Now, reading it, she realized that it had become a source of strength. Because it had exposed to the light an old, shameful wound, and in so doing, the wound had finally healed.
Lord Bolt was bound to blow and blow he did at White’s! Seems his devil’s blood got stirred when Lord Hallworth dared to reminisce about a certain Mrs. Angelique Breedlove, dead Derring’s former mistress and current mistress of a boardinghouse called The Rogue’s Palace on the Thames. Hallworth was pinned against the wall with his own cravat for the trouble. No duel was fought and Hallworth croaked out an apology. But there is one doxie in the world who can rest easy knowing Bolt will rush to her defense. Probably because he took Derring’s place.
Angelique looked up at Miss Wylde, wordlessly, and she waited for any hint of the sensations she’d felt when she’d first read it—the shock, the horror, the shame.
She found, oddly, that she felt nothing at all but gratitude. Revisiting the moment reminded her of how far she’d come; it was a bit like reading a page from an old diary about someone she used to be. It was a reminder that she, Lucien, and The Grand Palace on the Thames had survived such casual ugliness because they were all surrounded by such love.
But Miss Wylde had worriedly sunk her teeth into her bottom lip.
“I... I thought... this Mrs. Breedlove is a woman who knows that life takes many twists and turns. And while I don’t believe you wereevera doxie—because, regardless of a few, er, decisions I have made,Iam not—I thought that if any part of this is true, you might be inclined to...” she gulped a breath “...believe me when I say that things arenotas the gossip sheets would have you believe. What they wrote isn’t true. Even if I can appreciate how the saucy little pairing of ‘Harlot’ and ‘Haywood Street’ is so very, very tempting for a gossip writer.” She said this tautly.
Delilah and Angelique were quiet for a few pensive moments.
Angelique quirked the corner of her mouth. “Your insight is uncanny, Miss Wylde. It’s convenient to blame the woman for things, especially when a man of power is involved.”
“I am not claiming to be utterly blameless. But I am not to blame, if that makes sense. You look happy now, and that . . . gives me hope. And this place is just sobeautiful,” she said wistfully. She turned her head this way and that to take in the worn but pretty settees in shades of rose, the flowers on the mantel.
This was precisely the right thing to say to these women.
“I will understand if you prefer not to keep me here in light of the scandal. But if I’ve a roof over my head for a day or two”—she was already negotiating—“I can perhaps get word to Signor Giannini, in the hopes that he can pay me the balance of what he owes me for my performances so far, and then I can head for Scotland, where my mother has gone to live with a cousin.” This had been deemed more practical than Mariana and her mother attempting to squeeze into the tiny room on Haywood Street that Mariana could afford.
Her poor mother.You’re destined for greatness, Mariana, she’d always predicted. How on earth would she ever be able to tell her what had happened?
There was a little silence.
“Well, Miss Wylde,” Mrs. Hardy said. “We do thank you for your candor. It is our custom to take a few minutes to privately discuss whether we ought to admit a potential new guest, as the safety and comfort of all of our current guests is paramount, and we like to make certain the atmosphere here remains congenial for all. If you’d liketo review our rules to see if you have any objection to them while we have a chat, do feel free.” She handed Miss Wylde a little card printed with the rules of The Grand Palace on the Thames. “Meanwhile, please drink more tea. We suspect you need it.”
Delilah and Angelique opened the door of the reception room to the frantic scuffle of slippers on marble, then the thunder of footsteps retreating up the stairs. Fleeing maids.
Delilah sighed. Eavesdropping maids could be dealt with in the morning. At least the foyer was empty now and the chandelier doused.
As was their habit, they crossed into the main sitting room, the site of much merriment, familial joy, knitting, spillikins, secret lust, a pantomime pirate battle, and on at least two occasions, vigorous sex.
The fire was still burning but was scarcely more than a glow. They both pulled their shawls tightly about them, thinking wistfully of the warm husbands waiting for them in their snug rooms.
“I like her,” Delilah said at once, in a whisper. “And I believe her.”
“So do I. Furthermore I think I know whatelseyou’re thinking, Delilah...”
“And?” Delilah’s breath seemed to be held.
Angelique bit her lip. “It could work,” she said.
Delilah gave a little hop. “Oh, Angelique! She landed on our doorstep like agift! Well, she would have been more of a coup before two fools decidedto shoot each other over her, but now we canaffordher. We can ask her to sing for one night in exchange for her board. We’ll send out invitations... sell tickets...”
“But thecostsinvolved.”
“And the fun involved!” Delilah brought her hands together in a little clasp as she thought of something. “Angelique... we can decorate the ballroom with bunting! Andflowers!”
“Bunting, yes. But flowers are an outrageous expense. And we can’t completely denude the blossoms in our little park outside.”
Delilah thought furiously.
“Tissue flowers?” she ventured on a whisper. “Can you see it?”
Angelique was silent. She pressed her lips together. “Delilah, I think my pulse is racing.”
They both muffled laughs.
