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“No thanks to you. Or my wretched wife.” From down the corridor, a burst of drunken laughter broke from the library, repurposed as a game room. Not that her uncle ever used the room to read. “He did it,” the viscount added.

“What? Who?”

“He saved her,” her uncle spat. “Lord Peregrine saved her; I heard all about it. Of course, that rescue was due to my paternal instinct in arranging her marriage. Peregrine needn’t think that I’ll reconsider his settlement, based on this scandal. But you …” He narrowed his eyes.

Ella jumped away before he could pinch her again. Her stomach felt hollow as his words sank in. “Are you saying that if Lord Peregrine hadn’t stepped forward, Fulvia’s reputation would have been destroyed?”

“No good for anything but playing a light woman on the stage. No one would have flicked an eyelash if Peregrine jilted her. You’re a damn fool not to know that,” the viscount said. “You and my wife. And my daughter too.”

“Just for acting out part of a play?” Ella cried incredulously. “For goodness’ sake, Fulvia has been performing entire Shakespeare plays for most of her life!”

“Not in public, and not with a professional actor. She shamed me. The prince laughed, laughed at me!”

Ella felt no satisfaction in realizing her guess was right: the viscount had been humiliated by royalty. “We’re lucky that Lord Peregrine was so gracious,” she said numbly.

“Get the damned toweling,” the viscount hissed and turned, his face wreathed in a smile. “Your Grace!”

The Duchess of Lennox was not merely beautiful and titled; Ella had heard one gentleman whisper to another that she was “delicious.” Her bosom was as large as Ella’s and her bodice as low, which was reassuring.

Yet on the other hand, Her Grace’s skin looked as delicate as a flower blossom, whereas Ella had scars and burns from years of hard work.

Her Grace gave the viscount a measured look and turned to Ella. “Miss St. Trevelyon, will you please escort me to the ladies’ retiring room?”

“Of course, Your Grace,” Ella said, rising from a low curtsy.

She led the way upstairs, feeling her uncle’s eyes on her like a sharp stick poking her backbone. Panic was pressing on her throat.

Fulvia, almost ruined.

Her uncle, more furious than she’d ever seen him.

Threatening her. Threatening to throw her out.

What would become of Starlight? Josephina and her babies? Perhaps Fiennes …

Fiennes belonged to Fulvia now.

She clamped her lips into a tight smile as she pushed open the door to the retiring room and gestured for the duchess to precede her.

Her aunt’s sewing chamber had been repurposed for the night; a screen sheltered any lady using the chamber pot, and Ella had assigned a maid to the room, ready to stitch up a hem if needed. Two comfortable sofas offered a refuge for wallflowers or anyone needing respite from the potent combination of dance and gossip.

The maid was nowhere to be seen, so she must have dashed away to empty a full chamber pot.

Her Grace strolled into the room and paused. “I was hoping that you had one of those new Lewis Commodes,” she said with a sigh.

Ella rolled her eyes at the duchess’s back. Her uncle had been known to urinate on the wainscotting when inebriated and then insist that the odor be undetectable by morning. In his world, people existed to remove bodily wastes. He certainly wouldn’t spend a penny on an easier solution.

Her Grace turned about. “I must say, I love that gown, especially the trim. I haven’t seen anything so lovely since my mother showed me one of her evening dresses, long ago when I was a young girl.”

Ella looked down at her mother’s trim, and such a deep, all-encompassing sense of grief swept through her that she hadn’t the faintest prayer of stopping the sob that burst from her throat.

“Oh dear,” the duchess said, catching Ella’s hand and guiding her over to a sofa. “What’s happened, dear?”

“Noth—Nothing,” Ella managed, as they sank down side by side. Sobs wedged in her chest were forcing their way out, no matter how she struggled to regain control.

The duchess drew her against her shoulder and pressed a handkerchief into her hand. “This is your first Season, isn’t it?”

Ella nodded and choked with another shaking sob.