She, Emily, Sophia, and Cecily had shared everything. They’d been bosom friends and dedicated confidantes.
Before the horrific events that occurred at Priory Point last year, Rhoda likely would have told Emily right off what Kensington had attempted in the garden tonight.
But too much had transpired since then. All of these incidents had changed Rhoda into a stranger, someone she, herself, didn’t recognize. That flirtatious, carefree girl she’d once been had disappeared.
Emily examined her closely. “You do appear somewhat green.”
“I’m not!” Rhoda wasn’treallyill and so, of course, her complexion would not be green. “Really, Emily, sometimes you know exactly the wrong thing to say to a person!”
“I’m only trying to help. If I tell your mother you look green, then perhaps she’ll believe this cock and bull tale you’re spouting about being ill.” Emily could be far too astute for Rhoda’s comfort.
But not astute enough.
Rhoda sighed. “I wish Sophia were here. And Cecily.” Rhoda dropped onto one of the plush sofas that lined the presently empty ballroom. The guests wouldn’t return from supper for a while. “It isn’t the same without them.”
Emily joined her, striking a similarly dejected pose. “Mother says this is to be my last Season. If I don’t land a husband, she’ll send me back to Aunt Gertrude in Wales. I can’t do it, Rho. She’s a horror!” Both girls sat silently mulling over their less than optimistic situations.
For the past two years, landing a husband had been the four girls’ main concern. With two of them married off, Emily and Rhoda ought to have felt somewhat hopeful.
“What has gotten into all of them tonight, anyhow?” Rhoda asked the question that had plagued her as soon as the gents began lining up to partner them. “I don’t think all four of us put together haveeverreceived so many offers.”
Emily shook her head. “I’ve been wondering the same all evening. You don’t suppose it’s some sort of joke, do you?” Rhoda had to ponder this, for it very well could be! “Perhaps it has something to do with St. John setting his sights upon you last year, before, you know, the accident. Perhaps they believe that if a duke’s heir saw something fetching about you, there might be something about you that they’ve been missing.”
“Perhaps,” Rhoda agreed softly. As always, the mention of St. John twisted her emotions.
Perhaps Emily had the right of it.
Her dear friend clasped her hand. “The reason doesn’t matter. The night is just beginning, and you have throngs of gentlemen vying to dance with you. I even have a few names upon my own dance card. It is up to us to make the most of it.”
Rhoda couldn’t disappoint Emily. Dear Emily, whose worst fault was her honesty.
Surely, Rhoda could find it within herself to put on a good show for the rest of the evening. She’d better prepare herself. The entirety of the Season awaited them.
“Very well.” She followed Emily toward the large dining hall.
“Did Flavion say anything about Cecily when you danced with him? I wondered if he might be remorseful after all he put her through.”
Rhoda choked on a disbelieving laugh. Lord Kensington likely never felt an iota of remorse his entire life. He’d been a liar and a cheat when he’d married Cecily. Had he since become something even worse? “He didn’t say anything I found interesting.”
Justin rubbed his chin in an abstract manner as he watched the so-called gentlemen boasting and drinking heartily across the room. They clustered around the betting book, notes exchanging hands, jovially slapping one another’s backs.
“It is bewildering to me that White’s, England’s most exclusive gentlemen’s club, has renewed Kensington’s membership.” His cousin, Devlin, now the Duke of Prescott, dropped into the empty seat beside him. Leaning forward, Devlin poured them each a splash of scotch. “If my duchess hears of his return to Town, she’ll go into conniptions.”
“It isn’t an exaggeration, then?”
Dev shook his head, requiring no clarification as to what Justin asked. Any time a man took such a gruesome injury on the field of honor, his story would become legendary for certain.
Justin had heard the rumors. He doubted many members of thetonhad not. Flavion Nottingham, the Earl of Kensington, it was said, had been rendered a eunuch in a duel last year.
With the image of the man groping Miss Mossant the night before, Justin could not help questioning the validity of the story. Kensington’s intentions with the young woman had not been consistent with that of a gentleman lacking sexual urges.
Disgust unfurled in his gut. The earl had been a scoundrel before and now, having returned to Town, seemed even more so.
And yet, society persisted in embracing him.
Rather unfair that Miss Mossant couldn’t be given a second chance as well. His cousin, St. John, had done her no favors before dying. Even less so by boasting of his conquests before doing so.
“Good God, not one man present that day will ever forget it,” Dev commented. And then, catching sight of someone behind Justin, he gestured with his drink. “Blakely, here, was present as well. Good to see you, old man. Join us if you’ve nowhere else to be.”
