Page 47 of Sinfully Daring

Aashini, Lady Cavendish, Kitty, the Countess of Trevick, and Harriet, the Countess St Clair, all had similar stories to tell, with letters being written and furiously copied out by the dozen, clarifying that anyone paying credence to these vile and fictitious rumours would be dropped from all and any social events. Harriet in particular was famous for her parties and political dinners, where the great and the good gathered. Such a threat would not be taken lightly. Ruth, the Countess of Morven, revealed a neatly written and quite staggering plan of action that detailed the dozens of influential women she would visit over the next week, having delayed her return to the Highlands to help her friends save Rosamund’s reputation.

Mrs Bonnie Cadogan and Mrs Minerva de Beauvoir held less social status than their friends, but their influence was still far-reaching among the artistic and scientific communities, and especially through their children who had married well.

“Solo is out with Viscount Kline as we speak, doing what they can,” Jemima offered, speaking of her husband, Baron Rothborn. “Kline’s wine import business is doing terribly well now and many of the grandest clubs and hotels rely on his supply. I believe Solo is looking forward to helping Lord Kline with a touch of blackmail,” she added, with such an innocent expression even Prue smiled. “I will be out with all the other ladies shortly, of course, making morning calls and ensuring the true story is told.”

“And I’m calling on the Duke of Sefton,” Lady Helena Knight announced as everyone gaped at her.

The duke was an old bully and an ill-tempered brute, though he wielded a great deal of power among the ton. Matilda and Aashini, who had both had run-ins with his daughter, now Lady Steyning, a spiteful gossip, both spoke at once.

“Helena!”

“Oh, my dear, is that wise?”

Helena waved their concerns away. “Evie is coming with me. Don’t ask me how she’s done it, but the old devil has a soft spot for her. Only, if one of you breathes a word to Gabriel, I shall not be responsible for the consequences. He’ll die of fright if he knows we’re anywhere near Sefton. He’s been awful to Gabriel in the past, the great snob.”

“Yet Evie has charmed him? And she’s brave enough to face him and ask for his support?” Jemima said in wonder.

“I will be forever in her debt, though it does not surprise me in the least. Evie charms everyone,” Prue said, smiling, her eyes shining with gratitude.

“That she does,” Helena replied dryly. “If that child ever realises the power she wields, she’ll have the world at her feet. She won’t listen to me, though,” she added with a sigh of frustration.

“I cannot thank you ladies enough,” Prue said, her voice quavering a little.

“Don’t be foolish, Prue,” Bonnie replied with an impatient tut. “When I think of the kindnesses you’ve done all of us, the support you and Bedwin have lent us when it was required…. We will do all in our power to support dear Rosamund. She’ll be back where she belongs as society’s darling in no time at all.”

“Hear, hear,” Minerva said, as the other ladies all agreed enthusiastically.

“Society, look out, the Peculiar Ladies are on the march,” Jemima said with a grin, and everyone laughed.

Matilda laughed too, squeezing Prue’s hand, but beneath the bravado, they both knew that stories like this were not so easily crushed. It was too deliciously salacious, and whilst people might say all the right things in public, what they said in private was another matter, as Matilda knew all too well.

Chapter 13

My Lord,

I do not believe for a moment the vile things people are saying about you.

I must speak with you at once and in private. I will be at The Vine in Sevenoaks on Tuesday morning at ten o’clock. I beg you will come.

―Excerpt of a letter from Lady Rosamund Adolphus (daughter of Robert and Prunella Adolphus, Their Graces, The Duke and Duchess of Bedwin) to Sebastian Fox, Viscount Hargreaves.

15thJuly 1842, En route to The Vine Cricket Ground, Sevenoaks, Kent, London.

Sebastian stared at the note for the fiftieth time, smoothing it out over his thigh. He stared at the words, his heart giving a little skip of relief at the first line. Rosamund did not think him capable of such a heinous act. He wasn’t, he reminded himself, but that little niggle of doubt lingered in his mind. If only he could remember, if only he could be entirely certain. Yet the harder he fought to remember that night, the quicker the images slipped away from him. He had never, would never, lay a hand on a woman, he knew that, but could he have done it accidently?

Rosamund thought not, but she was the embodiment of everything that was good and kind, her mind would baulk at the idea of her friend doing such a thing for she saw the good in everyone. But she was not a fool, he reminded himself. Yet asking him to come to her seemed foolish in the extreme. If anyone were to discover them together, it would only add fuel to a fire which was burning quite adequately despite her family and friend's efforts.

I beg you will come.

But how could he refuse such words when he heard the desperation behind them? Rosamund would never have written such a thing lightly. She truly was begging him to meet her.

Despite his worry for her, despite everything that had happened, his heart felt lighter at the prospect of seeing her, of speaking to her when he had believed he should never do so again. Perhaps it truly would be for the last time, but he would snatch at the chance, no matter the risk.

He had dressed in his most conservative clothes, aiming to look like a plain Mr rather than Lord Hargreaves. Walking from his home to Eaton Square, he hired a hackney to the outskirts of London before changing again at Camberwell to lessen the chances anyone would recognise him. He had the carriage drop him half a mile from The Vine and instructed the driver to wait for him at The Chequers Pub, which was a short walk away.

Sebastian tried not to hurry, for he was at least half an hour early and did not expect to see Rosamund before the appointed hour. Indeed, he was prepared to wait for her, knowing it might be difficult to get away from Dern unnoticed. So, as he crossed the neatly cut green, his heart did an odd little somersault behind his ribs as he noted a lady lingering in the shadow of a great oak tree. The slender frame came to attention as she saw him and Hargreaves picked up his pace, certain now that this was Lady Rosamund.

As he drew closer, he saw she had worn a hooded green cloak, though the morning was mild.