Page 45 of The Redemption of the Shrew

“As you all know, I believe in noblesse oblige. Just because too many of the nobility shirk their responsibilities, it doesn’t mean the concept itself is wrong. I did not, and still do not, accept the notions of liberty and equality for all, as the vast majority of humanity are too foolish to handle the responsibility such freedoms entail.” She’d been foolish herself for years and years, and she was supposedly one of the educated sort! “However, I always wondered about Monsieur de Bellechasse’s opinion that education will raise the masses out of poverty and degradation, and that it is far more important than one’s status at birth.”

A few subdued murmurs and a tsk or two greeted this statement. Hopefully, at least one listener agreed or might pass the word.

“A few years ago—after my aunt died and left me a competence—I founded a school in Islington village for orphaned boys from the worst parts of London. Mr. Bridge was so kind as to help fund the school. We have had great success so far. Boys who began as beggars, thieves, and mudlarks are well on their way to becoming responsible citizens.”

Someone snorted at that. “Not likely. Blood will out, and theirs is bad.”

“Mark my words, they’ll only end up as better thieves,” said a gentleman who had supported her entirely opposite opinions in the past. “What has come over you, Miss Warren?”

“Your aunt must be turning in her grave at such a waste of her money,” said a dowager. More mutters of agreement followed.

“She was a dreadful snob,” Mr. Bridge said. “Serves her right.”

“True,” another man chuckled. “A terrifying old besom.”

Gloriana muffled a laugh. Her poor auntie! She’d been a severe trial to live with, but she’d acted according to her beliefs—while Gloriana had played a part, pretending to agree, at first to annoy Philippe, but afterwards out of consideration for her aunt and—oh, admit it, Gloriana, if only to yourself—to ensure her inheritance as well. Should she have opted for sincerity instead?

Probably, but then she wouldn’t have been able to found the school.

“I suspect the good Lord would agree with Miss Warren’s use of her money,” Mr. Bridge said. “And mine. And, we hope, some of yours as well.”

“Definitely not!” trumpeted a dowager who’d known her as a child. “It’s sheer folly. I thought better of you, Gloriana, but you are proving as wayward as the rest of the Warrens. Lord Hythwick was right to decide against you—except that he would have stopped this nonsense of yours immediately the vows were said, which would have been better for all concerned.”

Gloriana caught sight of Philippe in the doorway. Her confession seemed to have restored him to his usual sardonic good humor. Did he imagine she hadn’t realized what Hythwick was like? Probably. He persisted in believing the worst of her, whether her motives or her intelligence.

“Lord Hythwick made the correct decision, for both his sake and mine.” Gloriana shot a glare at Philippe. His eyes flicked past her, and he frowned.

“And I shall forever regret the necessity to do so,” said a familiar voice behind her. Lord Hythwick stepped forward and bowed. “Always a pleasure, Miss Warren.”

“Good evening, my lord.” His sister came up behind him in a frothy gown of palest rose. “And Lady Marianne. How lovely to see you tonight.”

“Might I beg a dance with you this evening?” Hythwick asked.

If only she could say no, you vermin! But even if she weren’t trying to gain access to his house, it would cause talk if she refused, so she smiled and said, “Certainly, my lord. I should be honored.”

The earl and his sister carried on, and the man who’d described her aunt as a besom asked for more information about the school. They went away to find someplace to sit, leaving both Philippe—who was scowling now—and the naysayers behind.

This made the evening much more pleasant, until she happened to notice Philippe sauntering down a corridor away from the ballroom. A few seconds later, Miss Arabella Stansom followed him.

Gloriana stared, dithering. It was all too obvious what Arabella was up to, and she just might succeed. Philippe could run away from a naked woman in the country, where no one who mattered had seen him with her, but he couldn’t escape unscathed from a London ball. He would have no choice but to marry Arabella if they were found in a compromising situation.

Gloriana must prevent such a disaster at all costs. “Excuse me,” she said to the friends with whom she was chatting. “I’ll be back directly.” She stalked across the ballroom in time to see Arabella disappear through a doorway at the end of the passageway.

Fury simmered inside her. She glanced about. No chaperone or giggling miss hovered nearby, so the girl’s plan must be her own. Gloriana hurried down the corridor. Judging by what Alice Stowe had said, Arabella was determined to trap Philippe. She would go to any lengths necessary—such as tearing her gown, perhaps, and then crying, “Rape!”

Gloriana reached the door and barged through, seething.

Lady Marianne Delfin and Philippe were standing with their heads together, looking at a book, whilst Arabella scowled at them, arms akimbo. She stamped her feet, burst into tears, and stormed out of the room, which proved to be Mr. Lansing’s library.

Gloriana felt the blood rush to her face. She’d made a fool of herself by barging in. “I didn’t know which room this was. I—I feared that stupid girl would try once again to compromise you, Ph—Monsieur de Bellechasse.” Although come to think of it, he shouldn’t have been here alone with Lady Marianne, either.

He smirked at her. “I did not need to be rescued, but I suppose you meant well.”

“If you’re not careful, you will need rescuing. For heaven’s sake! What a catastrophe if you found yourself obliged to wed a silly pea-goose like Miss Stansom.”

“Yes, how horrid,” Marianne said. “For her as well as you, monsieur. How ghastly to be married to a man who dislikes, even despises one.”

How heartbreaking to love such a man.