Tom checked his pocket watch for the third time in as many minutes. He seemed more anxious than I, pacing to and fro. We had arrived with some time to spare before the constables made their appearance. The men had entered the home a few moments ago. I wasn’t certain how long their efforts would take, but I couldn’t imagine what would take them more than a handful of minutes. Perhaps that was optimistic; hoping, for my father’s sake, that his humiliation would be short-lived.
As if summoned by my thoughts, the double doors opened with the assistance of two footmen. My father, circumscribed by three constables, was shoved unceremoniously out. Through the window, I could see a number of faces of the ton pressed against the glass. It seemed our efforts had been successful. He stumbled a bit down the stairs, clearly intoxicated, before righting himself at the base.
Finally, he caught sight of me, and all color drained from his cheeks. It had been less than a fortnight since I left home. In that time my father had gained weight, centered low on his form, and it seemed to be due to scotch more than food. His skin had taken on a sallow tone, waxy in the lamplight. A small part of me worried after his health before I forcibly silenced the thoughts.
“Hello, Father.” My voice was steady once more. With the constables at his side and my champions at mine, I felt none of the rising panic I should.
“You…” he slurred.
“Me.”
“You did this to me? You and Wayland?” I was fortunate that he was far enough away that his spittle missed me completely. The vein was making its presence apparent again, and I found it just as amusing as the last time.
Augie moved forward and started as though to cut in, but when I raised a hand in front of him, he paused.
“You did this to yourself. I merely chose not to help you.”
“I’ve given you everything. Found you a duke to marry. And you couldn’t do this one thing in return? There’s a place in hell for daughters like you.” The constable tightened his grip on my father in response to his hissed predictions.
“You didn’t give me anything. Sophie gave me everything I needed. In spite of your best efforts, I might add. If I’m bound for hell, I imagine I’ll see you there.”
Apparently, the constables had enough of our shared vitriol and dragged my father by the elbow farther down toward their wagon. They heaved him into the back with no apparent gentleness before slamming the door against his groan. They were nothing if not efficient. One of the men tipped his cap toward Augie in the moonlit night before joining his brethren in the front. The horses started off at a sedate pace, my father’s groans of displeasure audible for some time over the hoof beats.
As the wagon turned the corner out of sight, Augie and Tom turned to face me. Tom began, “Well, that was pleasant. Are we certain he bears no relation to my mother?”
“Lord, I hope not,” Augie replied. “Are you certain you wish to go in? The scandal appears to be quite effective regardless of whether you make an appearance.” He gestured toward the faces still pressed against the window, slightly smaller in number than when my father was present.
“This dress was not made for hiding outside, gentlemen. We discussed this. The scandal will be all the greater for my brazen appearance.”
“Still, I should go with you,” Tom offered.
“I cannot be seen to have the public support of a viscount’s brother. It will lessen the impact.” He made a noise of protest before I continued. “I must face society eventually. At least here, I can ruin Charlotte’s ball even more thoroughly, and Anna’s efforts toward taming my hair will not have been in vain.”
“I knew it was Charlotte!” Tom added haughtily toward Augie who handed over a five-pound note with a grumble. I chose not to question them, merely chuckling in response. “At least let us escort you to the door,” he tacked on, sheepish at his forgotten manners.
With one man on each arm, I took the steps to the entry of James Place. The footmen held the doors for me, and my protectors stepped aside as I made my way in alone, the doors closing quietly behind me.
I was going to walk into this ballroom now as though I had every right to be here. Because I did.
* * *
Ruination didn’t feelat all the way I had expected. All that was left was relief. Relief and a few nerves. Just beyond those double doors was Lady Charlotte’s ball. The one I just ensured was infinitely more interesting than whatever spectacle she had planned. I doubted she appreciated my efforts. Her canapés would certainly be forgotten in drawing room gossip tomorrow in favor of the Earl of Westfield’s arrest and subsequent bodily removal from the dance floor. Every single one of those gossipmongers was about to express awe at my defiant audacity. Just as soon as I gathered the courage to open the doors.
“I suppose I should release you now. That was what you wanted, wasn’t it?” the lilting voice of Xander came from behind. I turned to face him and the consequences of my choice. He was halfway into a glass of something amber colored, leaning heavily against a doorframe. He didn’t look angry though, just resigned.
“I’m sorry it had to be this way.” And I was. He would have been a good husband to me. I would have been a good wife for him. Though there never would have been any romantic love between us, we could have been happy. I had destroyed that possibility tonight. And with its destruction I lost any chance of friendship with this kind gentleman.
“I know you are.” He accompanied the statement with a resigned sigh. “You know it’s quite difficult to be angry with you. How can I rage at you for refusing to resign yourself to a life without love, now that you know what it’s like? All that besides, you’ve punished yourself far more than you’ve hurt me. I hope he’s worth it.”
“I don’t know if he is yet. I hope so. I know that I am, though.”
“Aye, you are. Next time I’m going to insist on an elopement. Can’t keep giving you ladies time to beg off.”
“You know you’re worth it, too, Xander.”
“I know. Society disagrees, though.”
“Society is wrong,” I retorted.
