Page 9 of His Darling Duchess
Lady Lymsey was obviously considering unleashing a tirade anyway, as her jaw worked, her blue eyes glittering, but she pinched her lips together and nodded at her husband.
“Come, Aurelia.” Her voice was gentle as she spoke to her daughter. “Let’s get you home.”
“Go back to our guests,” Stowe requested quietly of his aunt. “I’ll follow shortly with Lord Lymsey.” What he had to tell her about her son would break her heart, but he needed her to remain calm until the ball ended. “If you spy Colesworth, would you tell him Lord Lymsey is looking for him?”
“He’ll be looking for you, too!” Lady Grantleigh whispered back.
“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”
Leaving his aunt to return to the party, Stowe led the Lymseys into his study and opened the French doors, where Hale waited with a large umbrella to shield the ladies from the rain which was now falling more steadily.
“This way.” Stowe led them quickly to the side gate which led to the mews, where the Lymsey carriage waited. A footman assisted the two ladies into the carriage, Aurelia still crying heartbrokenly. Stowe could hardly bear to see her so distraught.Leaning into the carriage, he pulled his own handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it into her hands.
“I’m so sorry, my lady,” he said quietly, “but I’ll do everything in my power to make this right.”
He couldn’t see the colour of her eyes in the dimly-lit carriage, but she did look directly at him for a moment and then nod, a jerky little motion of her head. Stepping back, Stowe closed the door and nodded to the footman.
Lymsey returned from speaking to the driver, his face grim. “Let’s be about it, then,” he said, and with a glance at Stowe, added “Try to smile, Your Grace.”
Smiling was the last thing he felt like doing, all things considered, but as they rejoined the throng he forced one onto his face, nodding along as Lymsey claimed to anyone who asked that Aurelia was feeling fatigued and Lady Lymsey had taken her home.
It was obvious the rumours were already flying, but the bemused stares Stowe and Lymsey received showed that the plan of having them appear perfectly cordial together was muddying the waters nicely. By tomorrow, nobody would know what to believe as contradictory reports flew all over London.
When Viscount Colesworth found them just outside the ballroom, the confusion on his face as he looked between them told them he’d already heard more than one account.
“Don’t say a word,” Lymsey said through gritted teeth, his smile rigid, as he grasped his son’s arm. “Just smile and shake Stowe’s hand as though you’re the best of friends, and then the three of us are going to take a walk around the ballroom together.”
It seemed Colesworth had inherited his father’s skill of talking through a forced smile as well, for he said “What the hell is going on, Father?” as he grasped Stowe’s hand, a little more forcefully than courtesy might dictate.
“Let’s just say that not a single rumour you might have heard is the actual truth,” Lymsey said, “and we’ll leave it at that until we can talk privately.”
Colesworth looked rather as though he wanted to demand more information on the instant, but the politician’s son had obviously learned discretion at his father’s knee. He nodded and fell in on Stowe’s other side.
Every gossipping group in the ballroom stared and fell silent at the approach of the three men together, showing a united front. Lymsey repeated his line about Lady Lymsey taking a fatigued Lady Aurelia home a dozen times at least, and Stowe forced himself to be as open and affable as he could manage.
Strangely, it felt easier now than it had earlier; perhaps because every time he felt his smile slipping he reminded himself that he was making the effort for Lady Aurelia’s sake. She deserved none of the censure which would flow her way if he failed in his mission, and failure was therefore not an option.
He had, after all, faced far worse than the gossips of the Ton on the bloody battlefields of Europe.
Curiously, Stowe’s handkerchief comforted Aurelia as she pressed it to her wet face. A faint scent rose from it, cedar and bitter oranges, sharp but strangely soothing. Her sobs eased a little, and she felt able to breathe for the first time since those awful moments when Grantleigh had forced his rough kiss on her.
“Can you tell me what happened, dearest?” her mother asked as Aurelia’s desperate sobs quietened.
She took a few breaths to steady herself, blowing her nose with Stowe’s handkerchief.
“I’m afraid Lord Grantleigh is not who I thought,” she said finally, her voice thin and shaky.
“Grantleigh?” Lady Lymsey gasped, shocked. “But it was Stowe with you!”
Tears threatened again as she remembered Stowe’s ferocity as he flung Grantleigh away from her and ordered him from the house, before he’d so carefully sought to see to her comfort. He’d seemed to know she couldn’t bear any man close at that moment, keeping his distance respectfully.
“Stowe was very kind,” Aurelia whispered through her tear-ravaged throat. “But I hope Louis does not remain close friends with Grantleigh. I never want to see him again.”
“I do not begin to understand what has gone on,” Lady Lymsey said finally, as the carriage drew to a halt at the front steps of the Lymsey townhouse. “For now, let’s get you to bed. I’ll attend you myself, and have Mary bring a cup of hot milk to help you sleep.”
Grateful she wouldn’t have to explain her torn gown to her maid, Aurelia docilely allowed her mother to take charge, bundling her into a thick flannel nightgown and only stopping to remove the pins from her hair before urging her into bed. Mary arrived with the promised warm milk and Aurelia drank it down under Lady Lymsey’s watchful eye.
“Go to sleep, dearest.” Lady Lymsey had never been particularly demonstrative, but she leaned down and kissed her daughter’s brow tenderly. “Everything will seem better tomorrow,” she whispered, and with a last glance over her shoulder, she blew out the candles and left Aurelia alone.
