Page 125 of The Scoundrel's Daughter
What indeed? Alice was warmed by Lucy’s use ofwe, indicating she would loyally stand by Alice. But by tomorrow night, barely a soul in the ton would be unaware of the letters. Word of mouth would happen first—whispers carried from house to house during morning calls, and details shared and discussed, details of the most humiliating moments of her past brought to life by Thaddeus’s clever, vicious pen.
Scandalous stories about one of their own. Servants would be sent to the bookshops, the books would fly off the shelves and later be passed around.
James and Gerald arrived and Alice called for more biscuits and a fresh pot. James asked for a fire to be lit, which was odd because it wasn’t a cold day, but she asked Tweed to light the fire anyway.
While the fire was getting started and the tea and biscuits were being handed around, Gerald enthusiastically described their adventure at the publisher’s.
“And now, here’s something for you,” James said, passing a small bundle to Alice. A thick sheaf of letters bound with a puce ribbon.
And suddenly Alice realized why he’d wanted a fire lit. She received the letters with nerveless fingers.
“You do want to destroy them, I presume,” James said when she’d sat in silence for several minutes.
“Oh yes, oh yes indeed.” She knelt before the fire, pulledthe ribbon off and fed the letters one by one into the fire. She watched as each one smoked and twisted, then burst into flames. Sparks danced up the chimney, leaving a pile of gray ash behind.
With every letter burned, she felt lighter, freer. It was a cathartic experience—she was purging herself of Thaddeus, finally and forever.
The last letter curled up and crumpled into ash, and she dusted off her hands and rose. Turning, she saw the little red leather book sitting on the side table. She would like to burn it, too, but it would make a terrible stench, and she didn’t want it polluting her home. The purge was not yet complete, but she felt so much better already. “Did you secure all the copies?” she asked.
“All but the leather-bound copies that were sent out in advance,” James said.
“Like that one of Mama’s.” Gerald indicated his copy.
“Don’t worry, we’ll get them back,” James assured her. “There are only twenty-four, and I have a list.”
Yes, but if Almeria had already read it cover to cover, then others would have. Alice could tell by his somber expression that James knew that. Pandora’s box was already open.
“Maybe we should send our apologies to Lady Reynolds,” Lucy said. “She and Sir Alan are very kind—they’ll understand.”
“Lord, yes, the Reynolds’s ball tomorrow night,” Gerald exclaimed. “I forgot about that. Of course you won’t want to go.”
James nodded. “If you like, I could take you—and my girls—Lucy, too, of course—to Towers, my country estate. We could stay there as long as you want, wait until this thing blows over.”
Alice sipped her tea in silence. Run from the gossip? Hide?
Thaddeus had already done his best to ruin her life. Now it was Bamber using Thaddeus’s words from the grave—andwhat a fool she’d been to trust the promise of a blackmailer. She thought about her sister-in-law, Almeria, avidly devouring the letters that shamed her. She thought about the ladies in Miss Chance’s shop and their ill-natured whispering.
She put down her cup with a snap. “I’ve had enough.” They all looked at her cup, which was three-quarters full. “I won’t run. I won’t hide. I refuse to be a victim a moment longer.”
They blinked at her in surprise. “I am eight-and-thirty years old, and I don’t care what others think of me—especially ill-natured gossips who mouth pious words of sympathy while secretly enjoying my misfortune.”
She gestured to the ash in the fireplace. “I am not the same girl whose misery those letters described so despicably. I am a different woman now—my own woman—and I refuse to hide away from awkward social encounters or cower in the country, no matter how beautiful and welcoming I’m sure Towers is.”
Her glance took in all of them. “This horrid little book will reveal people for who they truly are. You, my friends, offered instant support. There will be a few others, I know. And those who don’t, those who secretly revel in what they will see as my humiliation—well, who needs that sort of friend anyway? Not I.” She rose to her feet. “And Iamgoing to the ball.”
“Brava!” James applauded, and the others joined in. “So, Cinders,” he said when the excitement and congratulations had died down, “what time shall I bring the pumpkin around to collect you?”
Chapter Seventeen
In the carriage going to the ball, Lucy sat beside Gerald, and Alice and James sat opposite. Alice was obviously tense, her face pale and tight in the faint, transient light inside the carriage. But she was going to the ball, determined not to be cowed by the ugly situation she was in—the ugly situation Lucy’s papa had put her in.
Lucy hoped that one day she’d have the courage Alice was showing.
Alice was an extraordinary woman. She’d taken in Lucy unwillingly, purely because of Papa’s blackmail, and yet, with every reason to despise her, Alice had made Lucy feel like a friend or a beloved daughter. Even when Papa had abandoned her, Alice had insisted Lucy must stay, that she had a home with Alice for as long as she needed.
And now despite all Alice’s goodness to Lucy, she was being punished.
The shame of it scorched Lucy, even though she knew it wasn’t her fault. But she was determined to make it up to Alice somehow.
