“I am older than you!”
“Girls.” Bernadette’s voice rang out through the breakfast hall. “We must focus for your sister’s sake. For now, we shall bide our time, and seewhat happens. Let us not make a hasty decision but proceed with caution.”
Her eyes met Amelia’s and nodded. Slowly, the Hawthornes resumed their breakfast yet their movements were shaky and uneasy. Amelia herself could not bring herself to eat one morsel, even when her father encouraged her to do so.
***
“Mother, do stop pacing, you are making Daphne dizzy,” Graham muttered, his face propped up in his palm.
“I shall not!” Felicity cried out, her pacing continuing even faster. She went back and forth in the parlor, her hands clenching at her side. The paper clasped in her right hand wrinkled with the force. Turning on her heel, she paced once again.
“Mother!”
“Do not raise your voice at me,” she snapped. “I find myself quite worn and tattered, Graham.” She waved the gossip sheet in his face. The breakfast he had eaten quickly before everybody else had woken up, suspecting that such a thing would happen like being the center of the gossip sheet, turned to stone in his stomach. He tried to put on a nonchalant mask but his own dread crept up, pooling in him.
He glanced at Daphne, who bit her lip, ducking her head. Usually he could count on her to brighten the mood, to settle their mother, but today, she had no words to offer. She could only watch as Felicity unraveled before them.
“Mother, please,” Graham tried again.
“‘His Grace can only be described as a rake with how close he danced with Miss Hawthorne,’” his mother read out, and Graham groaned, his breath shortening at the memory of having the young lady in his arms. “‘Perhaps the Duke has already acquainted himself with such salacious happenings with a female. Is this why he keeps himself shut away in Blackthorn House, why he retreated to Blackthorn Manor following the death of the late Duke of Blackthorn? To conduct his sultry dealings away from the ton’s ever-watchful eye? Well, no scandal remains hidden by this particular writer. And to choose Miss Hawthorne, the ton’s wallflower, it seems the Beastly Duke may have found a woman to overlook his scars. However, whatelsedoes she see in growing closer to the Blackthorns, one must ask.’”
“Salacious happenings!” Felicity continued, quoting the sheet. “I saw your dance with my own eyes—”
“Exactly,” Graham hissed, his patience thin. “Soyoutell me,Mother, if anything untoward was happening right there on the dance floor, in front of the whole ton, at myaunt’s residence. Refrain from indulging in these scandalous publications. They weave fanciful tales for profit, often at the detriment of others.”
“I thought your dance was romantic,” Daphne sighed, giggling. “I did not think anything bad of it. Certainly notsultry.”
“See?” Graham sighed. “Daphne is making sense of everything. They are trying to make her out to be a seductress after our fortune, and me to be a shadowed murderer who practically beds his way through London.”
His mother finally stopped her relentless pacing, as if she had realized the foolishness of the claims. Slowly, she lowered the sheet, sighing, as she collapsed into a velvet armchair. Immediately, tea was brought forth, served to all three of them. Graham clenched his cup in hand, wishing it possessed something stronger.
“One dance meant nothing,” he insisted. “And you spoke with both Lady Hawthorne and Miss Hawthorne. Do you truly believe they schemed? Miss Hawthorne looked terrified when I asked her to dance. Many women would smile as if they expected such a request, but all she appeared to be was confused.”
“A good actress, perhaps?” Felicity suggested, her hysteria receded. “I do not know. She seemed very pleasant to speak with but… I do not know if I trust what I saw.”
“I think that isexactlywhat you need to trust, for these are entertaining words spun for ascandalsheet, Mother. Surely the title of such a tiresome concept alerts you to the lies.”
“Except it is not all lies,” Felicity said quietly. “They speak of the night of your duel.”
Graham’s stomach clenched as he looked away from his mother. He shook his head, ignoring the sound of gunfire cracking through his mind. He clenched his cup harder, trying to banish away the feel of sticky blood on his hands. “There are lies surrounding that night as well. You know this as surely as I do.”
“But do theHawthornesknow it?”
“Pray, have you suddenly developed an interest in their opinion of us? For a moment, I was under the impression that it was quite the reverse.”
Felicity shot him a warning glare. “Do not be smart with me.” She sighed, pressing a hand to her forehead. “Heavens. I truly hoped that the next time we saw our name in the gossip sheets it would be for a good reason.” She smacked the sheet with the back of her hand. “Why could the author not have written about how beautiful you indeed looked together?Why did she have to question motives? Heavens forbid a man dances with a young lady.”
“Only moments ago you sided with the sheet,” Graham reminded her. “You questioned Miss Hawthorne’s motives.”
“In a moment of panic, yes, but I have had time to think now.” Felicity huffed, her brows pinched. Graham had never seen his mother so harried in a while. She always spoke tentatively with him, always hesitant with his moods, but never before had she appeared so hysterical about something. Yet when their name was being publicly shamed, and they both knew the Hawthornes would be brought into the mess, he could see why she reacted in such a way.
“I truly thought it was lovely to see,” Daphne said, cutting through Graham’s and Felicity’s bickering. “As your sister, I have wished to see you happily dance with someone at these balls. And Miss Hawthorne was most pleasant when I spoke with her last night.”
Although her insistence and excitement grated on Graham’s patience, he could not help himself from feeling more tender at his sister’s enthusiasm. Part of him was glad that life had not marred his sister—that she had such hopeful innocence.
“We can simply ignore the sheet,” he said. “I likely shall not cross paths with Miss Hawthorne again. If we ignore it, our lives remain the same.”
Felicity opened her mouth, likely to berate his dismissive mutterings, only for the parlor door to open. The butler, Mr. Frederick Hanson, stood in the doorway, his lined face pulling into a polite smile.
