A ‘Pure’ sparkling gem of a lady was getting her lips polished by a certain Foxy gent of late at the river’s edge. This editor has been told the lady in question used a Syon Park gala to get herself a green gown when before it was a pretty yellow. Mayhap to protect it from further damage, she tossed it upon a nearby hedge. Mayhap to protect her, the banns will soon be read.
Ugh!It was disgusting. And at no time had her day dress left her person and, most assuredly, had never been tossed onto any shrubbery.
With her gloved hands fisted at her sides, she hurried out, not bothering with bringing Alice as she intended neither to see nor speak to anyone. Besides, she had no reputation left to guard.
Wearing her best walking boots, she took up a good pace.
Ten feet from her own front door, she spied Foxford’s carriage pull to the side of the road. Turning her face, she hurried toward the river. She hoped he hadn’t even seen her.
“Lady Purity,” he called to her.
Blast the man!
At that moment, instead of the usual anticipatory butterflies at the thought of seeing him, she had rocks in her stomach, weighing her down with humiliation and anger.
Skirting the east side of Green Park, she ignored him still calling after her, but by the time she reached St. James’s Park, crowded as usual with beautifully dressed nobility of both sexes, Purity could no longer pretend he wasn’t dogging her steps.
Slightly out of breath, she turned her head.
“What do you want?” Her tone came out uncharacteristically sharp, but it matched the emotions churning inside her.
“To talk to you, of course,” he said, being his usual unconcerned self as far as she could tell. After all, he was used to the infamy even as those around them started to notice the pair. “Where are we going?”
“Weare going nowhere,” she told him, as more heads turned. “Iam going to Westminster Bridge where I shall refrain from throwing myself into the Thames only by the thin thread of self-preservation to which I still cling.”
Determined to get away from the elite of society who were watching and being watched at the park, she kept walking, not even bothering with the tended stone path. Instead, she tramped upon the flowers and across the grass as she made her way to Bridge Street.
Foxford remained silent, but he didn’t leave her. He continued following, much to her annoyance. Anyone who saw their silly parade and knew him would know her by association and be reminded ofThe Timesparagraph in the social section.How could he not realize he was making it worse?
Finally, Purity strode onto the bridge, which was congested with carriages, riders, and pedestrians. Halfway across, she stopped and leaned upon the railing to stare at Waterloo Bridge in the distance, glad she’d had the sense to put on her full-brimmed bonnet, for she’d inadvertently left her parasol in the front hall.
Foxford settled beside her. She sighed. If he started to apologize again or to placate her with how this would all blow over like a spring zephyr, she would scream.
“Believe me, kitten, I am sorry,” he said.
The knot in the back of her neck tightened.
“Luckily by tomorrow, some other nob’s blunder will be on everyone’s lips,” he added.
She closed her eyes and pursed her lips to keep from screaming. She was Lady Purity Diamond. She didn’t cause a scene in public. She certainly didn’t raise her voice or cry or have a fit of red devils.
All those things would be disgraceful outside the confines of her own bedroom.
“Leave me in peace,” she said quietly. “Turn around and go back to wherever you were going when you noticed me.”
“I was coming to see you since I assumed you would be upset.”
She still couldn’t look at him. He had dragged her into his sordid world of scandal, and she found it difficult to forgive him.
“How would seeing me or my seeing you, for that matter, help in any way?”
“We can face this together,” he offered.
She opened her eyes. Down below, a sailboat moved swiftly in the breeze. She wished she could float down like a feather and land on it, letting the boat take her out to sea.
Instead, she would have to hide in her home when the next ball or dinner party invitation came. The notion of facing her peers in a confined space where she couldn’t flee was as unappealing as a cup of cold, stale tea. Colorful fans would be raised over whispering mouths, and all eyes would be upon her.
While she tried not to partake in the vulgar act of gossip, many others did. And what was a better topic than an earl’s daughter caught with a renowned rake?
