Page 31 of Corrupting his Duchess
Anna blinked. “Encouraging whom?”
Clarissa arched an eyebrow. “The Duke, of course. You two seemed terribly… involved.”
Lady Daphne waved a gloved hand. “If a gentleman were to behave with such, shall we say, focus, one might assume certain… intentions.”
Clarissa set down her teacup with precision. “Unless, of course, it’s simply a game. He is known for a kind of charm that borders on… misleading.”
There was a flicker of movement in the room, glances exchanged like cards across a table.
Julia, sprawled in a chair near the window with a biscuit halfway to her mouth, paused. Her eyes narrowed like a cat watching a mouse show its throat.
“I assure you,” Anna said coolly, gathering the edges of her dignity like a shawl, “we were merely speaking.”
Clarissa gave a little huff. “It didn’t sound like mere speaking. You were flirting. In front of the whole party.”
Anna’s cheeks burned. “That wasn’t my intention.”
“Intentions mean little,” Clarissa said, her voice silk-wrapped steel. “What matters is perception. And people are watching.”
“We don’t recall asking for a commentary,” Gretchen said sharply.
Clarissa ignored her, eyes fixed on Anna like a hound with a scent.. “You do know what people will say, don’t you? A young lady seen behaving that way with a man known to have no intentions of marriage, well, it invites talk.”
“You and the Duke of Yeats are fast becoming a subject,” she added, lifting her brows. “And it doesn’t help that everyone knows he’s declared, very publicly, I might add, that he doesn’t intend to marry. Ever. It would be terribly unfortunate if a young lady’s name became… entangled. Especially when there is another suitor with more obvious designs.”
Gretchen placed her cup down softly. “Entanglement requires impropriety, and I’ve yet to see any.”
Clarissa’s voice sharpened. “You’re quite protective, Lady Gretchen. One might mistake it for partisanship.”
“Not at all,” Gretchen said smoothly. “But I’ve found it prudent to judge women by their choices, not their observers.”
A silence. Then Gretchen leaned back, voice airily amused. “Well, if observers mattered so much, half the room would be engaged to the Duke by now. You especially.”
Clarissa flushed, just faintly.
Lady Daphne leaned forward, fan fluttering. “Don’t be tiresome, Clarissa. Everyone’s been talking. It was, what—five Seasons ago?”
She glanced toward Anna, then lowered her voice conspiratorially.
“—it’s been said he nearly proposed to a viscount’s daughter. Or was it a marquess? No one quite agrees, which of course only makes it more intriguing.”
Lady Penelope gave a delicate sniff. “It was all very discreet at first—no formal announcement, but everyone expected it. She was everywhere he was. And then?—”
“She disappeared,” Lady Daphne supplied with relish. “Just vanished from Society. And he went to Scotland.”
“More than once,” Clarissa added. “They say he hasn’t stayed a full Season in London since.”
“Which, frankly,” Clarissa said with a tight smile, “is code for heartbroken.”
“There were letters,” Daphne whispered. “That’s how he found out. From her. Laughing about how easy it had been. Something about men with titles being easier to fool than terriers with scraps.”
Penelope gasped, delighted. “Surely not in those words?”
“That’s how I heard it,” Lady Daphne said primly, “though perhaps more poetically phrased.”
Anna said nothing. Her fingers had tightened slightly on her fan.
“When he returned, he told everyone—quite plainly—that he had no interest in marriage. Ever again.”
