary’s in the glass. Phoebe gasped. Her tiny hand, still sheathed in a lacy white glove, went to her mouth. “Mary, is there a … a child? A child out of wedlock?”
“No, My Lady, but there might as well be. You know how people talk. The gentleman is no gentleman according to what I’ve heard. Many people are talking.
“Tell me, Mary,” Lady Phoebe leaned towards the maid, shivers of excitement causing gooseflesh on her arms and shoulders.
“My Lady, it is not fun, harmless gossip. It is the kind of slander that can taint one’s reputation forever.”
“Oh dear. In Paris things were quite different. Everyone would delight in who-kissed-who stories and conjecture over why a certain Count or Duke might be late to the salon. It was light and amusing. No one ever got hurt. I’d no idea the ton’s conversation could be so damaging. Maybe I ought not to know about Lord Robert and his fall from grace.”
“I’m only amazed that you haven’t learned of it before now. I’m surprised that no one at the ball said something to you.”
“Mary! What can be so, so sordid?”
Mary sighed. “Lord Robert. Are you sure you want to know, My Lady?”
“Yes, Mary. Tell me.” Phoebe’s excitement at learning a delicious bit of talk had dissipated. Her maid was about to tell her something bad. Very bad.
“Lord Robert reneged on a marriage promise, My Lady. He abandoned his betrothed.”
“No!” Lady Phoebe was shocked.
“That’s what’s being said, My Lady.”
“What else? There’s got to be more to the story.”
“The lady was away travelling for three years. She recently came back to London, and Lord Robert told her he would not marry her. They had made a secret betrothal before she went abroad. She was only seventeen at the time, but now she’s of marrying age, Lord Robert has forsaken her.”
Lady Phoebe grabbed her fan off the vanity and frantically fanned herself. Her mind was spinning. “How can this be true, Mary? Tell me the rest of it.”
“He’s not received at many of the homes of your friends, My Lady. Although I, myself, do not believe the gossip.”
“You don’t? Why?”
“Because there’s something not quite right about the story. I haven’t put my finger on it. But, everyone I’ve heard speak of it agrees.”
“Yes, go on, Mary.”
“Everyone tells the same story.”
“I don’t understand. That’s what gossip is, no?”
“My Lady, exactly the same. I don’t want to overstep my bounds, My Lady ... but it’s almost as if the story has been taught to them. I know it sounds odd, but there’s something about the whole thing that I don’t believe.
“Mary I danced with him. He was so charming. So polite. No wonder such nasty looks were directed at us. I thought I was imagining it. Too much ratafia I supposed. He was every bit a ... a gentleman with me.” Phoebe looked down into her lap.
She feared she must never speak to Lord Robert again. “But Mary, you say you don’t believe the story?”
“No, My Lady, I do not.”
“Then why does everyone else believe it?”
“Because, My Lady, they trust Lady Judith.”
“Why does her word carry so much weight?”
“Lady Judith’s father was a Duke, My Lady. Lord Robert is a second son. They are first cousins, and the families wanted to keep the fortunes together.” Mary looked down, blushing, “At least that’s what people are saying.
“And she’s found a better offer? Do you think that’s why she made up a story to rid herself of Lord Robert?”
“Who was she with at the ball, My Lady?”
“Oh la! There were so many people there. What was his name? Ah! Marquess Hempstead.”
“Oh dear.” Mary’s eyes were wide.
“What, Mary?” Lady Phoebe’s curiosity was getting the better of her.
“Marquess Hempstead is Lord Robert’s brother, My Lady.”
Chapter 2
Lord Robert had been at Hempstead Hall for five days. He sat by the fireplace in his bedchamber having coffee and reading the newspaper. Terence, ever the thoughtful valet, had gone into the village to obtain the paper.
A heavy rap sounded on the door. Robert set the paper down and smoothed his hair back.
“Yes?”
Terence entered the room. He carried a small gold tray with a black bordered letter resting on it. The seal of black wax was imprinted with the Atwater Crest. Lord Robert severed the seal with his breakfast knife and opened the page, smoothing it out on top of the paper on the small table. He began to read and as he did so, his face grew deathly pale.
“What is it My Lord?” Terence went to his master’s side.
“My father …” Lord Robert’s head lolled against the back of the chair, eyes closed. “My father and my brother.”
“My Lord?”
“Terence ... they’re dead, taken by the typhus. I had no knowledge that they were ill, they both were fine at the ball the other night.”
“Dear God. We must get back to Regent Street straightaway, My Lord. I’ll have a bath prepared for you and lay out your attire. “Please accept my condolences, Your Grace.”
Robert’s eyes opened wide. Your Grace. He was suddenly aware of the fact that he was Lord Robert no longer. And he was alone. After the scandal caused by Lady Judith’s rumour, his father and brother had stopped speaking to him, and he hadn’t had an opportunity to make things right with them. His Grace, Lord Robert Weston, the 2nd Duke of Atwater dropped his head into his hands and wept.
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The Revenge of the Betrayed Duke: A Historical Regency Romance Book Page 32
