“Sour. Worse than vinegar. Spoiled with rot.”
“I beg your pardon.” Lady Bryant stepped back.
“You, Lady Bryant. Like a berry which has not been allowed to ripen properly before being picked, though in your case, you have stayed on the vine much longer than necessary. Dangling about, waiting, and hoping someone will harvest you before you become,” she leaned in, “shriveled and dry. Tasting of bitterness more than anything else. Speaking of women who wed far above themselves. I’ve made the acquaintance of Lord Bryant.”
Lady Bryant gasped. “You—”
“Trollop? Lightskirt?Deadly Sin? Call me what you wish. I no longer care.” Aurora matched Lady Bryant’s ugly stare with one of her own. “Nothing could be worse than what the gossips whisper aboutyou, my lady.” Aurora tried to nudge past the blustering woman. A hum was coming from just inside the doors. As if someone had knocked over a bloody nest of wasps.
It appeared Kenebruke and Aunt Lottie had been discovered, and scandal had erupted.
“You’re nothing but a baseborn harlot,” Lady Bryant sputtered.
“Good grief. I am?” Aurora snorted. “Harlot. Is that the best you can come up with? No wonder you were at Tate’s. Your vocabulary belies your own origins,” she tossed at Lady Bryant as she strode through the doors, pushing through the crowd of Lady Travers’s guests. Peeking behind a portly man, Aurora caught sight of the parlor, which was now empty.
Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of Lady Bryant, her head bent to that of Lady Longwood, who must have been on the terrace the entire time. The pair discreetly stopped nearly everyone returning inside, whispered in their ears with a nod in Aurora’s direction.
Oh dear.
Well at least society need wait no longer. Aurora Sinclair had finally showed the wanton behavior she’d inherited from her mother. Lady Longwood must be beside herself with glee. Unfortunately, spoiling Aurora’s reputation wasn’t likely to earn Lady Longwood any of the coin she needed to stave off her impending poverty.
What a satisfying thought.
Aurora pressed a hand to her midsection. She didn’t want to be the next Cecily Millstone, in love with Worth, ruined by him, and then discarded like a sack of spoiled vegetables.
Making her way down the hall and through the ballroom, Aurora skidded to a halt several paces from the dowager and slowed her steps as she’d been taught.
More ladylike nonsense.
“Lady Aurora.” The dowager duchess was seated in a cushioned chair, exactly where Aurora had left her. “There has been an incident.” She nodded for Aurora to come to her side. “Stop attempting to smooth your skirts. Remain calm.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
The dowager duchess took her hand as Aurora waited for the harsh reprimand she sensed between the older woman’s pursedlips. Lady Bryant and Lady Longwood had not yet returned to the ballroom to spread their tale, but possibly another guest had seen Worth trap Aurora in the shadows and witnessed their kiss.
I was writhing against him.
Heat stung her cheeks.
“The entire ballroom is watching,” the dowager duchess whispered in an imperious tone. “Every sniveling vile gossip that lives in London. And there are many. Take a deep breath and count to ten before exhaling. Straighten your spine as if a poker has been placed inside.” She didn’t spare a glance at Aurora, but kept her eyes firmly fixed forward. “Any request to leave will be denied.”
“Yes, Your Grace.” Aurora inhaled, slowing the release of her breath. “I apologize if I—”
“I blame myself,” the dowager duchess said before Aurora could finish.
“You do?” She looked askance at the older woman.
“Yes, of course. I’m the one that knew where Kenebruke had gotten off to. Earlier, I overheard a servant say in passing that an older gentleman whose leg pained him had been placed in what they called ‘the ugly parlor.’ Having been invited to every ball Lady Travers has ever hosted, I was aware of where Kenebruke had been sent. She sends everyone to that parlor as I may have mentioned.” The dowager duchess rolled her eyes. “Heaven knows why. At any rate, the servant further relayed that he asked for a brandy. But that isn’t important.” A sigh left her. “Now Charlotte has caused a scandal, though at her age I suppose it is to be applauded rather than derided. She has never learned to be discreet. A failing of hers. Doubtless she’ll become a countess. Nevertheless, we must remain stoic.”
“Yes, Your Grace.” Aurora’s own transgressions had not been noted.
Yet.
“Your Mr. Healey discovered Kenebruke and Charlotte in a—situation. I believe it was his cry of horror, as if he’d been stuck with a rapier, that summoned nearly every other guest at this ball to the parlor.” She raised a brow. “Didn’t Mr. Healey escort you outside for a breath of air? Which I would not have approved.”
“Yes, Your Grace. Mr. Healey did escort me out. The smell of the gardens is quite lovely. The cooler air refreshing after a dance. The terrace was crowded.” Aurora attempted to smooth over any perceived impropriety and clasped her hands. Not that it would do any good in the long run. “However, he felt compelled to check on Lord Kenebruke.”
A derisive sound came from the dowager. “I’m sure he now regrets the decision. Rather impolite to leave you alone instead of escorting you back to me. Also, it came to my attention that Mr. Worthington was not in the ballroom. I assume he was playing cards, which he typically indulges in during events such as these. I believe that is how he and your brother became friends.”
