‘And what precise evidence have you given the poor girl to show that she can trust you?’
‘Well, I–I–’
‘Exactly. None whatsoever.’
‘We all grew up together, for God’s sake!’
‘Yes. And then we all didn’t think about one another for years.’ John’s voice was steady and quiet. The other brothers watched him with curiosity; he was normally the dreamy, artistic type who never spoke up. ‘It’s not as if she doesn’t know you from Adam, but it’s close. You entered into her life again as a relative stranger, presumably did something that you weren’t supposed to do–’
‘Don’t you dare cast–’
‘I’m not casting aspersions, I’m saying it’s probable.’ A flicker of doubt entered John’s voice as he turned to Edward. ‘It is probable, isn’t it?’
‘Yes. It’s almost certain that something happened.’
‘Well then.’ John nodded. ‘You did something, you decided that you were in love, you bought her a gift. Did you tell her your thoughts at any point?’
Thomas scowled. He opened his mouth, ready to furnish his brothers with all the occasions on which he had told Dorothea his sentiments and intentions in clear, unmistakable language.
After a long, silent beat, eyes wide with horrified realisation, he closed his mouth.
‘Exactly. I thought so.’ John nodded. ‘You’re so used to never being questioned now that you forgot people can. Especially people you’ve grown sentimental about.’
‘Oh, Lord.’ He had ruined everything. ‘I am a colossal tit.’
‘Truly world-class.’ Edward shook his head. ‘Did you even tell the poor woman that you love her?’
‘Oh, come now. You can’t blame me for not saying that. It would have frightened her.’
‘Whereas growing ludicrously irritated over a question about gloves made her feel reassured?’
‘She… she should know that I don’t do anything without integrity. Without meaning.’
‘She can hardly read your thoughts. She could have asked us–personally, I would have been happy to tell her exactly how dull you are. I don’t think you’ve ever purchased anything for a woman.’ Robert yawned. ‘And I’m sure that clipping Lady Beatrice’s wings in front of everyone may have made you feel an awful lot better, but I doubt it helped your case with William Pembroke.’
‘I don’t care. The formula will work well enough to dispel all doubt.’
‘Oh, I see. So you can be horrible in public and the business won’t crumble, but we can’t make comments about the poor treatment we receive? Why can’t you just admit that you–’
‘Fine! I’m in love, and it’s affecting my judgement.’ Thomas glared at his brothers, breathing hard. ‘And it’s difficult to be polite under extreme provocation. All right?’
‘Yes. Of course it is.’ Robert smiled. ‘I just wanted to hear you admit it.’
‘And I know I have to apologise.’
‘I don’t think apologise is the correct word.’ Robert mused, his chin resting on his hand. ‘I think what you have to do, Thomas, is grovel.’
‘Grovel?’
‘Yes. Grovel. Like a peasant that has made the mistake of stealing a turnip from his lord and master.’ Robert’s eyes gleamed with mischief. ‘You need to grovel loudly. Demonstratively. Preferably in public.’
‘I am not the sort of person who grovels in public. And I don’t think Dorothea would demand a public apology in any case.’
‘I know.’ Robert smiled. ‘But it would have been tremendously fun for all of us to watch.’
‘If you are going to apologise, you’ll need to do so tonight. That old bat Lady Beatrice will no doubt take great delight in punishing her if you go and find her now.’
Thomas clenched his fists. He was tired, more tired than he had ever been, with what little patience he had slowly but surely slipping away. ‘I don’t want to wait.’
‘I know you never listen to us, but try to change the habit of a lifetime in this instance.’ Edward looked at him with a touch more gravity than usual, his voice more sincere than Thomas had heard in years. ‘I know women in general more intimately than you do. Give her time before barging into her life and insisting she listen to your apologies.’
Robert wagged a finger. ‘His grovelling.’
‘Quite.’ Edward smiled. ‘Your grovelling.’
‘Do we know the origin of the word grovel?’ Henry looked up from his folio. ‘I imagine it’s fascinating.’
‘Henry, I think it holds fascination only for you.’
‘You don’t know that. If we work it out here and now, we can tell everyone when the dancing is over.’
‘Where do you go when we talk? What place does your mind travel to?’
As his brothers bickered and smoked cigars, Thomas sank into his chair. He let the events of the previous days wash over him, this time a gentle sea instead of an overwhelming flood.
He wasn’t used to apologising. Hearing advice properly, instead of skimming over it–really taking it to heart. And he had never grovelled in his life.
That was certainly going to change. If anyone deserved grovelling, it was Dorothea. Not least because she would allow him to stumble, perhaps even do it badly. She would let him find his way.
How had he gone without her for this long? Pure energy, momentum–running away from everything in his past. But that strange, nagging feeling of a missing piece had been growing…
… and now, despite the state of things between Dorothea and himself, that missing-piece feeling was gone.
He loved her. What a relief. What a joy.
Now all he had to do was make her see it.
Lady Beatrice had wanted to leave at once. She had snapped angrily at Dorothea when she had quietly expressed the impossibility of the plan, given the insistence of the doctor upon sleeping at a certain hour. Only when the sky was completely dark, the moon invisible under a layer of cloud, did she finally admit defeat and insist that Dorothea put her to bed.
‘Can you believe the rudeness of that man!’ She glared angrily at Dorothea from her pillows, where she was propped up like an ancient puppet. ‘Saying that to me–to me! No-one has ever said anything like that to me in my life?’
Not to your face. No-one has ever said anything like that to your face. Dorothea bit her lip as she prepared Lady Beatrice’s sleeping draught, wishing her hands weren’t shaking so much.
He had defended her honour in public. He had been rude to one of England’s most untouchable women, in a way guaranteed to damage his reputation. And from the look in his eyes as he’d said the words, the passion evident in his voice, he hadn’t cared at all about the consequences.
They had misunderstood one another to a tremendous degree. Perhaps too much to ever be mended. But from the way Thomas had spoken in public, it looked as if he would at least be amenable to trying.
‘That family shouldn’t be allowed within a mile of decent people. Woefully ignorant, slipshod rustics with nothing to recommend them and still less to endear them to the hearts of people with good sense.’ Lady Beatrice reared up from her pillows, too exercised to stay still. ‘They should have been left in the godforsaken place they were raised in!’
This was shocking language even for Lady Beatrice. Dorothea bit her lip hard, a dozen replies swarming to her throat as the old woman went on.
‘The oldest is the worst of them. He’s cunning–cunning as a rat. Worming his way into refined places, tricking people with his fine ways. But the rot escapes–you saw it tonight! The idiocy of that Pembroke girl, not upbraiding him–not apologising to me–’
‘I know why.’ Dorothea spoke as if from very far away. Her hands had finally stopped trembling as she gently folded them in her lap.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘I know why Miss Pembroke didn’t defend you.’ Dorothea paused, holding her breath before taking the plunge. ‘Because you’re unpleasant.’
There was a moment of
complete silence. When Lady Beatrice finally turned her head to stare at Dorothea, the shock had drained all colour from her face. ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘You heard me. You’re one of the most unpleasant women I’ve ever come across.’ Lord, it was a relief to say the words. ‘You’re cruel when you don’t need to be, arrogant beyond belief, and apparently bereft of every Christian quality.’
She had done it. She had finally told Lady Beatrice what she thought. She put the sleeping draught down within easy reach of the old woman, who was still staring at her with an ashen face, and smoothed down her skirts as she stood.
‘I understand a portion of your ill-humour. Old age seems to be a slow relinquishing of both dignity and pleasure, and it can’t be a welcome thing for anyone.’ She pulled her meagre linen chest out from beneath the bed, opening it. All of her treasures could be neatly wrapped in a scarf and stowed away. ‘I understand that you’re upset, and very often frightened–’
‘I’m never frightened, you ugly wretch!’
‘I don’t believe you, and I’m not ugly. I’m not.’ Dorothea looked steadily at the old woman. ‘No matter how many times you shout the words in my face, you can’t make it true. Just as you can’t bring back the youth you enjoyed, the power you enjoyed. It’s gone.’
Lady Beatrice’s lip curled. ‘You think to give me wisdom, you–’
‘Be careful. I won’t tolerate poor conduct from you anymore. I don’t understand how I ever did.’ Dorothea pulled a silken mass of scarlet from her linen chest, placing the other objects she owned to one side. The gown seemed to shiver against her fingers as she touched it reverently. ‘Although I doubt I’ll have to tolerate it for much longer, seeing as you’ll–’
‘Your place in my household is finished!’
‘Yes. I rather thought it was.’
‘And don’t think for a moment that you’ll receive your final week’s wages! You’ll regret your idiocy when you can’t afford a crust!’
‘I won’t. I’ll regret poverty, no doubt, but I won’t regret doing this. Leaving your employ.’ Dorothea stood, the skirts of the gown cascading to the floor as she held it up. The soft red glow of it against the candlelight fell onto Lady Beatrice’s face. ‘In fact, I don’t think I’ve enjoyed anything as much in a very long time.’
She knew she was meant to feel at least a tinge of regret. Lady Beatrice was old, yes, and lonely–but there was a difference between being lonely due to uncontrollable circumstances, and lonely thanks to one’s ugly character. If the woman couldn’t find another maid to harangue or bully, it would be no-one’s fault but her own.
She deserved more than this. She always had. She deserved to be surrounded by people who loved her. People like Charlotte, and…
… and Thomas. Thomas, who needed to apologise to her. Thomas, who would need to make himself worthy of the love she had for him. That a small, wise part of her had always had for him, even during their youth.
‘I’m going now.’ She looked steadily at Lady Beatrice. ‘I’m going to send a footman for my things, go to Charlotte and tell her that I’ll be dancing tonight. And I’m going to wear this gown.’
Lady Beatrice’s ready tongue had apparently deserted her. She looked on, mouth open and face still grey, as Dorothea left the room.
‘Oh, Lord. I don’t think I’ve ever been happier.’ Charlotte clapped her hands, her face alive with joy as she ushered Dorothea into her bedroom. It had only taken a few hushed phrases on Dorothea’s part to relate what had occurred. ‘This is it–the pinnacle of my existence.’
Dorothea couldn’t help but laugh as she placed the scarlet gown on Charlotte’s bed. She was still shaking from the encounter with Lady Beatrice, the reality of what it meant still very far away. ‘And to think that all I had to do was lose my only source of employment and cast myself upon the four winds.’
‘Cast yourself upon your friends, dear, who want to help you.’ Charlotte was already rummaging in her dressing table, bringing out an array of tinctures and powders that Dorothea had never seen before, let alone used. ‘That’s very different from casting yourself upon the four winds. The four winds can’t give you an allowance.’
‘I’m not asking your father for an allowance.’
‘You have always been a sister to me. My sister can’t live without an allowance.’
Dorothea hung her head. A cold feeling of shame was already creeping over her. ‘This is how I knew I would feel. Like… like a poor relation.’
Charlotte took her hand. Her palm was warm, her face alive with feeling as she looked at Dorothea. ‘You will never be a poor relation, Dorothea. Not while I breathe in this world. And if I am to be frank, dear–I doubt my father will need to give you an allowance for long.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because from the way that Duke brother spoke to Lady Beatrice in the dining room, I rather think he intends to make sure you are no-one’s poor relation.’
Dorothea tried to keep her face blank. ‘I… I…’
‘Dorothea. You have refused me every quarter. You have refused to let me give you money, or connections, or any other thing that I can so easily give you.’ Charlotte paused. ‘Would you really deny me an exciting piece of gossip?’
‘I–I think it’s gone beyond an exciting piece of gossip.’ Dorothea bit her lip. She wouldn’t cry now, not when things were flowering. When her life was finally unfolding as it was always meant to. ‘In my own heart, at least.’
‘I–my goodness! You must tell me everything!’
‘It’s all been so terribly fast–but we knew one another, you see, knew one another as children…’ Dorothea’s voice trailed away as distant strains of music made themselves heard.
‘The dancing is beginning.’ Charlotte stood, her voice full of decisive power. ‘The dancing is beginning, and you shall dance!’
‘I want to. That’s why I came here to tell you–’
‘And you already have a perfect gown.’ Charlotte went to the door, frantically beckoning what turned out to be a bonneted maid. ‘A gown that Lucy will put you into, while you tell me absolutely everything about Thomas Duke. It is Thomas, isn’t it? I would have to judge you most severely if you had taken a fancy to that indolent oaf Robert–’
‘It’s Thomas.’ Dorothea looked guardedly at Lucy, who curtseyed. ‘And I’m not sure if I wish to–’
‘Lucy has heard more scandalous things that you could shake a stick at, dear.’ Charlotte reverently stroked the skirt of the scarlet gown as it shimmered in the candlelight. ‘And remember that I need to dress too. My adventures will almost certainly be more scandalous than yours.’
It had taken so much less time than Dorothea had thought. Was this to be how her life was, now–how it could be? Everything unrolling in front of her in a glorious, easy sweep of possibility and potential, a maid’s soothing fingers arranging her hair, the voice of her best friend urging her on with loving enthusiasm as she dressed. Dressed in the scarlet gown that had brought her so much happiness, pain, remembrance, in such a brief amount of time that she would have thought herself absurd a week ago.
Now she stood anxiously on the threshold of the door that led to the grand staircase. Music and chatter floated up to where she anxiously waited, fists clenched, as she observed the crowd without being seen herself.
Where was Thomas? They had spent so much of their young lives together, and so little of their adult existence in the same place. Still, now, a room felt empty without him in it. There were only strangers; people she would have known well, had she been given the Season she deserved.
This, then, would be her Season. Her second chance. It would cause confusion, yes, and the faintest hint of scandal. But given how thoroughly painful her attempt at a respectable existence had been, scandal could hardly injure her more than that.
Oh, where was he? Why wasn’t he here now, to see her moment of triumph?
‘Courage, dear.’ Charlotte appeared at her side. ‘If you stand her
e all night, there’ll be rumours that the Pembrokes bring ghosts to every house they inhabit.’
‘I’m almost ready.’ Dorothea looked curiously at her friend. ‘I thought you were going to wear the new green gown? The other Anne Fletcher one?’
‘Not tonight. I ate so many courses yesterday that it will be impossible to fit into.’ Charlotte smiled with an elegant shrug. ‘This grey one will be more than adequate.’
Charlotte’s grey gown was certainly exquisite, much like everything else she wore—but it certainly wasn’t as spectacular as the other gown. It wouldn’t attract that many eyes. Dorothea frowned, wondering Charlotte had last eaten all of the courses in a meal, until she realised with a rush of painful gratitude what Charlotte was doing.
‘Thank you.’ She smiled gratefully at her friend. ‘I’m indebted to you.’
‘Indebted to me for eating so much? What a good friend you are.’ Charlotte laughed, gently smoothing down the skirts of her subtle, dove-grey gown. ‘And now, dear, I really must chivvy you along. The dancing will begin very soon.’
Dorothea took a deep breath. She stepped out onto the landing, the grand staircase gleaming beneath her feet, the crowd turning in anticipation as the music dimmed…
… no. She couldn’t do this. She was going to faint, or be sick. But as she held her breath, the candlelight wavering as her balance deserted her, she caught sight of the only face that she truly needed to see.
Thomas. Thomas staring at her as he had during that first encounter. The man who had truly seen her long ago, rich and carefree—and who had seen her again, plain and utterly worthless, and still looked at her as if she were a queen.
He would be her anchor. Her rock in a changing world. Dorothea straightened her shoulders, grounded, and began to descend the stairs with the poise of a queen.
The wave of gasps, of murmurs, whispers and outright astonishment, washed over her with delicious freshness. There was no malice in the waiting crowd, not yet—perhaps there wouldn’t be. Lady Beatrice was in bed, unable to spread her venom through the ballroom, and the usual vicious coterie of women out to hunt husbands were simply too shocked to speak.
Sinful in Scarlet: The Brothers Duke: Book One Page 7