Page 57 of My Deceitful Duchess
“You’re not the first person to say something less than kind to me,” Jenny said, “and you’re not likely to be the last. I should be quite pitiful indeed if I took to heart everything everyone said of me.”
“But you let mestay,” Eliza persisted. “You’d have been well within your rights to toss me out on my arse.”
Jenny closed the ledger, drawing her fingertips along the line of the spine. “What other people say...that is a measure of their character, not of mine. What I say or do in return—thosearemy character. It might make me feel right and just in the moment, were I to repay unkindness for unkindness, but when the moment has passed? I suspect I would feel only shame. I try to make the choices I can live with, since I am the only one who must.” She spread out one hand in a light gesture. “You are welcome here, Eliza, if you would like to stay. There is a place for you.”
The virulent coloring of the bruise ringing Eliza’s left eye only accentuated the brilliant green of her irises. “Just like that, then? You won’t even ask what I did to—to—”
“There is nothing you could have done to merit such treatment,” Jenny said firmly. “No onedeserves it. For any reason.” She hesitated briefly. “If you would like to tell me, of course I will listen. But no one here will ever press you for an explanation if you don’t wish to give it.”
Eliza’s eyes washed with tears, and she dashed at them with her hands, wincing at the irritation to her tender skin. “Alice said I’m far from the first to come. That most don’t stay.”
“It’s true,” Jenny acknowledged. “There are some I’ve seen more than once, I’m sad to say. But I remember all of them—every woman who has come to Ambrosia seeking help. Sometimes it’s only a bed for a night. Sometimes it’s a permanent position.”
“Do you think poorly of them, those that returned?”
“It’s not my place to judge,” Jenny said. “I can only wish them well and pray their circumstances improve. In my experience, disapproval rarely sways a soul—but a reminder that help is there, when and if they need it, often does. I find that people don’t need judgment half so much as they need support. Your choice belongs only to you, Eliza. If you choose to go, I hope you know that you can return at any time, for any reason.”
“I won’t go home again,” Eliza said, and her hands clenched in the skirt of her gown—a borrowed one, it seemed, for it ran a little shorter than it ought. “But if I might stay a few more days until—” Her fingers drifted across her cheeks, indicated the copious bruising. “I think I would like to go to my sister’s, in Exeter.”
“Of course. When you are ready, please let me know,” Jenny said. “We’ll arrange for you to take a coach.”
Eliza chewed her lower lip. “I couldn’t ask,” she said. “You’ve done enough.”
“You haven’t asked. I’ve offered.” Jenny pushed back her chair and rose to her feet. “There’s no shame in accepting help when it is offered.”
Eliza’s lips quavered as Jenny approached. A betraying sniffle slipped out, and she dashed her hand over her face once more. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I should have said before. I’m sorry. I couldn’t face you—”
“I never asked you to.” Jenny extended her hand. “But Iamglad you did.”
With a trembling hand, Eliza clasped hers, and for a fragile moment there was perfect understanding between them. With any luck, Eliza would go on to lead a comfortable, secure life, and that—that was all Jenny had ever wanted for any woman who happened to come through her doors.
But that delicate peace was shattered in mere moments. A sharp knock sounded upon the door, and before Jenny could even bid whoever it was to enter, Alice burst through the door in a tizzy.
“Ma’am,” she said, wringing her hands. “It’s Miss Amberley. She’shere.”
Chapter Twenty Six
Ambrosia had fallen into an unnatural silence. It would have been unusual even for a Sunday, when the only other people about were the staff, but it wasespeciallyunusual now, when ladies roamed the halls in droves.
Except that they didn’t—notreally. Oh, they were in the halls, to be sure, butroamthey most certainly did not. In fact, Jenny was obliged to wade through a veritable crowd of them to reach the reception room, where Nerissa Amberley ostensibly awaited her.
Ugly little whispers flew about, skittering up and down the halls like crawling insects, slipping into ears and then out of mouths again, spreading like a biblical plague. She could feel the stares following her, feel the crowd closing in behind her.
Nerissa had planned for this—thisugliness. This tawdry little scene she had contrived, no doubt in an effort to create another storm, a sensation of gossip and scandal. She had assembled an enrapt audience, and caught herself a captive victim. Whatever pressure she and her brother had attempted to exert upon the authorities had thus far failed, but she could still strike in the way that women of theTonoften did. With cutting words before a crowd.
And sheglowedwith the delight of it, Jenny saw as she managed to squeeze past the cluster of women gathered round. Nerissa Amberley had girded herself to the teeth with her artfully arranged hair, with her elegant ice blue silk gown, and her glittering jewels. Shemeantto attract attention, and she did it with each slight movement, from the diamond bracelets that glistened at her wrists to the massive sapphire pendant that dangled from her neck and came to rest just over her bodice, where it glowed with an inner fire that looked like a starburst.
In contrast, Jenny was small, drab as a crow, and overtired. But she had routed Nerissa once before, and she would do it again. In the way of Nerissa’s kind—civilly, politely. With words sharp as knives.
“Miss Amberley,” she said, pasting on a saccharine smile as she crossed the floor. “Do you require assistance to find your way back to the door? Ihavetold you before that your request for a subscription was declined.”
“Not at all,Madame.” Nerissa displayed a smile as feral as a fox, and just as cunning. “I thought I would come to convey my regrets to Ladies Clybourne and Livingston. I have it on good authority that they will soon be requiring a new manager.” A patently false moue of regret pursed her lips.
Jenny fluttered her lashes, affecting a sweet tone. “Youmay call meYour Grace.”
A wave of titters rippled through the crowd. Two bright spots of color burned high on Nerissa’s cheeks. “Howdareyou. Youmurderedmy cousin—”
“Ah, yes. Thatisthe claim that has been bandied about.” Jenny paused, choosing her words carefully. Nerissa had forgotten a crucial truth, made a critical error in her foolish attempt to twist public opinion yet further—Ambrosia was Jenny’s battlefield. These ladies, they were notNerissa’saudience after all. They wereJenny’s. “At least, by the two people who stood to gain the most from my husband’s death.”
