“He wasn’t fondling it.” Heat flushed Bethany’s cheeks. The enormity of what happened dropped on her like a ton of bricks, effectively dissolving her spine. “I want to die.” She leaned forward, burying her head in her hands.
“Oh, Lady Bethany. It isn’t all that bad. Truly,” Lady Hawthorne soothed. “Lord Chaswick is quite handsome. And aside from this evening’s behavior—”
“And his reputation as a rake,” her mother interrupted. “I’ve heard he keeps a houseful of harlots on Farm Street.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Bethany countered. He certainly wasn’t a saint by any means, but she refused to believe such an unsavory rumor. More likely, he’d taken one woman there,once. Blabbermouths in society were far too skillful at embellishing upon even the tiniest morsel of gossip. Almost as though it was their sacred duty as busybodies to do so.
“Well, yes, there is that.” Lady Hawthorne waved her hand through the air, a diamond ring sparkling as she did so. “But he’s a pleasant enough gentleman. And you yourself said the… spanking business was a mistake. You’ll be a baroness. All isn’t lost.”
Bethany groaned again, louder and with even more despair this time.
For years, she’d wanted him. But not like this. She’d never imagined it like this.
“I can’t marry him. How can I marry him when I can’t even look him in the eye now? Not after…” She jerked her head up. “Why would he do that? What on earth came over him?”
Lady Ravensdale pinched her lips together, as did Bethany’s mother.
Lady Hawthorne, however, had no such reluctance discussing the matter. “There are some people who are aroused by it—the sting, I suppose. And of course, the submissive nature of—”
“Natalie! First, you mention pistols and now you’re an expert on erotic behavior?”
If possible, Bethany’s mother appeared even more horrified than she had when she first entered the room.
Bethany wished she could laugh. Oh, but she prayed someday she could laugh about all of this. That would not be for a very long time though. Years. Decades! Perhaps when she was on her death bed.
“He thought he was meeting Lady Starling,” Bethany tried once again to explain. “Perhaps she—"
“If your goal wasn’t to trap him, then why on earth, Bethany, would you put yourself in such peril? To think that my daughter…!”
“He needed to be warned. Have you not considered why all those ladies were outside?” Bethany turned to Lady Ravensdale. “What was it, anyway, that lured all of you away from your suppers?”
“One of the young ladies said a baby had been abandoned behind the folly.”
“Which young lady told you that?”
At this, Lady Ravensdale frowned. “Why, I’m not sure. The Mossant girls and their mother were sent a missive… Next thing I knew, we were all abandoning our plates and joining the search. It was rather chaotic to be certain.”
“It was a trap.”
“Of course, it was a trap.” Lady Hawthorne sighed prettily, blowing a blond curl away from her mouth. “And Lord Chaswick was the prey. And I want to make it clear that I do not believe, for one instant, that Lady Bethany was the hunter.” She eyed Bethany. “Although there are some who will think just that.”
“Do you know who was behind all of this?” Lady Ravensdale swung her gaze back to Bethany.
Bethany squirmed. As horrific as this had played out, she was reluctant to reveal the person at fault. She’d been told in the strictest confidence. Delia had trusted her.
Rachel Somerset was an annoying, conniving nincompoop but revealing her intentions wasn’t going toun-ruin Bethany. Furthermore, if she were to tell them the name of the culprit, two families would be ruined rather than one. Delia would be shunned along with her sister—in addition to being shunnedbyher sister. And her mother.
That would make four of them, if one were to assume Tabetha’s chances of making a match this year had been dashed as well.
“I only overheard some of it. I… don’t know who set it up.”
“It doesn’t matter anyway. So long as he coughs up an offer. Without delay.” Her mother sighed. “I only wish Westerley was here.”
“No! No, no, no! Mother! If Jules was here, he’d challenge Lord Chaswick...” And duels hadn’t served their family well. They needed to resolve all of this before her brother returned. “Leave him be. I refuse to ruin their wedding journey over something as preposterous as this.”
“Westerley would defend your honor,” her mother insisted. “And you’ll need his signature to marry.”
“My honor doesn’t require defending. Think of it, Mother. A duel between Chaswick and Westerley would be a catastrophe.”
