Page 46 of Sinfully Daring

“But no one wishes to believe that,” Rosamund said, her voice dull. “Everyone thinks he killed his wife so he could be with his mistress.”

Jules’ jaw flexed, and she saw the effort it took for him to control his temper. “Anyone who implies anything of the sort in my hearing will regret it,” he muttered.

“They won’t say it in your hearing, but they’ll say it,” Rosamund said, her knees wobbling. She found her way back to her chair, suddenly exhausted. “Thank you, Jules, for telling me, and for your kindness. You are an excellent big brother.”

Jules made a sound of disgust, but Rosamund shot him a look that silenced him.

“If you wouldn’t mind, I would like to be by myself for a little while.”

“Of course.” Jules moved closer to her, laying his hand on her shoulder for a moment in a gesture of reassurance. “If you need me, just shout. If there is anything I can do, anything at all—”

“I know, Jules,” she said, covering his hand with her own for a moment. But that was the devil of this situation.

Jules could go out and proclaim her innocence from the highest tower, but people had minds of their own, and wasn’t the lurid version of events always so much more appealing.

Jules left her alone and Rosamund thought furiously. She remembered and re-examined every conversation, every interaction with Lord Hargreaves, and the way he dealt with everyone else in his life. Refusing to see anyone else who asked after her, she turned over everything she knew of him, every piece of gossip, every scandal sheet heading. The afternoon was growing late by the time she felt she had put him before her own personal jury. Her opinion remained unchanged.

Lord Hargreaves was a gentleman in the truest sense of the word. Despite years of provocation, he had continued to treat his wife with respect, certainly in public. Yes, of course it was possible that he had abused her in private, but Rosamund had looked into his eyes and… and she did not believe him capable of such behaviour. Her mother had told her quite bluntly about the life one could expect if one married the wrong man. Rosamund’s grandfather on her mother’s side had been a brute and a bully and had abused her grandmother. Rosamund knew such men could be charming in public and something else in private. Yet, she could not believe that the case here.

If Lord Hargreaves had been abusing his wife, it would not be him giving up Rosamund’s friendship but Adelia giving up her many beaus. If he had held all the power, it would not have been him feeling helpless to stop his wife’s scandalous behaviour. He was far bigger and more powerful and the threat he would hold over her life would be more than enough to keep her in line if he were so inclined. Of course, if he were that kind of man, he could have simply locked her up and declared her mad. Men did such things.

No. Lord Hargreaves was everything she had believed him to be. Of that, she was certain.

Rosamund got up and paced back and forth, her mind racing. Of course, the obvious thing for a woman in her position was to marry and to do it quickly.

Her heart gave a hard thud as she considered the idea. It was madness. It would simply confirm everyone’s suspicions. But they were going to think it, no matter what.

“Oh, Lord. Oh, Lord. Oh, Lord,” Rosamund repeated over and over, pacing up and down and wringing her hands together, uncertain if she were praying for help or blaspheming.

Was it possible to do both at once? Wishing she had thought to ask Jules for his hip flask, Rosamund longed for a little nip of something to calm her agitated spirits. With no other option, she braced her hands against the wall, trying to steady her breathing, for her corset was suddenly far too tight. With one hand, she reached back to massage her neck, turning her head from the left to the right to ease the tension, and her gaze flicked to a large, battered hat box sitting atop her wardrobe.

Cat had given it to her when she had arrived at Dern, doing her best to cajole Rosamund into taking her dare. So far Rosamund had avoided all demands from her friends and from Cat, but now… now she felt as if a little push might be just what she needed. After all, her Mama had taken a dare before doing something dreadfully scandalous. So had Lady Montagu. If Rosamund’s dare propelled her into doing something they might not approve of, well… they could hardly complain, could they?

Before she could think about it and change her mind, Rosamund dragged the chair Jules had sat upon earlier over to the wardrobe and climbed onto it. Carefully, she lifted down the hatbox, jumped off the chair and carried the box to the bed.

The hat was old and rather tatty and smelled faintly of mothballs, and the pleasanter scent of dusty old paper that permeated the very best libraries. Rosamund stared down at the dares. There were dozens and dozens of them now, and the old one always got put back in too.

“Fine,” she said aloud, squaring her shoulders. “Come on, hat. You got my mother to marry the right man, and everyone else who took one of your demands to heart. Help me,” she begged, wondering if the hysterical fit was really so farfetched after all.

Was she already in the midst of one? She was talking to a top hat, for heaven’s sake!

Deciding things were unlikely to get any worse, she plunged her hand into the hat. The papers rustled as she sifted through them. Closing her eyes, Rosamund took one of the tiny, folded pieces and drew it out.

“Oh, well,” she said breathlessly, and revealed the dare.

Matilda clinked her teaspoon against the fine china cup, the ringing sound bringing everyone to order. The ladies settled at once, every one of them turning their attention towards her. Despite the situation, or perhaps because of it, she felt of rush of love and affection for the women here. They had begun as wallflowers, as misfits, all of them unwelcome, unmarriageable … and now here they were, among the most powerful women in the ton. If one of them was in trouble, the others came running. For someone to mess with the happiness of their children—that was a big mistake.

“Well, how is our campaign coming along?” Matilda demanded.

Rosamund’s mama, Prue, sat stoically beside her, outwardly calm while inside she was stewing with the desire to rage at the world. Matilda understood the impulse and reached out a hand, taking hold of Prue’s fingers and squeezing.

“Anyone speaking of Hargreaves in a less than flattering light or implying that Rosamund behaved with the slightest impropriety is being shown the door of Hunter’s, no matter who they are or what influence they wield. We cannot stop them thinking it, but Nate has made it clear any member of the club will have their membership revoked if he hears of any such talk,” Alice said, referring to her husband, Nathanial Hunter, who was also Matilda’s brother. “I have been making the rounds and ensuring all those members’ wives who so enjoy Hunter’s ladies’ nights are aware the situation applies to them, too. And of course, Bainbridge is up in arms and has promised to smash the heads of anyone who dares to say such vile things. His father is likewise invested in causing havoc, so that ought to have an impact,” Alice said with a wry smile.

Matilda nodded, remembering when Alice had been too shy to speak up for herself, her lack of confidence in herself and her abilities profound. There was no trace of that now.

“That’s excellent work, Alice,” Matilda said, smiling.

“Arabella and I have already given the cut direct to the mamas of those awful girls who so delighted in Rosamund’s misery. They will not receive invitations or be acknowledged by any of us again until we have received abject apologies. Arabella has already received one and I expect the others to follow by the end of the week,” Alice added with obvious satisfaction.