Unless it was her.
Halfway across the room, standing by the wall like a flower, was Letitia Cavendish. Harry waved her fan and smiled, but instead of waving back, a crimson flush rose up Letitia’s neck and across her face. She turned away from them and spoke animatedly to her neighbor, who looked like Miss Wynn.
Harry lowered her hand and tried to ignore the rush of heat across her chest. This was beyond bizarre. Letitia had never shied from Honora’s company before, and it was mere days since their walk. Surely there could be nothing to sully either of their reputations in that time?
The dancehall at Almack’s was busy, full of heat and bodies and music, and Harry felt sick. What was the point in being here, if all you could experience was rudeness and bad manners?
She swallowed and leaned closer to Honora. “I think once we have finished these drinks, we should leave.”
Harry sipped her cup of punch and saw Letitia curtseying to her companion and starting to walk around the room—slowly, to be sure, but in their direction.
By the time she reached Honora and Harry, the latter was indignant. Letitia looked genuinely frightened to be seen in their company, but they had grown up together! What could possibly merit such altered behavior?
“Why are you acting so strangely?” Harry hissed when Letitia was close enough. “What is wrong with everyone?”
Letitia blushed, and her gaze dropped to her hands, clasped before her. “You…you have not read it?”
Honora looked blankly at Harry, who was just as confused.
“Read it?” Honora repeated. “I have no idea what you are talking about.”
Harry did not think it possible for Letitia’s face to get any darker, but it did as she said, “Mrs. Bryant.”
Harry snorted. “Oh, if a little tittle-tattle is enough to make me an outcast, then Almack’s is not the place I thought it was! I thought this place loved gossip. I would have thought everyone would be all over me.”
Letitia was staring as though she had announced she was about to pack up and move to the moon.
“You,” and she had to pause to swallow and find her voice, “you do not care?”
“I do not care what Mrs. Bryant says,” she managed to say firmly, and Letitia gasped. “Oh, don’t be wet, Letitia—it is perfectly acceptable to dance in public with a gentleman, even if you do not!”
The last few words were unnecessarily cruel. It was ridiculous—and not Letitia’s fault—that standing to dance once with Monty had led to this severe reaction from society!
But Letitia did not look upset with her but instead puzzled. Then her eyes widened.
“You have not read the latest one—you are thinking of the piece from three weeks ago?”
Harry’s heart thumped rather painfully. Honora glanced at her, eyes full of concern.
“The latest one?”
Letitia opened her reticule and pulled out a scrap of newspaper. “I kept this on me, in case you…you had not seen.”
“I do not read the newspaper anymore,” Harry said in a strangled voice.
Those around them were staring, and one of them pointed and muttered something. The gaggle of ladies laughed, but one of them gasped in shock and stared.
“Here.” Letitia pushed the scrap of newspaper into her hand.
Harry read it. Then she read it again, this time trying to take in every word, trying to make sure she had not misunderstood.
She held it out, wordlessly, to Honora. As her sister-in-law read the piece with growing shock, Harry tried to ignore her pulse thundering in her ears.
When the newspaper was handed back to her by a stunned Honora, Harry’s gaze dropped to read it once more.
It will undoubtedly interest our readers who have watched with such eagerness as a certain lady, titled and in possession of quite enough fortune for one, moves ever closer to securing a second for herself. After this very paper reported the intimate movements of her with one of society’s favorite bachelors, the estimable Montague Cavendish, the Duke of Devonshire, it appears her appetite for scandal and the aforementioned duke cannot be sated by a mere country dance at Almack’s.
No, it is our unfortunate duty to report that unlike many of the reputable and respectable young ladies of society, this lady (we shall not call her young, for she is five and twenty) has taken to advancing on the gentlemen she chooses in a far more direct fashion. It is now believed by the editor of this newspaper, and with a great deal of evidence which cannot sadly be ignored, the two lovers have consummated their sordid and previously secret affair, bringing shame upon both houses by the unwedded nature of their union.
What remains to be seen, of course, is just when the announcement of their engagement will be made, for it is known by all abroad that the Duke of Devonshire has no choice but to marry swiftly to retain his title. What is less clear is how this lady managed to ensure such a true and kind gentleman.
The truth, somehow, was out. Although she could not understand how, Mrs. Bryant, that gossip who had to know absolutely all of the world’s business, had discovered she had lost her innocence to Monty.
Had she watched from a tree? Had she bribed a servant?
Although her name was not printed, it was abundantly clear society had decided she was the woman in question—and her reputation was ruined.
Harry looked from the newspaper to the crowd, which suddenly looked away.
Honora breathed out slowly. “To think I am not the only woman society has decided is ruined in this family. Harry, ignore it. It’s bile, just rip it up.”
Blood was still thundering in her ears, and Harry could feel the floor shaking. She swallowed as though that would calm her shuddering heart. This was awful—the very worst. Had Monty seen this?
He would propose, there was no doubt about it, but she had not wanted to marry him like this. Not because he had was obliged to.
But in all honor, it was likely he would make an offer soon. How could he not? This had been printed in the newspaper. Thousands of people would have read it! Those who did not read the paper would be told by their friends, and soon the whole ton would consider her damaged goods. Despoiled. Not worthy of any husband except the man who had ruined her.
As though the thought of him had conjured him like magic, Monty walked into the room laughing with his brother, Daniel, and another man Harry thought was Orrinshire.
As one, the entire room turned to stare. A nervous laugh echoed behind her, and Harry flushed. This was going from bad to worse, and there was nothing she could do to stop what was coming.
The two Cavendish brothers and their companion stopped in their tracks, evidently unsure why they were suddenly the focus of Almack’s attention.
“How was she, Devonshire?”
A voice cried out, and Harry whirled around, desperate to see who had spoken, but the whole room was laughing, and she could not tell.
She turned back fearfully to look at Monty, whose face was merrily puzzled.
“Who?” he called out to general laughter from the room.
Harry closed her eyes. How could this get any worse?
“How was riding Lady Harriet?”
Her entire body was burning with embarrassment. This was worse than she could ever have guessed. This needed to end, and she had to end it now.
Placing the newspaper clipping into her reticule and giving Letitia a wan smile, Harry squeezed Honora’s hand.
“Send for Blenkins,” she said. “Send for the carriage. We are leaving.”
She took a step forward and found her legs could carry her.
She was walking directly to Monty. Heads turned to stare, ladies muttered behind fans, and men guffawed, but Harry ignored them.
Not even a wolf whistle could slow her. She would not give them the satisfaction.
“Harry,” said Monty with a smile as she approached him. “What is—”
“Come with me.” Harry grabbed his arm and started pulling him toward the door.
“Rea
dy for another go?”
Harry ignored the shout, praying her skin would not crimson.
“Oh, off they go—they cannot keep their hands off each other!”
“Harry,” Monty said roughly, allowing himself to be pulled along. “What in God’s name—”
They staggered awkwardly down the steps and into the dark evening air. Harry took a deep lungful of the cool breeze and felt her temperature start to cool.
“We were seen.”
Three words. Three words were all it took.
Monty blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
Harry sighed. This was all wrong, and it was going to get worse. “I do not understand how or who by, or what business it is of anyone, but…we were seen. In your room. Monty, it’s in the newspaper.”
Chapter Fifteen
Monty stared at Harry is absolute disbelief.
Her words were ringing in his ears as they rolled around his mind, making no sense. It was impossible to understand what she was trying to tell him.
“We were seen. In your room. Monty, it’s in the newspaper.”
It could not be. She must have read it wrong.
Monty stood without moving, the evening breeze ruffling his hair and tugging at Harry’s gown. There did not seem to be anyone else in the world at this moment, except them.
He had not told a soul—and by the tearstained look on Harry’s face, she had not either.
How could Mrs. Bryant…
“Oh, damn it,” Monty breathed without taking his eyes from Harry’s face.
No one knew she had been there, except Mrs. Loughton.
Saints alive, but he had expected better of her. Heart plummeting to his stomach, his hands clenched as he remembered the encounter.
“All I ask is that you share books in public from now on. During decent hours.”
To think he had trusted her—had taken her on just a few months ago with only one good reference. His father had always taught him to give people the benefit of the doubt, and he had laughed at his father for the number of times he had been taken in.
“Monty?”
Now it wasn’t a few shillings he had been robbed of, but his best friend’s reputation.
Well, she would have to go, and that was that. He could not have a servant in his household he could not trust, absolutely not.
“Monty, are you listening to me?”
He blinked. Harry had taken a step forward and was waving her hand before his eyes.
He stared. So caught up in his thoughts about sacking Mrs. Loughton, he had forgotten who the real victim was in the situation.
Harry. God, but she was devastated. She rarely became overwhelmed by anything, that was one of the best things about her, but she was overcome—though by fear, frustration, or fury, he could not tell.
“It is in the paper,” she repeated, pulling out the clipping and thrusting it at him. “Read it. Read it, Monty.”
In a daze, as though the conversation was happening to another, Monty took it.
He was surprised the editor allowed Mrs. Bryant to print it! Damned fool, did he think he could take on both the houses of Devonshire and Chester and get away with this?
But it was true. Monty swallowed. He had seen the outcomes of slander and libel cases, and they all ended in one way: swearing an oath on a Bible in court. He may be a lapsed churchgoer, but even he would not tempt fate by lying before a judge with a Bible in his hands.
His eyes darted from the newspaper to Harry. She was biting the corner of her lip, never a good sign.
“What are we going to do?” she whispered.
Only then did the true ramifications sink in. Monty took in a deep breath and tried to calm his frantically beating heart.
Harry was a ruined woman, no doubt about it. Oh, it did not name her particularly, but if the reaction of Almack’s was anything to go by, the whole world had seen this and knew exactly to whom Mrs. Bryant was referring.
He would not allow it. Harry could not go through life ostracized, hated, and mocked because of what she had done—because of what they had done.
It would not do.
He would have to marry her.
“I wonder if Josiah has seen this,” Harry was saying from a long way away, snatching the newspaper back and pouring over it once more. “Perhaps he could write to the editor, demand a retraction—what do you think?”
He would marry her. The thought swam through Monty’s mind.
He had wanted it to be their secret; he had not wanted anyone to know about their lovemaking, their time together, without the world invading their privacy.
When you were the Duke of Devonshire, every movement you made became public property. He wanted something of his own. His and Harry’s.
But in all honor, he had no choice. He must make her an offer, and she would accept, of course, out of desperation.
“Monty, are you going to stand there gawping like a fool, or do I need to get a brandy down you?”
“What?” Monty blinked and saw Harry frowning. “Yes. Well, Mrs. Bryant leaves us with no choice.”
Harry’s frown deepened. “No choice? What are you talking about?”
“And I…I am glad in a way,” Monty said briskly, stepping forward to be closer to her. His new wife. That would take some getting used to. “I will ask your brother permission later on tonight if he’s here. I doubt he is likely to say no, considering.”
Harry had not said a word as these hurried and confused thoughts whirled through his mind, but after blinking a few times to ensure she was seeing him clearly, she uttered one word.
“Considering.”
Monty nodded. His first true mistake of the evening.
“After what happened just a few days ago, I did not think you would be so despondent when offering me your hand,” Harry said slowly.
Monty smiled wryly. “I did not expect Mrs. Loughton to be so faithless and sell us out to Mrs. Bryant, and yet here we are. Is your brother here?”
But Harry ignored what Monty considered a reasonable question and folded her arms. It was unfathomable, this sudden rage in her eyes directed not at Mrs. Bryant, but at himself.
“So, you are making me this offer because you have to—because you have no other choice?”
Monty could not be hearing her properly. He took another step toward her, but Harry took a step back.
He stopped. “I…I beg your pardon?”
Harry’s frown was deep. “If—If you are only proposing because of my fall from grace, my loss of reputation, then please, do not bother yourself.”
Monty’s mouth fell open. This could not be happening—this did not make any sense!
“Do you understand what has happened?” he said quietly. “Did you read the—”
“Yes, I understand it,” she snapped, “probably far better than you! Monty, you have no idea, you cannot possibly comprehend what it is like for me!”
“For you?”
Harry glared. The last time she had looked like this, Mr. Lister had received a slap.
“Gentlemen can bed any number of women before they are wed,” breathed Harry, “and it makes them…a rogue, a rake, a rascal. A more experienced lover! But woe betide any woman who even looks at a gentleman in the wrong way! No, that cannot be borne!”
“We are not here to right the wrongs of society,” interrupted Monty heatedly. “We need to—”
“We cannot have women actually enjoying themselves!” Harry continued, her voice growing louder. “Monty, cannot you see how angry that makes me? Can’t you see how unfair that is, that I am the one who is ruined, and you will go to your club and get a few more pats on the back?”
He stared, utterly perplexed. He had thought, after the wild kiss they had shared in the lane, seeing the desire and the hunger in her eyes, knowing their friendship could see them through anything, that she would leap into his arms with gratitude once he made it clear he was going to marry her.
A small part of him thought she might kis
s him again. But she was angry.
“I—I bear the blame for the news getting out,” he said gruffly, unsure whether she was looking for an apology but desperate to stop her anger. “It was Mrs. Laughton, at least I think it was. It was my fault, Harry, and I am sorry for it.”
Which was probably his second mistake of the evening.
Harry snorted. “There you go again! Monty, give women their credit. I cannot say I approve of what Mrs. Laughton did, obviously, but she decided, and she acted. Not you.”
He could barely speak for astonishment, but managed to gasp, “You cannot be glad this has happened, can you?” A suspicion entered his mind, and before he could examine it properly, he said falteringly, “It…it was not you who leaked it to the press, was it?”
A sharp agonizing pain radiated from his shoulder as Harry’s reticule thumped him.
“No! Do you honestly think so little of me?”
“I am sorry,” Monty said hastily, rubbing at his aching shoulder. What did she have in that reticule she walloped him with? “Look, no matter how this happened, it has happened. I have made you an offer, and now we need to get the details all sorted out. Did you say whether your brother was here tonight?”
Harry stared and raised an eyebrow.
He wanted to melt into a puddle on the floor for love of her. Damnit, but she was beautiful, haughty when roused, kindness and softness when calm. It may not have transpired as he would have expected, but they were engaged. That was all that mattered.
As a carriage bearing the Chester coat of arms rattled along the street and stopped outside Almack’s, Monty saw Harry’s eyes flicker over to it before firmly staring at him once more.
“I have not actually given you an answer yet.”
Monty stared, laughed, and then said his third and last mistake of the evening. “Oh, Harry, you would be a fool to say no, now your reputation is ruined—’tis not like anyone else is going to make a counteroffer!”
The words rang out into the silence of the night. A few people had left Almack’s, and from the dim light, he thought they were Letitia and Honora, watching the proceedings beside the Chester coach.
Always the Best Friend (Never the Bride Book 4) Page 13
