Page 20 of To Break the Rules

“But you know the scandal is nothing but gossip. Your mother has supported the girl in the past, so I assume she would accept it. You’re powerful enough to ignore such a story in any case. She’s beautiful, wealthy, her brother is a close friend…. Why haven’t you saved her from the mess she’s in?”

St Clair flushed, anger sparking in his eyes. “Why don’t you marry her? You don’t give a damn for the good opinion of the ton. You save her.”

Silas grinned, intrigued that he’d hit a nerve. “We both know why I won’t marry her. I have an interest elsewhere. What about you?”

To his intense amusement, the flush on the earl’s face deepened. “Mind your own bloody business, Silas,” he said, glowering. “And stay the hell out of mine.”

“Yes, that’s the look I was waiting for,” Silas said with a chuckle, echoing the words St Clair had given him not long ago. “Like a fox when the hounds have caught his scent. You poor bastard.”

For a moment, Silas thought he’d get angry and deny it, or storm off, but after a moment of obvious annoyance, St Clair let out a huff of laughter. “You have no idea,” he said, giving Silas a twisted smile.

He clapped St Clair on the back and sighed. “Come along, my friend. I think we both need to get drunk.”

Chapter 6

Dear Alice,

Please will you speak to Matilda? The strangest thing happened at the Earl of Ulceby’s ball last night. She danced with Montagu! It’s set tongues wagging, I can tell you, not least because the whole way through the dance, they couldn’t take their eyes off each other. What on earth was she thinking? She’s supposed to be the sensible one!

―Excerpt of a letter from Miss Kitty Connolly to Mrs Alice Hunt.

7th July 1814. South Audley Street, London.

Lucia rose early the next morning, though she was tired and dispirited. The triumph she had felt had been short-lived, thanks to the aggravating Lord Cavendish.

She’d slept little, finding his words to her—and the manner in which they’d been spoken—simply would not allow her to rest. His face swam into focus every time she closed her eyes, and now she was restless and irritated. It was time she paid a visit to someone who had always supported her, always taken care of her, no matter what.

She slipped out of the house, needing to be alone and not wanting to have the curious gaze of a footman upon her as she paid her visit.

The morning was bright, the sky above so blue and promising such a lovely day to come that even Lucia’s spirits lifted a little. She had come to love the vagaries of English weather. It was familiar to her now, softer and gentler than the climes she’d been born to. A sudden memory rose of heat on her skin and a burning sun far fiercer than the one above her now, blazing down on dusty earth. It scorched her skin and her eyes as the heady scent of sandalwood drifted on the heated air.

Lucia shook herself, shaken by the force of the memory, by the longing for something long since lost to her. Hurrying away from the house, she hailed a hackney carriage at the first opportunity and gave an address in Cheapside.

A half an hour later, she bade the driver let her down as the market was in full swing and the streets too congested to go any further. She got out close to St Paul’s Cathedral, on the corner of Bread Street and Friday Street, and despite the growing heat of the day, she was careful to settle the cloak about her shoulders, drawing up the hood.

The scent of fish made her nose wrinkle as she hurried through the market, batting away flies as the pungent wares attracted insects. A little further and the noise of the market subsided and Lucia sought a narrow, terraced house. She knocked three times, and then repeated it for good measure.

A young woman answered the door, her dark hair pulled back into a messy bun. “Oh, hello, miss,” she said, smiling and showing teeth that were yellow and uneven. “We didn’t expect you today.”

“Hello, Mary,” Lucia said, taking down her hood as she stepped inside the door. “How is she today?”

Mary grinned and rolled her eyes. “Same as ever, of course. Grumbling.”

Lucia snorted and handed her cloak and gloves to the girl.

Taking a deep breath, Lucia smoothed her hair and opened the door into the back room. Though it was a warm day, a fire crackled in the grate and a tiny old lady sat beside it, peering down at a book with great concentration.

“Nani maa,” Lucia said, exasperated. “Where are your glasses?”

For a moment the old woman’s wrinkled face split into a wide grin. “Aashini,” she said, holding her arms open as Lucia moved forward to hug her. She pressed her lips to Dharani’s cheek, the woman’s skin as deep a brown as lovingly polished wood. Her hair was white now, but still thick and lustrous, and hung in a long plait over one shoulder. “Have you brought me more books?” she demanded, her dark eyes alight with anticipation.

“Yes, and I am happy to see you too, it’s been too long,” Lucia said, pretending affront at the sudden change of topic as she fished in her reticule and pulled out two books.

The old woman gave a chortle of glee and snatched them from her hands.

“I’m not sure I should let you have them,” Lucia said, tutting as she was ignored in favour of investigating the new titles. “They’re scandalous. Your poor old heart will probably explode with shock.”

Dharani snorted and looked up at her, wagging a gnarled finger in Lucia’s direction with obvious scorn. “You young people. You think you invented sex and scandal. Hmph. I could teach you a thing or two.”