Grasping a random door handle, I yanked it open with all my might. Shoving my way inside sightlessly, I pulled it shut behind me. Blessed darkness and silence blanketed me from the horror of this night. Free from the bright lights and harsh sounds of thetonat last.
By degrees, my eyes adjusted to the single source of light; the moon streaming from a small window, high on the wall.
A closet, my haven proved to be a linen closet.
Sufficiently assured of privacy, I collapsed onto my bottom. Tucking my chin against my knees, I squeezed my eyes shut, tighter than ever before, forcing back tears between ragged gasps.
Again and again, over and over, round and around that hateful man’s hateful words swirled through my mind.
I may be too much, but at least I am not too cruel. And he was too tall and too conceited anyway. And insolent, and supercilious, and pompous, and awful. Just awful.
Who would say such things about another person? He ate at my aunt’s table. Should courtesy not dictate that he refrain from outwardly insulting her niece? And in front of eligible gentlemen too.
Aunt Prudence, how was I to tell her? I was ruined. There was not a single man in town who would even glance my way ever again. Not that I would wish for a gentleman who spoke the way they did tonight.
The moon streamed through the high window, casting light on my gown. My beautiful, horrible gown.
Some magical night this turned out to be. A bitter laugh escaped unbidden, burning as it burst free. That naive girl who opened those black doors this evening was gone. Dreams of romantic declarations, poetic words, elegant waltzes, and passionate kisses with handsome gentlemen were shattered on Charlotte’s dance floor.
I had no interest in the attentions of men ever again. Not that I would ever receive them.
My tears finally gave way to anger. I used the moment to examine my hideaway. Lone straggling napkins and tablecloths were folded and stacked neatly on shelves to one side. The other side was piled high with empty silver store bags. All sacrificed to the evening’s extravagances then.
No one would set foot inside my closet until the servants cleaned tonight, perhaps tomorrow. I was free to pluck the pins from my now tangled hair before working the knotted ribbon free. One by one, I pulled them loose and I was able to run my fingers through the curls. I twisted the lot into a simple style with the ribbon, tucking the pins into my bodice for safe keeping.
I was in need of an escape plan. It was impossible for me to stay until an appropriate hour. My disheveled coiffure would not go unnoticed. And with the way those gentlemen were speaking… There would be no hope of a polite excuse for my appearance. Thetonwould think the worst of me and there would be no disabusing them of that notion.
Certain that I was as presentable as I could make myself in a closet, I stood to leave. Twisting the handle in my grasp. It turned easily. Then it kept turning—too easily.
I pressed against the door. No success. I turned it again and pressed at the same time. Nothing. I pulled. Nothing. I turned and pulled harder.
At once the handle gave, pulling free from the door and sending me tumbling back to my bottom with a sharp thump. The handle still grasped in my hand. And the door was unopened.Oh—Oh no! Please no!
Ten
JAMES PLACE, LONDON — JULY 1, 1813
HUGH
I was halfwaythrough my speech before I realized it was rather unkind. A few words later, I was certain it would all but ruin the girl. But once the gates were opened, there was no holding back.
The gentlemen listened with rapt attention. Parker clapped me on the back approvingly. Westfield tipped his glass in my direction encouragingly. Laughter warmed the billiards room. With each word, their endorsement became more essential to me. A mandate. There was not a disappointed gaze to be found. It was heady, addicting.
Once I ran out of complaints, I could hardly recall what I had said. It would have been a struggle if pressed. No matter, no one was pressing me. Parker had followed, enumerating on the impolite activities he would perform on her bosom once freed from the gown.
I was not entirely certain that such things could be done. And if they could, I sincerely doubted they would. At least not outside of a brothel. They would certainly require some form of lubrication.
Across the room, Westfield announced the bottom of the scotch. As the closest man to the door, I was volunteered to fetch more. James directed me toward the study just down the hall.
The world tilted slightly when I stepped from the smoke-filled gaming room into the well-lit hall. I should, perhaps, limit myself to only one more drink, lest I say something I may regret.
Warm cheers followed as I trundled down the hall. I paused occasionally to rest a hand on the wall.
What had James said? Third door on the right. How many had I passed? Glancing back, I counted, one, two, ah—there it was.
Bracing one hand against the wall to steady myself, I turned the knob in my left. It pulled easily and I stumbled into the darkened room, tugging it closed behind me before stepping forward. My foot caught on a substantial, unidentifiable lump on the floor.
The lump swore, a feminine curse at that. At once, the near black room filled with girlish chatter, or—yelling.
