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Ella took the letter and read it.
Then, incredulously, she read it again. “Impossible,” she said faintly.
“She’s ruined,” Fulvia’s mother cried. “I’ll never see her again. My baby girl, my beautiful, beautiful baby girl.”
Ella rose and faced her uncle. “Did you know this might happen?”
“You must be joking,” the viscount snarled. “My only daughter, the daughter of a viscount, soiled, ruined, despoiled? What of Peregrine and his settlement, eh? I was going to spend a good part of it to move my wife’s household to the country.”
That was debatable, but certainly the viscount would never have let go of that settlement willingly.
“The Regent is your friend,” Ella said. “Go to him. Beg him. Warn him of the scandal it will cause!”
“I have beseeched him!” the viscountess cried. “He refuses.”
“Friendship with royalty does not lend itself to rebukes,” the viscount stated.
“Obviously not, or the Prince of Wales would have hesitated to abscond with your daughter, turning her into one in a long line of mistresses,” Ella retorted.
The viscountess responded with a loud wail. “My mother always said that it was better a lady die than live desecrated.”
“Stop your caterwauling,” her husband said irritably. “The Prince can’t get away with this. Fulvia’s a well-bred girl, for all she acted a brazen-faced actress at the ball. That doesn’t mean His Majesty is free to turn her into a Bird of Paradise. He starts poaching among the nobility, and the scandal will blast this country to its knees!”
“Go save her,” the viscountess said, surging to her feet. She pointed a shaking finger at her husband. “Go fetch my daughter. She’s only sixteen, in the grip of a lecher, be he royalty or no. This is your fault!”
The viscount narrowed his eyes. “My fault? I wasn’t the one catting around in the country. Obviously Fulvia learned from her mother’s adulterous ways and—”
“This conversation is not helpful,” Ella said loudly.
“My girl, my baby!” the viscountess screamed, ignoring Ella. “You must go after her, stop them! Get up, you lazy lout!”
The viscount looked at his wife contemptuously. “I’ll have a settlement out of the Regent, I’ll tell you that. He’ll pay. I’ll go to the king, mad or not. Hell, I’ll go to Parliament!”
“If you do not save Fulvia, I shall send a message to Lord Peregrine,” the viscountess cried. “He will recover his fiancée.”
“Good idea. His lordship tightened his wrapper and stretched his lean legs out before him, wiggling his toes. “Let Peregrine fetch her back. My friendship with the Regent would make that a tricky conversation.”
“I can’t! Peregrine won’t accept Fulvia as his bride, if he learns what’s happened,” his wife said, reversing herself. “Ruined, we are all ruined!” She wobbled over to her dressing table and snatched another handkerchief.
“’Twould be better if I saved Fulvia, and Peregrine married her,” the viscount mused, apparently weighing the financial advantages of both options against each other.
His wife dropped back into her seat. “Obviously. You must leave now.”
The viscount looked at her in horror. “I haven’t even garbed myself. I cannot present myself before the Regent in anything less than faultless attire!”
“The Regent,” she spat. “A dog who is debauching your own daughter at this very moment!”
He recoiled. “I would ask you to watch your tongue, Lady St. Trevelyon. You are turning my stomach.”
“Either you are in the coach in thirty minutes,” the lady said with deadly intent, “or I will let all of London know that you have been cuckolded.”
“To the detriment of your reputation?” His mouth fell open.
“What do I care? What do I care about anything?” Her voice rose again. “You’ve lost this house. My daughter, my innocent daughter, is ruined. I am moving to the country with no mainstay other than my niece. I don’t give a fig if people know I played you false!”
The viscount stared at her in silence.
“People will make horns at you in the street,” she added, a distinct note of satisfaction in her voice.
