Page 6 of Snowbound with the Scoundrel
I write to you today to make you aware of a situation that will be of the most material interest to your readers.You see, I have narrowly escaped a terrible predicament, and I know it to be a circumstance your faithful subscribers will be most keen to avoid:
Betrothal to one of the Weatherby sisters.
Who, one might reasonably ask, are the Weatherby sisters?To be sure, they do not possess the notoriety of a Beau Brummell or an Emma Hamilton.
But these four young women do have something in common with those two stalwarts of society: They have the finances of Brummell, and the morals of Mrs.Hamilton.
Would that the Weatherby sisters possessed the looks of either of these figures, but I can assure you—they do not.
As I mentioned, I recently found myself in the unfortunate circumstance of being betrothed by my father to the second oldest Weatherby sister, Clarissa.She is arguably the worst of the bunch (although please do not mistake me; they are all extremely bad.) Miss Clarissa Weatherby is a bluestocking and not the sort of bluestocking one admires for her intellect and high-minded thinking.She is as strident as she is shrill, the type who thinks herself smarter than every man in the room.She has nothing in the form of physical charms to recommend her.Such an undesirable creature should at least have the decency to bring to her prospective union a sizeable fortune, but, like her sisters, Miss Clarissa is destitute.
I am fortunate to have discovered the truth about these Weatherby Wallflowers before it was too late, and the parson had done his work.I now implore your readers toward vigilance, so that they might have the perspicacity to avoid these avaricious vituperators.
Your loyal servant,
Rupert Dupree
She looked up as if daring him to defend himself.Rupert’s mouth was hanging open.She’d said it was horrid, but it had somehow managed to be ten times worse than he’d imagined.“They didn’t actually print that?”
She glared at him down her nose.“Oh, but they did.In just about every paper in England.As I’m sure you intended!”
Panic fluttered in his stomach; maybehewould be the one to flash the hash.“I didn’t write that!”
She gave him a scowl that could’ve curdled milk.“You expect me to believe that?”
“I didn’t!It doesn’t even sound like me.”He raked a hand through his hair.“So that they might have the perspicacity to avoid these avaricious vituperators?I don’t even know what half those words mean!”
She paused, narrowing her eyes, and for a second, he thought he’d convinced her.
It was a good argument, after all, seeing as it happened to be the truth.
But then, she shook herself, and the poisonous glare snapped back into place.“A likely story, Mr.Dupree.”
He cast his eyes toward the carriage’s ceiling in despair.“Look, I can see why you hate me if you think I wrotethat.But I didn’t know a blessed thing about it.Did you not receive my letter?”
Her lips tightened.“What letter?What are you talking about?”
Rupert leaned forward.“You should have received it with your mail around the same time I was to come to Boroughbridge.”
“I received nothing from you, Mr.Dupree,” she said, her voice cold.
He groaned.“I have no idea who wrote that letter or how it came to be in the papers.Although…”
The words died on his lips as he remembered.Because, as usual, he’d known what he wanted to say, but he’d needed help penning his letter.And the person who’d been on hand, the one he had turned to for help, had beenWilliam Ellison.
He should have known better than to trust one of his brother’s friends.
Rupert ran a hand over his face.“Actually, that’s not true.I’ve a fair idea who sabotaged me.”
Clarissa rolled her eyes.“Sabotaged you?Is that the best tale you can come up with?”
He ignored her barb.It wasn’t difficult to understand why she was furious, and what was she to think other than that he had been the one behind it?“I promise you this—I am going to make this right.”
Clarissa crossed her arms.It suddenly struck Rupert that she was trembling.Probably with rage, although now that he thought on it, she looked deuced cold.Her cloak was what you would call an autumn weight…
She glowered at him.“Just how do you propose to do that?”
He was still working that bit out, but he had a few ideas.“For starters, I’m going to—ugh!”
