“Or not,” Belle said. “It depends what you think is ‘better.’ Repairing your reputation or following your heart.”
Chapter 13
Cynthia Louise took a long, steaming hot bath in silence.
What was there to say? Although her bedchamber was down the corridor from the entranceway, the door had been left open and she’d heard every word.
The crowd was loud enough, she’d likely have heard it all even if the door was locked tight and her head was buried under her pillow.
Alexander still planned to select a bride from his young, pretty guests.
That hadalwaysbeen the plan. Cynthia knew that. It was the reason she and Gertie were here.
And yet, confirmation that he had not wavered in this mission stung as sharp as the arrow wound in her shoulder.
“I’ll help with your shift and gown,” Gertie offered.
Cynthia nodded her appreciation.
They picked a violet frock with oversized puffed sleeves, in order to hide the wound from delicate sensibilities. She covered the stitches with a thick square of gauze, and tied it loosely in place with a strip of dark cloth, to mask any blood that might escape.
It looked like a badly placed mourning arm band.
That was also how she felt. Out of place, with her chest empty inside.
“Shall I ask the footmen to look for the skis?” Gertie asked.
“No,” Cynthia answered. “The merrymaking is over.”
Even the Christmastide party was falling apart.
“It looked like you and Nottingvalewereenjoying yourselves,” Gertie said tentatively. “Before I barged in.”
“Oh, Gertie, it’s notyourfault.” Cynthia wrapped her cousin in a one-armed embrace. “It’s not anyone’s fault. It’s the way of the world. He’s a duke. I’m me. We should never have been together, even for stolen moments. We knew we were playing with fire.”
She’d never expected him to acknowledge their... friendship.
He’dnever planned for such a contingency either.
That their affiliation was now public knowledge brought no joy or pride. The only reason his interest wasn’t still a secret he planned to carry to the grave was because she’d taken an arrow to the shoulder.
Huzzah.
Acknowledged.
And in doing so, she’d ruined his plans... and possibly his life.
Now he wasn’t the Perfect Duke of Nottingvale anymore. That myth had shattered the moment he dove down a mountain to gather her in his arms—when he was supposed to be courtingrespectableladies at his house party.
His mother was right.
Cynthia was demonstrably bad for him.
If she liked him at all, the kindest thing she could do was leave him alone.
As she should have done from the beginning.
“He should have married you,” Cynthia told Gertie.
