It wouldn’t be long before the guests turned on her, whispering behind their fans, their wicked eyes gleaming above frothy lace. The carefully planned schedule she had worked so hard on was going up in flames.
I’ll never find Basil. What was I thinking?
She distantly registered the sound of glass breaking, and then strong fingers closed around her wrist and pulled. With nothing left in her to protest, she followed willingly, her eyes still clenched shut, her feet stumbling on the smooth floor. The onslaught of sounds and smells faded, and she opened her eyes as she was shoved into a chair.
The Duke of Canterbury stood in front of her, scowling. His ruddy cheeks were stained the color of wine, and his eyes were all but bulging out of their sockets. Three servants stood quietly at the far side of the room, their eyes downcast.
“What were you thinking?” Canterbury roared. “Are you daft, girl? Another incident like that and you’ll erase what’s left of your sister’s reputation.”
A sour taste crept up her throat, but the angry words swirling inside her curdled in her stomach. The damned man was right. Her failure to anticipate her own response might have cost Angelica her future. Society already considered Saffron an oddity but had not yet associated her strangeness with anythingbut a quirk of her personality. If she was not careful, more dangerous rumors would start. Diseases of the mind ran in families. That was common knowledge.
The horror of what she’d almost done made Saffron want to race to her room and hide beneath the blankets.
Canterbury huffed out a breath, his arms crossed. “You are lucky that Mayweather fellow is clumsy. His accident at the refreshment table distracted everyone long enough to minimize the damage. Now…” He stepped closer, narrowing his eyes. “I will only say this once. If you wish to remain out of the poorhouse, you will refrain from making a spectacle of yourself and bringing shame upon my bride.”
He wiped the spittle from his mouth with a handkerchief, then stormed out of the room—the front study, she realized—and let the door slam behind him. The sallow-faced servants followed behind him, leaving her to clutch her arms around herself in silence.
His bride.
Canterbury’s words finally wriggled into her mind. He had called Angelica his bride. And there was something else, too. A veiled threat that if she did not behave in a manner that he considered acceptable, that he would prevent Angelica from providing Saffron and their aunt with funds. That was the most chilling part because it meant that Rosemary’s plan had a very significant flaw. If Canterbury married Angelica, she would become his legal property. They only had his word that he would provide his wife’s family with an allowance.
He intends to use it as a chain to keep us in line.
Her bleak future stretched out before her, devoid of pleasure. Canterbury would not suffer her attacks in public, nor would he allow her to pursue her own employment. If she did anything that brought attention to her condition or suggested even a tinge of impropriety, he would cut them off.
The blackguard.
She could not let him get away with it. She resisted the urge to fling herself out of the chair and rush to her aunt’s side. There was no proof that Canterbury was anything but what he said he was. Considering that she’d already voiced her objections to Canterbury, she was uncertain if practical, logical Rosemary would believe her.
Leo is my only hope.
She rose from the chair, took several steps to confirm that her legs were no longer wobbly, then opened the door to the study and walked back the way they had come, her head held high. With each step, the pressure bearing down upon her increased, but she did not stop until she was back in the stuffy, noxious-smelling room. Her back ramrod straight, she strode purposefully toward the nearest group. Before she could reach them, Lady Allen swept across the room and stopped in front of her.
“I thought you would never return,” the woman said, beaming. Then her smile fell, and she touched Saffron’s shoulder. “What is it? What did that awful duke want?”
The polite response Saffron had prepared vanished under the weight of the older woman’s concern. “H-He told me not to make a spectacle of myself.”
“What?That—That—” Lady Allen flicked open her fan to hide her scowl. “Not here.” She drew an unresisting Saffron into a quiet corner, then closed her fan. “Tell me everything.”
Too shaken to resist, Saffron repeated the conversation she’d shared with the duke.
“He’s even more of a monster than I thought,” Lady Allen said. “You mustn’t believe any of his lies, dear. There is nothing wrong with you. Do you understand?”
Saffron lifted her gaze from the floor, where she’d been staring. “But—”
“No excuses.His Graceis a fool.” Lady Allen tapped her on the forehead with her closed fan, then linked their arms together. “Come, visit with me. We will show that beast how much you value his opinion.”
They joined the small circle of guests around Mrs. Morgan. The woman wore a light-pink gown decorated with small, red flowers. The rear of the skirt rose so high in the air that Saffron had to hold her lips shut to keep from smiling. She was dressed as if she were still a debutante, and not an established matron with her own daughters to provide for.
Beside her, Mr. Morgan wore a rumpled, lilac pinstripe suit. There was a gap between where his gloves ended and his cuff began. Like his wife, the suit was decorated with small, red flowers. Together, the couple were like a faery king and queen waiting to hold court.
“Miss Summersby,” Mrs. Morgan said, tilting her nose in the air. “That display earlier was quite—”
Lady Allen interrupted, fluttering her eyelashes at Mrs. Morgan’s husband. “Do you have your eyes set on a piece, my lord?”
The man puffed out his chest. “The Ravenmore, of course. We wouldn’t have come such a way for justanyartwork.”
“Oh, how lovely,” Lady Allen exclaimed. “You will be the envy of theTon.”
