The matter of who would be named in the rumor had been decided almost carelessly. When Lucy had suggested the Duke of Walford, the name had rung faintly in Dorothy’s memory, but she had thought little of it. London boasted an endless list of notable gentlemen whose names were whispered in drawing rooms and printed in the society pages. The Duke of Walford was merely one of them. She had agreed to use him because, by all accounts, no one had ever seen the man in person. The absence of familiarity made him perfect for their purpose.
In her mind, the plan was simple. Once Lord Hensley learned that she had been compromised, he would abandon any notion of marriage to her. She could then slip quietly into the life shehad long decided upon. She did not wish for a husband. She did not believe in love, not anymore. Her sisters were in happy marriages, which might have convinced others, but Dorothy had convinced herself that such happiness was not meant for her.
Her path was to remain at home. She would take care of her nieces and nephews. She would manage her father’s household, especially now that his health was failing. There would be no romantic entanglements, no humiliations at the altar like in the books she had read, no illusions of affection that would inevitably sour. She would be a spinster by choice, content with the duties of family.
Yet the neatness of that plan had begun to fray. If her father insisted on pressing her into Lord Hensley’s arms, then the only way to keep her freedom was to see the rumor through to the end. But as she stood there, the pressure of what they had set in motion pressed on her, and for the first time, she wondered if their plan would affect the other parties in their tale.
Dorothy exhaled, her fingers smoothing the folds of her skirt. “Even so, what if the plan does not work? What if Lord Hensley does not believe the whispers?”
Lucy’s eyes softened. “It will work. It is already in motion, Dorothy. All you must do is hold on until Lord Hensley sends a letter to your father, stating he cannot marry you. That will be the end of it.” She reached over and took Dorothy’s hand. “I understand why you are agitated. It is a large rumor, but I am going to be by your side through it. Once this is over, you will recover quickly. I will see to that.”
Dorothy’s lips curved as the knot in her chest loosened. “You have always known how to make me feel better.”
The truth was, Lucy had always been there for her. Ever since Dorothy’s elder sisters had married and gone to live on their husbands’ estates, Lucy had been her closest and dearest friend. Dorothy could not imagine how she would have endured her debut year or the trying seasons that followed without Lucy’s laughter and steady counsel beside her. They had grown so inseparable that acquaintances often mistook them for sisters, though Lucy was in fact her cousin, the only child of her father’s sister.
“You have been my truest ally,” Dorothy murmured, a small smile breaking through.
Lucy returned it warmly. “I always will be. Your family has always treated me like one of their own. I owe you more than I can ever repay.”
Dorothy gave a small, fond laugh. “You owe us nothing.”
Lucy took her hand, and they began to stroll back to the ball.
“Now, tell me, what is your plan? If Lord Hensley is out of the question, will you truly resign yourself to being a spinster? Or will you at least give this Season an honest try? There might yet be someone worth your attention, and if you wanted…” Her eyes glinted with the spark of a conspirator. “... we could put in more effort. Make a match against the odds.”
Dorothy shook her head. “No. That time has passed. I have no wish to exhaust myself chasing what I am not certain I even want. I only wish to take care of my own peace.”
Lucy sighed, though the corners of her mouth lifted in reluctant understanding. “Then peace you shall have, and I will make sure no one disturbs it.”
As they strolled up the stairs, Dorothy felt the tightness in her chest ease. The anxiousness was still there, but it was no longer sharp. It had settled into something she could bear. With Lucy at her side and her mind settled, she would see the Season through on her own terms, determined to keep her peace and hold her head high.
CHAPTER TWO
“First it was Emma, your eldest sister...” Howard swung the door to Dorothy’s room open with a force that rattled the hinges. “…whispers of her in the garden with the Duke, being carried into a ball like some fairytale heroine with an eye on his title. Then Cecilia caught, for Heaven’s sake, half-undressed in a Duke’s bedchamber and later branded a thief of her cousin’s betrothed once she had the good fortune to marry him. Now you, Dorothy? Must I spend my declining years watching each of my daughters parade themselves through scandal sheets as if it were a family tradition?”
Dorothy put down the book she was reading and sat up. “Good morning to you, too, Papa.”
He strode further into the room, tossing the latest edition ofThe Morning Gazetteonto the table between them. Dorothy’s name was sprawled in bold ink across a particularly vicious headline.
“I have endured years of this nonsense, years! Do you know what it is like to have one’s family become the amusement ofevery drawing room in London? What is it with my daughters and rumors? Why, pray tell, are you all determined to plant yourselves in the center of them?”
Dorothy drew a slow breath, willing herself not to flinch beneath his glare. “Papa, please calm down. If you are referring to the nonsense printed this morning, I assure you?—”
He held up the sheet, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous growl. “Do not play innocent with me. The entire city is whispering about you and the Duke of Walford having an illicit relationship. That he ruined you, Dorothy. Ruined you! I do not understand this. Are you trying to ruin me, Dorothy Lockhart?”
“Papa, it’s a rumor. You know how society is. This isn’t the first time we have been at the center of one. It’ll pass, Papa.”
“A rumor, Dorothy? Do you think I have lived all these years in society to shrug them off as nothing? This is not idle tattle about a misplaced dance card or a frayed hem. This...” He jabbed a finger towards the floor where the paper was as though the offending words were written there. “... is a scandal that could have ruined your entire life. Do you understand that? Entire. Life.”
“Papa—”
“You are merely saying what every blind optimist says when they do not comprehend the damage of whispered poison!” He strode to the hearth, turned sharply, and faced her again. “I would not have believed it of you, Dorothy. You are the quiet one. Thebookish one. The one who never dances, never schemes, never so much as draws a gentleman’s glance. I do not accompany you to balls because you hardly attend any! Yet, somehow, your name is now entangled with the Duke of Walford’s... of all men! What madness is this?”
Dorothy’s brows lifted in mild reproach. “Surely the matter cannot be as dire?—”
“As dire?” His laugh was mirthless. “Emma’s name survived when she was seen in the garden with the Duke of Montclaire. People muttered she sought to charm him for his title because her family was poor. Cecilia’s name survived when people whispered she had stolen her cousin’s betrothed. Both found good matches in the end. Dukes! At least those storms passed, and they are happy now. But you, Dorothy?” He raked a hand through his hair, frustration pulling at every line of his face. “This is far worse. This could have rendered you unmarriageable entirely.”
He paused, his voice lowering but losing none of its force. “I was grateful that Emma and Cecilia, difficult as they were, settled with honor. I did not expect my quiet, compliant Dorothy to be the one to topple the peace of this house. I raised three beautiful daughters who took after their mother’s grace… and somehow every one of them finds herself at the center of ruinous talk.”
