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For one thing, it seems apparent to this writer – and indeed anyone with half a brain – that Miss Wyre intends to get her talons into the Duke’s fortune, and carry it home to her nest, where Lord and Lady Wyre wait to be fed.
The whole business is a sordid one, and one must be surprised at the infamous Duke of Ice falling victim to such a scandal.
The whole shocking story was given to this writer by a close friend of the family themselves. A gentleman close to the Dowager Duchess of Keswick, who did not wish to be named gave us the whole shocking details and bade us warn the Duke. If he will not be warned, then take heed, all rich young men! There are Miss Wyres at every turn, each one craftier than the last!
The Duke of Ice is melting and will soon be reduced to nothing. Where is his grandmother, the redoubtable Dowager Duchess of Keswick? Where is the Duke’s icy temper and renowned good sense? Will nobody save him from marching down the aisle with such a harpy?
For shame, Miss Wyre, for shame.
Rosaline crumpled the pamphlet between shaking hands.
“This… this is awful.” She stammered. “Who wrote this?”
The Baroness shrugged. “They’re gossip columns. They’re anonymous. Nobody would be fool enough to attach their names to this sort of libel. It could be your closest friend, or the gentleman you danced with at a ball. The point is, how are we going to address this?”
“Agreed,” her husband chimed in. “These comments must be dealt with. This is a popular gossip column, and many members of thetonread it. They’ll take note of it, too, you mark my words. We all brush off this stuff as frivolous gossip, but there’s always a grain of truth to be found.”
Rosaline’s head shot up. “No there isn’t! There isn’t any truth in this! I’m not courting the Duke for his money?”
The Baron rolled his eyes. “Of course you are, you stupid girl. Or at least, you should be.”
The Baroness leaned forward, tapping the table to get her daughter’s attention. “You need to move quickly, my girl, before the Duke gets wind of this. Lock him down as soon as possible. Get a proposal, if you can. I daresay men like the Duke won’t care much for gossip columns, but you know how these great men have their pride.”
Rosaline stared down at the writing until it blurred. Who would give this sort of story to the malicious writers of a gossip column?
“Ihave to speak to Benedict.” She murmured.
“What’s that, dear?”
“The Duke,” Rosaline corrected herself. “I want to talk to him, right away.”
The Baron nodded approvingly. “Very good, my dear. Strike when the iron is hot, and all that.”
The Baroness eyed her daughter suspiciously. “You aren’t going to do anything silly, are you? Pay no attention to the silly pamphlet. The Duke is our future. Your future, that is. That’s what I meant. You need to lock him down as soon as possible, and make sure he won’t wriggle away. Engagements are good, marriage is better.”
Rosaline smiled weakly, not really paying much attention. She hurried upstairs, shaking her head at Margaret when she tried to say something.
Rosaline closed herself in her room and dashed off a quick note.
To Lord Benedict,
Ineed to meet you. This is of the utmost urgency. Meet at the entrance to the Park at precisely nine-thirty, as soon as you receive this note.
Please, tell no one of our meeting, and don’t bring anyone. As I said, this is urgent. I have some bad news for you, and something to show you which you will not like.
That is all I will say at present.
Yours,
Rosaline
That should do the job. Sniffling miserably, Rosaline signed and sealed the letter, sending an errand boy off to deliver it. She picked up a parasol to ward off the sun and hurried to their meeting spot.
Rosaline was only lingering at the entrance to the Park for ten minutes or so before Benedict’s figure appeared in the distance, walking quickly.
“Miss Wyre,” he said, grinning and sketching a bow. “How lovely to see you.”
She managed a quick smile in response.
