She smiled, a strained, forced smile. “Yes.”
“I know someone who will vouch for your whereabouts this past month, should you need it. A nice couple in Windsor.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. Please.”
Silence.
“I’ll help you pack.”
Packing took little time. Not nearly as much as it had taken a month past. It was as if time had sped ahead to hasten their separation. She dreaded the activity of packing as much now as she had then. The pain in her heart markedly different, but still present.
The next thing she knew, she was at the bottom of the stairs, case in hand.
“It would be best if you go on your own. I’ll have the driver stop a street or two over. You can catch a hack.” He pressed a few coins into her palm, his touch burned. “I’ll send your other things around later. In an unmarked carriage.”
“Thank—” She cut herself off before she could finish the sentiment. Silence pervaded the foyer. “Will you be—”
“I’ll be fine,” he said.
She nodded and gripped her case more tightly.
Gabriel leaned forward, touching her chin, her cheek, brushing a loose strand behind her ear. His lips touched hers. Soft, yet firm. Warm and lovely. He pulled away, their bottom lips holding until the last moment and then disconnecting with regret.
“Good luck, Marietta. I know you will be fine. Remember what I said.”
Find some nice young man to marry,comfortable,not a gambler,someone who will treasure you.
Someone who wasn’t Gabriel. Someone with whom she could marry and raise a family. Someone she didn’t love.
But also someoneshewouldn’t burden. Who wouldn’t have to awkwardly reject her offerings. Who might come to love her someday.
“Good luck, Gabriel.”
She walked into the carriage.
“This old thing? Why it is barely above a rag,” one woman said to another, displaying her beautiful gown, obviously new and at the height of fashion. The two women blended into the crowd.
Marietta looked into the ballroom. She’d had to visit the retiring room for a bit, and even then found herself accosted by people wanting toknow. Wanting to discover all of the salacious news before their neighbors. The night’s festivities were in full swing, the ton euphoric over its new intrigue and gossip. Its notorious newfavoritemembers.
She paused for a moment at the threshold. The doors wide open to her. The different groups of people standing in pockets. Each group would be delighted for her to join them. Like a storybook on vellum pages. She’d been asked to dance every dance, for once needing to turn down offers to save her feet. It was like a strange dream. And though the vellum was lovely, it was unsatisfying beneath her fingertips.
Two women chattered in chairs off to the side. “The Winterses are distantly related to the Duke of Shastmore, Earl Givet, and Baron Tercake. Lovely connections.”
The other woman nodded and Marietta looked away. Of course now their connections were remembered. When it was convenient. The invitations that had dried up like the desert were now flooding their silver tray. The ton eager to unearth every piece of the scandal. Their fall from grace and triumphant return.
She saw Mark, still skinny, but not emaciated like Kenny, holding court to the side. Kenny stood next to him looking more uncomfortable than he would have in this situation six weeks ago, Mark, on the other hand, was acting as if he’d never left the bosom of the ton. As if he’d always had a small fortune, courtesy of Lord Dentry. She made her way to them.
“…and that is the exact thing I told him. Crandon, my friend, you don’t put the bet on the sixes!”
The crowd around him laughed. She had heard the joke six times now, though, and was waiting for someone to finally catch on that it wasn’t a very good one.
“My sister! Miss Winters. Have you met my sister, Plufield?”
The earl said no and they were quickly introduced. “Charming.” “Delightful.” “Handsome.” She would start to think highly of herself if the new adjectives to describe her continued.
“I was wondering if I might have a word with you both,” she said to her brothers.
