Page 32 of The Truth about the Earl
Lord Huntsford shook his head. “The paper.”
James blinked. “The paper?”
“Where is the paper?” Lord Huntsford strode around the drawing room as though he expected to see it at any moment. “I know you possess it, even if you do not read the society pages.”
Something heavy dropped into James’ stomach. “You do not mean to say that something is in there about you? Whatever have you done?”
Lord Huntsford’s eyes narrowed all the more as he turned back toward James. “No, it is not that there is anything written aboutme,” he stated, meaningfully. “But there is something in those pages about you.”
James stared up at his friend, a cold wind seeming to blow about him, freezing his skin. For a moment, he wanted to laugh at the foolishness of the idea but one look into Lord Huntsford’s grave expression told him there was nothing to jest about.
“I know you did not do what is written there, given that you were in company with myself and the other gentlemen. Unless,of course, there was a late performance at the theatre and you chose –”
“Theatre?” James unfolded himself from the chair and got up, his coffee cup set aside. “Whatever do you mean? I was not at the theatre last evening or the evening before! Indeed, I have not been there for a little over a fortnight.”
Lord Huntsford nodded although his expression remained tight. He was not upset with James himself, James realized, but rather upset about what had been written and how it would now affect him. He closed his eyes. “The papers are in the dining room.”
“Then come. We must fetch them.”
James’ eyes flared. “That is why my butler appeared so pale-faced. He must have already known of this news.”
Lord Huntsford nodded sharply. “But of course. The servants always know of such things before the rest of us.”
James did not know how to respond. His mouth was dry, his skin burning and his eyes darting from one place to the next as he attempted to make sense of it all.
“I thought you said Mrs. Fullerton only ever wrote the truth?” he managed to say, as Lord Huntsford made his way to the door, throwing it open so they could walk out together. “This is clearly not the truth!”
“It is very strange, I confess it. This is the second time something has been added in which is most untrue. First, there came that note about Lady Essington – or someone who looked like her – emerging from a gentleman’s house in the early hours of the morning. That has been difficult for her, I am sure, but she has remained in society, determined to refute it. Now you must do the same.”
Shaking his head, James shoved one hand through his hair as they walked into the dining room. His whole body was trembling as the slow-growing realization of how this would affect himbegan to take over. Invitations would be rescinded; ladies might give him the cut direct and the number of his acquaintances would surely shrink!
“Do not give way to panic.” Lord Huntsford’s voice boomed through the dining room as they entered, perhaps seeing the strain on James’ face. “You are beginning to be afraid and I have no wish for you to be so. You will not lose my friendship and I am certain the like of Lady Essington and Lady Adlay will not turn from you either.”
James tried to nod, still aware of the shaking in his limbs. Sitting down heavily at the dining room table, he reached for the papers and turned them open to the society papers.
His eyes found the words almost as soon as he had opened up the paper. He read the words aloud, his words low and muffled, reluctant to speak them. “‘Lord Y is known as a gentleman of quality and yet he was seen exiting the personal rooms of one Miss Henstridge only yesterday evening after the theatre performance. Miss Henstridge currently works at the theatre and can often be found in a variety of roles.’” He frowned, reading the last sentence again. He had no knowledge of who this Miss Henstridge was but, evidently, she was not only a theatre performer but also a lady eager for a little additional company. Company that, apparently, he had been willing to give her.
“This is nothing but codswallop!”
“I am well aware of that,” Lord Huntsford replied, wandering around the room but flailing his hands in all directions at the same time. “But those in thetonwill question it.”
“No doubt there will be a good many of them already gossiping about me,” James muttered, pressing one hand to his forehead and staring down at the words. “If I knew who this Mrs. Fullerton was, I swear I should be tempted to call her out!”
Lord Huntsford’s smile was a little tight. “I understand the sentiment.” His hands settled on his waist, elbows akimbo. “There are, unfortunately, very few gentlemen with a last name beginning with the same letter as yours, and thus, I suspect the majority of thetonwill be looking to you as the gentleman in question.”
Squeezing his eyes closed, James allowed the flare of anger in his heart to burn upwards, spreading heat through his chest. His hands curled tightly into fists and he slammed one down hard on the table, making the clean china cups and saucers rattle.
“This is utterly unfair! I have been thrown into a quagmire without having any reason to be there! Thetonwill whisper about me, the ladies will no longer be willing to speak with me, and whilst you state you believe Lady Essington will be glad of my company still, I fear it may not be so.” A deep curl of fear began to blossom in his heart and James caught his breath, struggling to think of such a thing without a worry. “Whatever am I to do?”
Lord Huntsford rubbed at his lips for a moment, his brows cutting a thick line between them. “I think we must refute it.”
“But how can we do so?”
Lord Huntsford pointed one hand out toward him. “You must ask quickly. You must write to the gentlemen that we were with and beg of them to come alongside you in solidarity. That they would speak openly about your presence with them last evening and that they would refuse any and all gossip that is spread about you.”
A tiny flickering hope began to grow in James’ chest. “Do you think that will be enough?”
“I think it will have to be,” came the reply. “What else can you do but try?”
