Sophia looked from one to the other. “Perhaps no one ought to wonder at all.”
Frances almost smiled at that, though there was no amusement left in her. Dear, quiet Sophia, who spent so much of life shrinking from the world, had more instinctive mercy than most of society put together.
Their mother folded the sheet neatly. “Well, if the matter is false, the Duke’s family will surely deny it.”
“The Duke has no family to deny anything for him,” Frances told her before thinking.
Her mother looked at her curiously. “You speak as though you know him well.”
“I knowenough.”
She knew enough to know that silence, in such a case, would be taken for guilt. She knew enough to know that even a false accusation, repeated often enough, became nearly impossible to outrun. And most importantly, she knew enough to know that whoever the unnamed woman was, she would fare even worse.
Sophia picked up her neglected novel but did not open it. “Will everyone be talking of this by tonight?”
“Yes,” their mother replied without hesitation.
Frances did not speak. She was already elsewhere in her thoughts, feeling them sharpen, align, and settle into decision. It was not a reckless decision, though it came quickly. Neither was it one born of idle curiosity or the old thrill of meddling… quite the opposite.
If scandal had a voice, then so could defense.
If poison could be printed, then so could doubt.
She had once written to expose. She had once wielded gossip carelessly, even when she called it amusement. She would not do so again.
This time, she would write for a different purpose.
She rose from her chair with more calm than she felt and crossed toward the window, the cold morning light falling over her face. Behind her, their mother and Sophia continued wondering and speculating, returning already to the habits society taught women as readily as men.
Frances barely heard them.
She looked out across the lawn, but saw instead the cruel little column, the careful hints and the delight in destroying someone who could not answer without dragging others down with him.
No, she thought.Not this time.
She would write again. And this time, she would defend him.
Chapter Two
“This is absurd.”
Andrew let the scandal sheet fall slightly in his hand, though his gaze remained fixed on the offending column. The paper crackled faintly as he turned it back, as if it might somehow read differently the second time.
It did not.
He exhaled through his nose, releasing a quiet, controlled sound, and crossed the length of his study.
The Duke of Sinclair… illegitimate child… concealed in the country. Absurd.
He lowered the paper at last and looked toward the man standing discreetly near the door.
“Have you read this, Carter?”
His butler inclined his head. “I have, Your Grace.”
Andrew studied him for a moment. Carter was not a man easily unsettled, yet that was exactly how he appeared.
“And?” Andrew asked.
