Page 64 of To Dare a Duke

“She looked like she would be ill, and ran away,” he said sourly, remembering his guilt, remembering how he’d understood that she’d not want anything to do with him, that he wasn’t worthy.

“Yes, yes,” Helena said, waving that away with impatience. “But what did she say?”

Robert sighed, setting down his cup and folding his arms, doing his best to focus his aching brain on a scene he’d tried hard to forget. Somewhere through the haze of brandy, her words filtered back to him.

“She said I didn’t understand,” he replied, frowning as he tried to recapture her words. “She said it wasn’t me, that I wasn’t….” Robert rubbed at the back of his neck, trying to remember, what had she said? “She said it wasn’t me, it was her.”

Helena stared at him as his heart thudded.

“I think your young lady is rather extraordinary, Robert, and I stand by what I said. I like her. I think she made a mistake with you; the same mistake most everybody does. She’s guilty of believing gossip, but I think she knew that day. I think she realised how wrong she was, and she wanted to put it right. I think that’s why she ran but, unless you see her, speak to her, you’ll never know for sure.”

Robert felt his eyes prickle, hot and alarming as he fought for composure, anger and resentment warring with hope in his chest… but hope had sent him down the path to his destruction once before, and he was afraid to repeat the same steps.

“She vilified me in front of the world,” he said, the words uneven. “I was falling in love with her, and all the time….” He snapped his mouth closed as his voice broke.

Helena reached out and stroked his cheek. “I know, dearest. I’m not saying she’s blameless. Who is? But she lived her life in the shadow of a monster she couldn’t fight. You said that yourself. Perhaps she believed she was slaying a dragon.” She smiled at that, a look of such affection cast his way that his throat tightened. “Only to discover he wasn’t a dragon at all.”

He closed his eyes, wanting her words to be true but not daring to believe them.

“You’ll never know, Robert, if you don’t ask. You’ll never be sure. You’ll always regret letting her go, if you don’t hear her side of it. Go to her, for heaven’s sake. At least let her explain. Then you’ll know the truth.”

Robert let out a shaky breath and nodded. “All right,” he said, though it sounded begrudging. “I’ll talk to her.”

Helena smiled, patting his cheek and then pulling a face. “There’s a good fellow, and for the sake of society, wash and change before you set foot outside or you’ll be locked up for criminal offenses to nostrils, and for causing a danger to public health.”

“Funny, Helena,” he muttered, accepting a second cup of coffee. “Now, go and find yourself a husband, would you? So I don’t have to be amused by your scintillating wit a moment longer.”

Helena chuckled and got to her feet, blowing him a kiss. “I love you too, darling,” she said, with a saccharine smile, before leaving him alone.

***

May 4th Mrs Charlton’s musical Soiree. Berkeley Square. London. 1814

Prue shuffled herself a little further into the corner and out of sight. To say she was in disgrace was putting it mildly. Minerva hadn’t spoken a word to her in days, and Aunt Phyllis was angrier than she’d ever seen her. She believed Prue had ruined Minerva’s chances, that the duke had been on the verge of proposing, and Prue had wrecked everything. Minerva did not contradict her, perhaps believing it too. Prue didn’t know. She almost welcomed their anger; it felt as if she was receiving her just desserts. She well deserved her punishment and would not try to escape it.

She would, however, try to escape this terrible evening.

Everyone was talking about the last chapter of her wretched story. Everyone was lapping up the sordid tale and wondering how much of it was based on the truth, for surely the author must know something… there was no smoke without fire.

Prue had stepped in to defend Robert a few times, to say the author was likely someone with a grudge, that there was no evidence at all of his wrongdoing, and this was merely vindictive gossip. There were some who’d agreed with her, and others who weren’t about to let the truth impede a delightfully salacious story.

Now she was tired and dispirited, and drowning in guilt that made her stomach churn and her heart hurt. She swallowed hard, afraid her misery might force her to sob into the fronds of the potted palm she was cowering behind.

When the next chapter published tomorrow, she hoped she would have gone some way towards making amends, but she wouldn’t see it happen, wouldn’t see the reaction to her words first-hand. She’d be gone by then.

Prue had already written a letter to her aunt and Minerva, explaining as best she could, and apologising. She had only to return home to leave the letter and pick up her carpet bag, stuffed with all she could carry, and tiptoe out of the house.

Her new beginning awaited.

There, at least, she had been lucky. There had been a dear little cottage she had longed to rent. She had seen it advertised in a local paper when they were still in Otford, and thought it sounded perfect. Far enough away from everyone she knew, but close to a busy little village so she need not be entirely solitary. She’d so wanted it, just weeks ago. The idea of the cottage, her independence, and a new life had filled her with excitement and anticipation. At the time, it had been beyond her meagre savings, and she’d put it from her mind with regret, but now—with Mr Richardson’s help—she could take on the lease and settle into the life she’d always believed she longed for.

Alone.

It was earlier than her plan had allowed for, but she’d returned to see Mr Richardson who had given her a generous advance on the deal they had made for three further stories. He would publish each of them in the form of a novel, once the magazine had run the story in its entirety. Mr Richardson was confident they would be hugely successful.

He’d been sceptical at the change in tone to The Dark History of a Damned Duke, but after reading it he had smiled at her and nodded his approval. She’d even seen an almost fond expression in his eyes as he read the rather surprising ending.

Mr Richardson had been especially taken with the outline for her next story, about a young girl who nearly ruined her own life and those of the people she cared for by being too ready to listen to gossip.