These were not pitying.
A woman near the entrance leaned toward her companion and whispered something without bothering to hide her stare. The companion's eyebrows rose and her lip curled.
Clarissa kept walking, smile in place and chin up. She made for the seats where Lord Hartley and his mother were sitting.
Lord Hartley saw her coming and his expression grew pained at her approach. He glanced at his mother, who leaned in and murmured something in his ear.
By the time Clarissa reached them, Lord Hartley had turned his back to her.
"Lord Hartley," she said. "I do hope I haven't missed?—"
"Lady Clarissa." Lady Hartley's voice was sharp and a little too loud. "I'm afraid my son has developed a headache. We'll be leaving shortly."
Clarissa looked at Lord Hartley. His jaw was set and his ears were red, and—he wouldn't turn to look at her.
"I see," she said. "I'm sorry to hear that. I hope you feel better soon."
His mother placed a proprietary hand on his arm and turned her body so that she was also facing away from Clarissa.
It was a dismissal.
A humiliating one, at that. A wave of nausea swelled as she realized she was currently alone, for all intents and purposes.
Alone in the middle of a crowded room. And she was the center of attention. She headed toward the door, and the whispers found her as she moved through the room.
"—paid, apparently. The duchess was paying him?—"
"—knew the whole time. She was part of it?—"
"—All of it was arranged. How desperate?—"
"—and we felt sorry for her. Can you imagine?—"
Each fragment hit like a stone. She kept walking, but the whispers were everywhere, circling her, closing in.
A cluster of women near the refreshment table fell silent as she approached, then erupted in whispers the moment she passed. A gentleman she'd danced with at the Wooster ball looked at her and shook his head.
She heard enough to piece it together. They knew. Somehow every member of good society knew that Kit had been paid to fawn over her. And the looks cast her way were filled with enough venom to make her flinch.
Cast-Off Clarissa was a woman the ton pitied. A fool, perhaps, but an innocent one. This new version was a schemer. A woman who'd conspired to trick them all.
She'd told Kit once that if gossip could destroy, perhaps gossip could rebuild. She hadn't considered the third option—that gossip could destroy twice.
For a moment, the room seemed to spin, and the path to the door felt far too narrow.
She was trapped.
"Lady Clarissa." The voice was close and achingly familiar. She closed her eyes to fight the sudden onset of tears.
"Look at me," Kit said.
She opened her eyes and found herself staring up at Kit. His hair was disheveled, as though he'd run, and his cravat was slightly askew. And his eyes…
Oh dear. His eyes were blazing with a fury that was very clearly not directed at her.
"We're leaving," he said.
"Kit—"
