Page 38 of Burning Secrets of a Lady's Pen
Belle seemed to deflate. Very little changed in her expression, but her shoulders sagged, and Imelda almost knew the words she was going to utter before she said them.
“That’s the summer that he led me on,” Belle whispered. “Before…Alice…”
Imelda felt like the rug had been pulled out from under her feet. Even as the door to their side opened, all she could do was stare woodenly at Belle, the words she’d spoken ringing in her head.
The summer that he led me on…
Wasn’t that what she had said? Wasn’t that exactly how Imelda had felt before Corin had come to her with his apologies and explanations?
Imelda’s nails cut into her palms as she listened to Belle trade places with Charlotte, as Charlotte’s questions washed over her and she walked slowly back to the party. She didn’t answer Charlotte. She didn’t think that she could. Her heart felt as if it were shattering in her chest, as if her stomach was clenched far too tightly.
Spencer and Corin swam into focus as Charlotte tried to reach out to grab Imelda’s arm, but Imelda continued walking regardless.
“Spencer, I need to go,” she muttered, her voice breaking as Corin’s face swam in her peripheral.
“We still have—”
“Spencer,” Imelda begged, cutting him off as her fingers dug into his arm.
“What happened?” Corin asked, looking between Charlotte and Imelda in abject worry.
“I don’t know,” Charlotte wrung her hands together on the side, fretting as she bit down on her lower lip. “I was in the powder room, I came out to Miss Merrit and Lady Belle—”
Oh, Imelda couldn’t take anymore.
“Spencer,” she repeated, the tears forming as she said her brother’s name, finally seeming to sway him.
He nodded once, resolutely, turning without a word to the two that they were with as he pulled Imelda away.
Something grabbed at her wrist, trying to stop her again, but Spencer knocked Corin’s hand away easily, glaring as he swept her from the room.
From the chaotic thoughts and emotions, away from Corin and the lies he had plied her with.
She had almost kissed him.
She had almost believed him.
She didn’t cry.
Not the whole ride home.
Not the stumbled steps up to her aunt’s house and into the foyer. Not even when both her aunt and her brother led her to a couch and pushed hot tea into her hands.
“It was fine,” Spencer repeated for the fifth time as her aunt buzzed around her. “It was fine. She was having a good time, I was having a good time, and then she and Charlotte went to the powder room—”
“Charlotte wouldn’t have said anything to cause this,” Lady Merrit said decisively.
Imelda wanted to laugh, but the sound was caught behind her teeth.
“No, not Charlotte,” she agreed brokenly.
Both of them turned to her in shock, the first words she’d spoken making them stop.
“Lady Belle Mansel.” Even her name hurt to say. Imelda fought the tears again as she stared off past the both of them. She couldn’t bear to see the sympathy in their faces. “It seems…” Oh, God, how could she even phrase it? “It seems that Lord Salthouse was pursuing the both of us…at the same time.”
Never mind that it had been two years before. She didn’t want to get into all of that. Telling them that much was enough. Telling them that much was more than she had ever wanted to in the first place.
Those tears swam in her vision as her aunt sank onto the couch beside her, wrapping her in her warm embrace.
