Page 9 of How to Seduce a Duke this Autumn
What’s done is done; you can’t think like that.
The glass-framed door creaked, breaking her reverie. A gust of cooler air swept in, the movement setting the leaves trembling around her. Ashley appeared, her dark curls gathered loosely, though she fussed with them the moment she stepped through the door.
“It’s beastly damp in here,” Ashley said, wrinkling her nose as she stepped carefully down the tiled path between the planters. “My hair shall puff like a hedgehog before I’ve even reached home.”
Charlene offered a glance over her shoulder, faintly amused. “You shouldn’t have come in, then.”
“And leave you brooding alone among your flowers? No, no, I couldn’t allow it,” Ashley retorted with mock severity, though her tone softened as she produced a folded sheet of newsprint from the ribbon at her waist. “You ought to read this.”
Charlene straightened, clipping one last stem before placing the scissors aside. She wiped her hands absently on the aprontied over her gown. “I don’t make a habit of reading such things; you know that.”
“Perhaps,” Ashley said lightly, stepping closer, “but I think you’ll want to read this one. Or has avoiding mention of the Crosses become your newest strategy? You decide, you’re at a crossroads, so to say.” Ashley wrinkled her nose and bit her lip. “Or do you not want to cross any of the Crosses again? Lest you be—”
“All right, let me see,” Charlene said as she took the paper.
Charlene’s teeth clenched, a small but telling movement. She unfolded the paper and shook her head, resolutely ignoring her thudding pulse. “It is not avoidance of these matters. I simply have better uses for my time.”And I fear being the subject of…
Ashley’s brow lifted, a small smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. Charlene sighed, holding out her hand at last. The rustle of paper was louder in the greenhouse’s hush, and though her fingers hesitated only a fraction, it was enough for Ashley to notice.
“I’ll just admire the begonias while you read,” Ashley chirped, retreating with a sweep of her skirts.
“Orchids,” Charlene corrected her. But it didn’t matter anymore.
Charlene tried to suppress the faint tremor in her grip. Her eyes had skimmed past the advertisements for soaps and gossip about Lady Hartford’s ill-fated hat before falling on the column Ashley must have meant. The ink smudged faintly beneath her thumb as she read, the words forming with deliberate clarity in her mind.
Sources as reliable as the very soil we stand on say that the brother of the new Duke of Rotheworth, Adam Cross, has left the country without further explanation of why he didn’t pursue the woman he seemed to havechosen. Waylon Fielding, Lady Charlene’s brother, denies all allegations that David Cross had ever asked for Lady Charlene’s hand. We are left with a true mystery, and the Ton shall remain unsatisfied with the scandal snatched away from their very grasp. A year, dear Readers, as the mourning period is over, and it’s most assuredly too long to wait to find out the truth, isn’t it?
Her breath hitched, but she said nothing, only letting the paper fall to her side.
David.
Always David.
The evil Cross brother.
The name now felt more like a thorn than a balm. And Adam? He had become duke while David was gone. Without a word, without anything to indicate why?
I’m the reason.
Her heart gave an unwanted throb, a reminder of all the words unspoken, all the glances avoided in the weeks since he’d vanished.
“You’ve gone terribly pale,” Ashley remarked gently, moving closer once more. “Surely it’s not the worst thing you’ve read. It was only a matter of time until the sharp tongues would come looking for the scandal.”
What she hadn’t read was the truth of what happened. The scandal that had never quite bloomed.
And Charlene had the sinking feeling that it would come to a late bloom thanks to one of the Cross brothers.
The question remained, which one?
Charlene managed a shaky smile, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “No, not the worst. Only… unexpected.” She folded the paper carefully, handing it back. The weight in her chest grew heavier, a silent testimony to the things she could never undo.
Chapter Three
To attend a masquerade, my dear, is to court the perilous allure of shadows and whispers. A young lady, once veiled in such intrigue, may find the delicate threads of virtue unraveling before society’s watchful gaze. Scandal, like a moth to flame, is ever drawn to themasked.
~Handbook on Matters of Seduction and theHeart.
Charlene shut thebook and set it neatly on the low stand beside the raised flower bed. The crisp flick of its gilded edges breaking the silence drew the attention of two pairs of curious eyes. One pair, belonging to Maddie, was wide and a touch aghast. The other shone with a poorly concealed smirk from the recently engaged Ashley who would soon be the Countess of Linsey.
