The Belle
Chapter One
“Merda!”
Rosalie uttered the curse in Italian in an attempt to avoid her mother’s censure. Although the de Lacy family had lived in Rome for two years during her father’s tenure as the Italian ambassador, the Duchess of Swanscombe hadn’t managed to pick up any of the language. Had she understood her daughter’s outburst, the duchess would have forced Rosalie to spend two hours standing in the corner with a book balanced on her head, affording her the opportunity to both “Improve Her Posture” and “Think About What She Had Done.”
As it was, her mother narrowed her eyes suspiciously but quickly returned to the breakfast she had each and every day—black tea, a hard-boiled egg, and a single slice of toast.
Rosalie cast her mother a brief, doubtlessly unconvincing smile before returning her attention to the sheet of newsprint she clutched with white-knuckled hands. It was dreadfully unfair. Rosalie had done what was expected of her for once in her life and had accepted the suit of the most virtuous man in England in spite of her feelings for him—or rather, the glaringlack thereof. How was it possible that Lysander, of all people, had been featured in theRake Review?
She peered at her mother across the room. Honestly, her mother’s reaction was extremely odd. Rosalie would have expected her to fly into a panic at the news that the peer her daughter had finally managed to lure to the altar was no peer after all.
The only explanation was that her mother had not yet seen theRake Reviewcolumn. Which again was unlike her. Mama lived for gossip and had been ecstatic when The Belle had resumed her column last month after a one-year hiatus.
She cleared her throat. “Mama, have you had a chance to read this month’s edition of theRake Review?”
Her mother did not look up from buttering her toast. “Naturally. I read it first thing.”
Rosalie blinked once… twice. “Did you recognize the subjects?”
Her mother shot her a withering look. “Of course. It was about Lord Valentine. Or should I say, the former Lord Valentine.”
This comment skirted around the subject Rosalie wished to discuss, which was how they were to proceed. She felt strongly that she ought to honor the betrothal despite Lysander’s change in circumstances. She had accepted him in good times. Although they had not yet spoken their vows, the right thing to do was to stand by him now that bad times had come to call.
“You will not mind?” Rosalie asked. “My marrying a man no longer in possession of a title?”
The duchess drew herself up, affronted. “I should mind very much indeed if you were to marry him. But that will not be an issue.”
“But Mama! I made him a promise. Surely, keeping it is the right thing to do.”
Her mother reached for the pot of marmalade. “No vows have been made. Nothing is binding.”
“What of the marriage contract?”
The duchess shot her a smug look. “Yousigned it.Hedid not.”
“Really?” Rosalie asked, surprised. “But I signed it two weeks ago.”
The duchess made a circular gesture with her jam knife. “He has been kicking up a fuss about every other sentence. Your father thought they had finally crafted a version acceptable to everyone involved, but I take it that Lysander found something else to carp over. Well, this is what he gets. The timing of this column was fortuitous.” She smirked. “For us.”
Rosalie stared at her mother in disbelief. “Fortuitous? That my engagement should end? On the day of my betrothal ball?” She gave a humorless laugh. “We’ll have to spend all day writing to our guests, letting them know that the fête is canceled.”
“Don’t be absurd, Rosalie!” The duchess took a dainty bite of her toast, then set it on her plate. “The ball will go forward as planned.”
“How can we have a betrothal ball?” Rosalie hissed. “According to you, I no longer have a betrothed!”
Her mother shrugged a negligent shoulder and reached for her tea. “Don’t frown, Rosalie. That crease between your brows will set. And don’t worry! Your father has everything well in hand.”
Rosalie’s stomach was churning, and she felt slightly faint. If she had thought she was a laughingstock before, that would be nothing,nothing, compared to this. She would be the woman who held a betrothal ball without a betrothed! People would say she was unhinged, that she had made the whole thing up.
She tried to hold her voice steady, but it shook as she asked, “How does Papa have things in hand?”
The duchess waved a hand. “He is ironing out the final details as we speak.”
“What details?” Rosalie’s voice was growing shrill. “What is his plan?”
“You will find out in due course.”
