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She was just about to walk off on them, when Lady Beatrice ruffled through her evening bag and, produced a tightly folded piece of paper. Slowly, she unfolded it, staring at Patricia the whole while.
“The Standard’s scandal sheet begs to differ, Patricia,” she said, between giggles. “Although it does congratulate you on snaring the beast…”
Patricia’s mouth suddenly went dry. What was she talking about?
“Oh, have you not seen it?” Lady Beatrice asked, fixing her with a sharp look. “I was sure you must have.” She delicately raised a white gloved hand to her mouth, feigning shock. “Am I the one who has broken the news to you about it? The wholetonhas read it and is talking about it.”
Patricia started to violently tremble. She stared, transfixed, at the piece of paper.
Lady Beatrice smoothed out the paper and began reading. Then she raised her head.
“I shall summarize,” she said, slowly and deliberately. “It claims that you entrapped the Duke because your dear father has financial woes.” She paused. “And that you must now spend your entire life with the great misfortune of gazing upon your husband’s face because of it.”
“They call your husband the Beast,” laughed Eliza. “And you are dear Beauty, of course, Patricia. The author is so very witty, is he not?”
Patricia’s head started to spin. She felt like she was going to be sick.
Desperately, she stared at the piece of paper. And then she simply snatched it out of Lady Beatrice’s hand and quickly ran away from them, pushing through the crowd. She didn’t think she could breathe.
Everything was taking on a nightmarish quality. The faces of the ladies and gentlemen seemed to loom at her as she pushed past them: they seemed hideously deformed, like circus freaks. Their eyes were too large, their voices too loud.
She stumbled, knocking someone’s glass of champagne, spilling it down the front of a lady’s gown, who glared at her.
She couldn’t even apologize. Her mouth was so dry with panic she didn’t think she could speak. She needed to get away from these people. She needed to find a private place so she could sit down and read what this scandal sheet said.
She felt sweat dripping down her neck. Was it her imagination or were people staring at her openly as she pushed past them? They seemed to be laughing behind their hands. And then she saw a group perusing a piece of paper, laughing uproariously. Her blood went cold. They stopped laughing, gazing at her with cool eyes as she passed by.
Her heart seized. It wasn’t her imagination. That piece of paper was the Standard’s scandal sheet. Whatever was written within it about her and Jackson, they knew. Lady Beatrice hadn’t lied. It was travelling through this crowd like a wildfire through dense forest. She and Jackson were the talk of theton…for all the wrong reasons.
Eventually, she found a private alcove and slipped into it. Her hand was shaking so much that the piece of paper almost slid out of it, dropping to the floor. It took her a moment to steady herself before she could start reading.
There it was. After mention of some other people and their misfortunes, it launched into it. She gasped in horror as she read.
The esteemed editors of this illustrious paper raised their eyebrows in astonishment when news of the hasty marriage between the D of M. and L.P.H. came to light. How could the very beautiful L.P.H, with her fine prospects of a great matrimonial match, have consented to marry such a gentleman? The beau monde were intrigued, to say the least. And so, the editors did a little digging to find out what exactly was behind it all.
Alas, it appears that L.P.H., despite her great beauty, had a sudden change of circumstances just prior to her swift marriage. Her esteemed father has more than a taste for the dice and has reduced his family practically to penury for the love of it. The gentleman gambled away both of his daughter’s dowries and has racked up considerable debt as well.
It appears that the beautiful lady trapped the Beast for his wealth and is now forced to spend the rest of her life shuddering as she gazes into his scarred face. A face his own recently departed father could not bear to gaze upon, leaving the Beast holed up in the country licking his not inconsiderable wounds.
A real-life retelling of La Belle et la Bete, indeed.
The paper slid from Patricia’s hand. She gazed out at the crowd before her, with unseeing eyes.
It was over. Jackson would never, ever forgive her for this.
She was so distressed she couldn’t even cry. She had been so very close to telling him. She had finally plucked up the courage. And now this. They were a scandal and a joke. Everyone was laughing at them. And she still had to find him and tell him.
She stood up, her heart lurching. She must do it now. There still might be time. He might not be aware of it. She could feign illness, telling him they must leave immediately.
Quickly, she pushed back through the crowd, scanning it with desperate eyes. Where could he be?
Patricia thought quickly. He had walked off with Lord Withington at the start of the evening. He wanted to talk business with him. They would be with the other gentlemen, drinking brandies somewhere.
She was just about to stop a passing footman to ask where Lord Withington might be when she suddenly saw Jackson through the crowd.
Her heart dropped to the floor, shattering into a thousand pieces. He was gazing at her, with a thunderous expression upon his face, clutching a piece of paper in his right hand. She almost fainted. She knew it was the scandal sheet.
She froze. She simply could not move a muscle.
