Chapter 20
Merry longed to rail at John’s stubbornness. But she was coming to realize that it wasn’t arrogance or the determination of a mule that made him behave the way he did. Quite the contrary. It was that he did not see himself as good enough to deserve love or happiness.
Somewhere along the way, in his quest to avenge his mother, he’d lost himself.
Or maybe, he’d lost himself the day she’d died and never been quite able to locate his sense of self again.
The idea nearly stole her breath. Tears stung her eyes as she thought of John, small and alone. At least she had her cousins as a child. John had had no one.
Still, there was little she could do to help him, for he wouldn’t help himself. Nor would he allow her to help him.
There was naught she could do but continue on as she was. Looking for her own future path. As she gazed out over the faces of aristocrats about her, she wondered if she was in the right place.
The stifling nature of the room filled her with a sense of dread. What if she never found the one person who would make her life if not perfect, at least full of contentment?
It was a dangerous occupation for a woman, the pursuit of a husband.
For choosing the wrong man would invoke a life of discontent and, possibly, emotional agony.
It wasn’t to be taken lightly.
At least Olivia understood she was no typical miss looking for a titled, wealthy husband with no thought to how she’d be treated. For it was clear that Olivia was as concerned as she was that her husband be a man who wouldn’t try to clip her wings or force her to be something she was not.
Perhaps, she should ask the duke for the dowry and simply remain an eccentric old maid. It was certainly tempting. But she had a lust for life and men. There was no denying it. A husband was essential.
At the sight of an eager, though puppyish young man, rushing towards her, she dashed out into the hall. She followed the feel of cool air and the scent of roses drifting in from the garden.
She headed out onto the veranda and allowed the night air to wash over her.
It did not have the crispness of a Highland breeze but it would do.
Slowly, she walked forward then leaned against the stone balustrade which overlooked the man-made pond at the back of the lawn.
“Hello, Miss Meredith.”
She tensed then turned to the voice. A voice she knew but had dreaded to eventually hear. “Hello, Lord Edward.”
“I wish I could say it was a pleasure,” he said, sauntering forward, a brandy bottle in his hand.
“I no doubt remind you of painful happenings.”
“You do,” he replied honestly. “But there is no one to blame but myself.”
She swallowed, surprised at the fear that had just shimmied through her. Edward was a man with cause to be angry. She wouldn’t have been surprised if he loathed her. Even if it had not been her fault that he had made the terrible assumption that the woman he’d seen in bed with another man had been her and not his Emmaline.
It was the misfortune of fate that she looked so like her cousin and that Edward had been so unfortunately ready to believe the worst.
“I’m sorry for your unhappiness,” she said softly.
Edward nodded. “Thank you for that.” He paused, brandy bottle dangling from his fingertips. “You and John have become better acquainted, have you not?”
“He became earl on the estate where my uncle was vicar and he sought me out to tell me of your eldest brother’s wish to assist me.”
“He. . .” Edward pressed his lips together, clearly searching for the words he wished to express. “He thinks well of you. That doesn’t often occur.”
A sad smile pulled at her lips. “I wish he thought better of himself.”
Edward seemed to assess her anew. “You’ve seen it then. Most don’t.”
“That he’s the cruelest to himself? Far beyond anyone else?” she clarified. “Yes, I’ve seen it.”
Edward nodded. “You’ve changed a good deal since last we met.”
“That’s what John said, too.”
“Did he?” Edward laughed dryly. “It’s true. You have become very perceptive to the nature of humans.”
Folding her arms across her middle, she wandered further out into the darkness. “I’ve had a good deal of time to contemplate it.”
“Indeed.” Suddenly, he stepped forward. “Can you forgive me?”
“Forgive you? What for Edward?” she asked.
A look of sheer torture masked his face. “For the part I played in that macabre show at the Trent estate.”
She paused then decided to say exactly what was in her mind. “You mean when you asserted Emmaline was a whore?”
Edward gave a succinct nod.
“It was I who was the whore,” she whispered.
“No,” he denied vehemently. “I’ll never forgive myself for being so callous. I sometimes wonder about the hypocrisy of men. We are not virgins. Yet, we expect the women we love to be pure. Well, not all men. But I was very naive and an ass.”
“You were,” she agreed hardily. “But we all have our shallow points, Edward.”
“Too true.” He swung his attention back towards the house then frowned. “You shouldn’t be out here alone.”
The weight of his warning rang solid and she felt her spirits sink. “There are so many rules for women.”
“I can’t deny that. But best follow them at least for appearance’s sake until you’re wed.” He reached out, took her hand, and bowed over it. “There are somethings even a lady with a duke’s support can’t return from. Being caught out here with me, a man with a now dubious reputation, could be one of them.”
“Thank you, Edward,” she replied, slipping her fingers from his, surprised to find that she held no animosity towards the young man. “And I do hope that, one day, you find your own happiness.”
He lifted his bottle in salute. “Unlikely, but thank you, Miss Meredith.”
She inclined her head, then bustled back into her own ball.
As she rushed into the crowd, she felt the change. Something was different, as if all the air had gone out of the room.
She nearly stopped as she felt the force of hundreds of pairs of eyes upon her. There was no admiration in them. In fact, several sneers were sent in her direction. And most of the women were gossiping behind their fans, their gazes hard and accusatory.
A hand brushed onto her forearm. “Come with me now,” Olivia ordered, her voice so low she could barely be heard.
Swallowing, Meredith obeyed. Something was wrong. Desperately wrong. Keeping her head high, she followed Olivia out of the ballroom. As soon as they stepped out, the sound of verbal thunder crashed behind them.
“I don’t understand,” Meredith protested, panic clawing at her throat. “They’re speaking about me, aren’t they? Why? Has last year’s scandal gotten out?’
Olivia shook her head then lifted a small pamphlet.
She eyed the paper as though it were a viper. “What is that?”
Unswayed, Olivia pushed it towards her. “Read.”
Hand shaking slightly, she took the stiff news sheet and read the title.
On the Subject of
Sinful Creatures
and the
Whoredom of
a Vicar’s Niece
Miss Meredith Trent.
Merry’s eyes widened and she could not draw air into her lungs. Her throat and chest began to burn as she read the words again and again. She ripped the pamphlet open and started to read though she could scare think.
“It’s very bad,” Olivia said, her voice shockingly soft. “He accuses you of using your wiles to tempt a peer and that you did willfully shame yourself. He calls you disobedient and says that you have the nature of Eve and the deeds of Jezebel.”
“My God,” she gasped. “I knew he had to hate me. But this?”
Olivia seized her hand. “I am not certain what is to be done, but we must take you upstairs and likely leave the city tonight. These are being distributed all over the West End and, frankly my dear, you’re the subject of some very terribly things at present. My darling husband is doing his utmost to tell them all to go the devil just now.”
Suddenly, she heard a voice roar across the ballroom. “He’s a bloody liar and he was physically abusing her.”
The din fell quiet.
Her heart slammed in her chest. “John.”
Despite Olivia’s gentle pull on her hand, she turned to the doorway and glimpsed through.
John stood in the center of the ballroom ripping a pamphlet to shreds. “Miss Meredith Trent did no more than to attempt to seek an improvement to her situation. To seek relief from a tyrannical uncle.”
“It was you, wasn’t it?” a man demanded from the crowd. “Who she seduced. John the Bastard. Or was it truly you who seduced her?”
The Duke of Huntsdown strode forward and growled at the puffed man, “Get out. I’ll run you out of London.”
“Not before I kill him first,” John leveled, his voice hard as stone. “Dawn. Pistols or swords, it matters not.”
The silence that met those words was terrible. For he was serious in his declaration and the company seemed to acknowledge as one that it was, indeed, John Forthryte, Bastard, Earl of Mooreland, that she had attempted to use her Jezebel ways upon. No doubt, now the ton would think them quite a pair.
The temptation to run forward and beg him not to fight blazed through her. But the crowd was in a strange state and she did not wish to make things worse.
So, she would wait. Somehow, she would convince him that she wasn’t worth facing death over a foggy field at dawn.
For truth be told, given events, it seemed she could not escape her fate. She’d never been meant for a good marriage and a simple life.
Ruination had always been in her future and, now, it was here.