Emily rose and went to stare out the window. She waited a few seconds before turning and then dropping to her knees in front of Rhoda.
With a heavy pounding in her heart, Rhoda blinked away threatening tears.
“One of the members, one of the less reputable ones, if I don’t say so myself—I thought White’s was more discriminating in who they gave membership to—I can hardly fathom how such a one as whoever placed this bet has been given entry. Did you know that Lord Blakely has been denied? His father, of course.”
Rhoda found herself gritting her teeth.Get to the point already!
“Oh, yes, the wager. Well, as I’ve already mentioned, it is about you.” Emily frowned deeply. “Someone has spread a dreadful rumor that you, er, well, lifted your skirts for St. John before he met his end.”
All the air left Rhoda’s lungs, and the edges of her vision darkened.
She should have known. All those declarations of love, those whispered compliments, and avowals of devotion, had meant but naught to him.
And she’d been naïve enough to believe him!
All of that, his lies, his fake charm, were bad enough, but to then tell others what they’d done—what she’d done—she nearly choked on the bile rising from her stomach.
“Well then.” Rhoda spoke evenly, ignoring the urge to sob. “How does one of these ignoble gentlemen win?”
“Amorous congress with the object of the bet. With you.” Emily was not one to gloss things over. At that moment, Rhoda wasn’t quite so sure she appreciated this quality.
But no. At least she knew now. It was worse than she ever might have imagined.
And then she couldn’t help herself.
She gasped and slumped forward. “Men are monsters, Emily.” No wonder her dance card had been filled at the Crabtrees’ ball. She had known all the attention had been too good to be true. No wonder Lord Kensington had been so forward with her. That villain had simply been trying to win a bet.
A bet!
“But I have a plan.”
Rhoda barely registered Emily’s voice.A plan?
Despite feeling as though matters were beyond hopeless, she forced herself to sit up.
“Blakely’s father,” Emily continued, “has taken their quarrel to another level and had him blacklisted in London. Instead of bowing to his wishes, the earl wishes to thwart the duke. A perfect revenge for him is to marry somebody other than the young lady his father betrothed him to. And how perfectly delicious it would be for him to marry a lady deep in scandal herself! You! The two of you can simply dash up to Gretna Green over the next week or two and voila! Two birds with one stone!”
“Blakely?” Rhoda burst out laughing! It was either that or cry. “Blakely? He’ll never marry. He’s playing with you. Trust me, it’s a joke to him.”
Emily pushed herself up from the floor and stepped toward the window again. “Well, um, he hasn’t exactly agreed to it yet, but he will. I didn’t wish to present the idea to him unless I knew you would be willing.” She lifted her thumb to her teeth and chewed on the nail.
Disgusting habit! Rhoda had to push her annoyance away in order to pay attention to what Emily said. Well, of course, he hadn’t agreed to it. He never would.
“I realize it’s quite a lot to take in right now, but you are in something of a muddle. I don’t want those immoral fellows to keep saying things about you. This would quiet them for certain. What do you think?”
Emily had always been the wallflower facing the most obstacles when it came to landing a husband, the most awkward, the one who needed protecting from society’s unkind assessment. And now Emily, of all people, was trying to help her.
Rhoda flinched. She wasn’t prepared to face the ruinous extent of her situation. She wanted to wish it magically away.
Emily stared at her sternly. Her friend, it seemed, wasn’t allowing such nonsense.
Even so…“Lord Blakely?” Rhoda doubted he’d ever come around, no matter how plausible Emily believed this plan of hers might be.
Perhaps… Rhoda may not be able to do anything about her own deplorable circumstances, but she could use this plan to gain Emily’s cooperation in Rhoda’s much more credible scheme.
Rhoda pushed her own troubles away, jumped up, and plucked a particularly atrocious gown from the bed. It seemed to be the color of, well, the color of—she didn’t even want to think about it. “I’ve come to a decision.” She tossed the gown aside and examined another.
“Are you still looking for my spectacles?”
