Page 106 of The Earl’s Forbidden Temptation

“Yes,” Darcy said, though a thread of uncertainty entered her voice. “I confess I did not possess the presence of mind to demand an explanation of precisely how he meant to proceed. We…” Her voice softened as memory overtook her. “We remained together for the rest of the night. I scarcely remember when he brought me home, only the warmth of his arms and the sound of his voice as I directed him, with very little coherence, to my bedchamber above stairs. I was utterly exhausted.”

Elizabeth’s expression softened, though something sharper flickered behind her eyes. “And this morning? Has he sent word?”

Darcy shook her head. “I have received nothing as yet.”

“It is well after noon,” Agatha murmured.

Darcy frowned, not understanding their sudden somberness. “Perhaps he is asleep as well. He did not leave me until nearly five o’clock this morning.”

“I think you are right,” Agatha said brightly.

Too brightly. A knot tightened low in Darcy’s belly. Silence settled over the parlor. Elizabeth shifted and, with a movement clearly intended to appear casual, tucked the news sheet beneath a cushion.

Darcy saw it at once. “What is it?” she asked, her voice quiet but steady. “I can sense that something is amiss. Please do not keep it from me.”

Elizabeth sighed and exchanged a glance with Agatha before drawing the paper out once more.

“When I read it this morning, I went directly to Agatha, and then we came here together.”

Darcy accepted the news sheet. The paper rasped beneath her fingers, which tightened almost imperceptibly upon its edges as she lowered her gaze to read.

Dear Readers,

It is with a mixture of trepidation and undeniable delight that I reveal the true identity of the elusive Miss D. W., whose recent appearances have stirred no small degree of curiosity within the most discerning circles of society.

This young lady has been observed in the particular company of our most sought-after bachelor, Lord R., and it has not escaped notice that the Countess of R. herself bestowed upon Miss D. W. the unmistakable mark of disfavor, delivered with all the force such a public rebuke commands. The countess is known for thoughtful manners and uncommon kindness. One may therefore conclude that Miss D. W. behaved toward her in a manner both egregious and unforgivable.

One must also wonder what influence Miss D. W. possesses to have compelled so distinguished a gentleman to dance with her not once but repeatedly at a certain midnight gathering, where propriety itself appeared to falter. Whatever understanding exists between them bears none of the hallmarks of honor and may well explain the countess’s decisive censure.

Indeed, I would advise every respectable household to exercise the greatest caution before extending even the slightest civility to this lady, for information obtained through the most diligent inquiries and investigations suggests a scandal of no small magnitude.

It appears that Miss D. W.’s mother was once intimately, some might say scandalously, connected to the late Earl of R. Her reputation was that of a soiled dove whose presence cast a shadow over what ought to have been a most respectable union. There are even whispers, though as yet unconfirmed, that the association produced illegitimate issues.

In light of such revelations, who can fault Lady R. for her decisive actions? A mother’s duty is to protect her son, and it would seem she has resolved to do so with commendable vigilance, shielding him from what many would deem the dangerous allure of a most unsuitable young woman.

As ever, dear readers, I remain your most faithful observer of the truths others dare not speak.

Darcy lowered the news sheet slowly. Her fingers crushed the edges of the paper. “Oh God,” she whispered. “This is a scandal.”

Elizabeth grimaced, sympathy softening her features. “It is. But such things fade when they are not fed. Society possesses a short memory when denied fresh fodder.”

“Why would anyone make inquiries into something so intensely personal?”

“It is the way of the ton,” Agatha said softly. “They thrive upon gossip, and such sheets pay servants, tradesmen, and any other informants willing to carry private matters to their writers. Scandal sells, and they rarely trouble themselves over the lives left in ruin.”

“They simply do not care whom these columns injure?” Darcy choked, her voice unsteady. “Even when they must know the damage this will cause to everyone involved?”

Even as she spoke, a deeper and more dreadful understanding took hold. Her stomach clenched. This would not merely touch her. It would drag the countess’s private anguish into the light, reopen wounds long buried, and place Sebastian in an impossible position. The article had accomplished precisely what its writer intended. It had fashioned Darcy into a schemer, a woman following in her mother’s footsteps and bent upon ensnaring a nobleman.

Her breath grew shallow as the conclusion settled over her with cold certainty. Sebastian would be compelled to withdraw his intention of courting her. He would have no choice but to protect his family, to distance himself from Darcy before the whispers devoured what remained of his mother’s dignity.

The thought hollowed her. Only moments ago, happiness had seemed too large for the townhouse to contain; now the room felt airless and close. Darcy lifted her gaze to her friends and attempted a smile. It trembled and collapsed. A sob escaped before she could contain it.

“He will not call upon me, will he?” she asked, her voice breaking. “The courtship will never begin.”

Elizabeth hesitated, pain moving across her face. “Perhaps not immediately,” she said gently. “He may believe the matter must first be allowed to quiet before he can be seen to act otherwise.”

Darcy closed her eyes. The answer was kindly offered, but it struck with quiet devastation.