Page 90

26, Clarges Street, London

Lord Wilbraham Boodle’s Townhouse

Blanche was eating breakfast when her mother yelped and tossed her favorite gossip sheet across the table. “Look! Just look at this!”

“Lord and Lady Pettigrew have returned from their wedding trip,” Blanche read, after plucking the page out of the butter dish. “Yes, I know. Lydia sent me a note this morning.”

“Not that, below! The announcement!”

“Oh.” And then: “Oh.”

“That betrothal will set the cat among the pigeons. They all wanted the duke. Or they wanted to be his duchess, which is practically the same thing, isn’t it? And polite society, at least the female half of it, spent a great deal of the Season tearing down Lady Stella before he chose her over all the rest. They’ll say he needed her money.”

“I doubt that,” Blanche said, thinking of the Duke of Huntington’s assured air.

“So do I.”

“Do you see the note below? The Dowager Duchess of Huntington, together with Lady Stella and Mrs. Thyme, welcome morning callers. That’s a show of force designed to counter unpleasant conjectures.”

Blanche rose. “If you’ll excuse me, Mother, I should answer Lydia. She would like to meet.”

“Sit down.”

She sat. Lady Boodle rarely used that tone of voice.

“This would be an excellent moment to sever the connection with Lydia.”

Blanche’s mouth fell open. “What?”

“You have been friends since you were young girls in seminary,” her mother said. “You have been admirably loyal. Now Lydia is married, so it will be easier to let the connection go.”

“But why should I?”

“Let me ask you this, Blanche. Who in all society has uttered the most unkind remarks about our newest duchess-to-be?”

“Lydia,” Blanche said reluctantly.

“And you.”

Blanche swallowed. “I did apologize to Stella after I said something unpleasant.”

“Lydia brings out the worst in you,” Lady Boodle said dispassionately. “She doesn’t care whom she injures. You do care, but you get drawn in. You imitate her.”

“How could I drop Lydia?” Blanche protested. “I was her only friend in seminary. The others made fun of her because her father took his life. It was so unfair.”

“I am proud of you for not succumbing to such a callous impulse, but it is possible to honor Lydia for your girlhood friendship and yet not be drawn into her circle once again. She is married now. She’ll be making friends with young matrons, flagrantly unfaithful ones, most likely.”

“But—”

Her mother leaned across the table. “Blanche, a friend in Belgium sent me a letter detailing Lydia’s indiscretions while she was on her honeymoon.”

“Oh,” Blanche said weakly.

“She created a scandal, flirting with a ramshackle Frenchman in her husband’s presence.”

“Poor Lord Pettigrew,” Blanche murmured, picturing the mild-mannered gentleman. Though she wasn’t surprised. As the daughter of an earl, Lydia had always considered herself above the rules that dictated ladylike behavior. “She enjoys thumbing her nose at society.”

“My point is that Lydia Pettigrew is likely to become truly scandalous as a married woman, rather than merely imprudent and unkind. I do not wish you to be associated with her, nor to imitate her in behavior or attitude.”