CHAPTER FIVE
The morning after the Smith ball, Amelia entered the breakfast hall, finding the usually loud table deathly silent. There was happiness in her heart, having spent most of the night awake and replaying her dance with the duke.
But even Clara was not speaking, her eyes downcast as she ate in silence. Elizabeth looked pained, as Amelia shot her younger sister a questioning look.
As she passed her father’s seat at the head of the table, she could not help but notice his stiff shoulders.
“Father?” she asked. “Is something amiss?”
He only spared her a glance, sighing. “Ah, Amelia. Good morning. I trust you slept well?”
Frowning, she sat down in her usual seat opposite Clara. “I slept well enough. But why is
everybody so quiet? Clara, I thought you would pepper me with questions as surely as the cook peppers the vegetables slightly too heavily in the soup.”
She laughed but nobody else laughed with her, and that was when Amelia turned to her mother for answers.
Bernadette’s face was pale, her mouth quivering. In her hand was a crumpled sheet of paper,
clenched tightly. Her shoulders were tense, her knuckles white.
“Mother?” Amelia asked, concerned. “Is everything well? Have you received terrible news?” Her thoughts went to her mother’s parents, having retired to the Cheltenham countryside.
Her stomach turned at the thought of anything ailing her grandparents.
Amelia reached out to touch her mother’s hand. “Mother?”
But Bernadette’s eyes continued to read over the page in her hand, and it was upon closer inspection that Amelia realized what her mother read. It was a scandal sheet, and with how her mother appeared, that could only mean one thing.
It spoke of the Hawthornes due to Amelia’s dance with the most terribly rumored man in the ton.
“Such lavish sights were seen at Lady Smith’s residence only last night, as the ton took to the dance floor for one of the first balls of the Season’,” her mother read aloud, her voice wavering.
“‘However, this author could not help but notice that all eyes were on one lady in particular. One lady that has often slipped through the notice of many—and yet how could she? Rumours suggest the meek, timid nature of one Miss Hawthorne has been a ploy all along. After all, the sudden captured interest of the Duke of Blackthorn could not be so easily won.’’
“‘Five years, His Grace has locked himself away in Blackthorn House, reclusive and guarded from everybody. So what is it about Miss Hawthorne that has captured his eye? When overlooked by every other suitor, how has this quiet-natured lady who barely saw three dances last Season secured one with the ton’s very own Beastly Duke? Could it be that she would endure his hideous scarring in order to gain the fortune that would come with her marriage into the family? Could this lady have a much more sinister intent?’”
“Heavens,” Clara whispered, her eyes wide. “That is not true, sister. Do not listen to such wretched gossip.”
But Bernadette continued, her voice more and more faint. Amelia wanted to ask her mother not to read on, for the words were already making the room spin, and her stomach grow sick. No wonder her father’s breakfast was untouched. Amelia did not feel like reaching even for a cup of tea.
“‘Dear people of the ton, I wish to be so bold as to describe Miss Hawthorne as a scheming seductress, a fortune hunter, for why else would she stay quiet in the face of so many eligible men, only to speak up when His Grace is present? And if that is the case, I would recommend that she stays far, far away, and focus her greedy eyes on another eligible suitor. For we all know the Duke of Blackthorn’s past and that night five years ago. Duels can come and go in secret but this one shall always be remembered for its tragedy. Is it possible the duke’s heart is black?
And is it possible that his curse might follow the Hawthornes to their own ruin? ’”
“That is enough.” Amelia’s father cut into the account of the gossip sheet, and even though Bernadette’s face had paled and paled, Amelia knew she had continued to read to warn Amelia of what the ton said. It was better to hear it now rather than on the streets of London or at another ball.
Her heart sank. She envisioned every prominent family of the ton reading that sheet, possibly in that same moment. She imagined Cassandra and Beatrice greedily eating up the words as surely as they did their breakfast. And then—Heavens, had His Grace read it?
Her stunned silence continued as her mother spoke.
“Now, you see, Edward. This would be no advantageous match. It shall bring us ruin, and only that. Amelia is not appealing to any suitor now. Our gossiper has labeled her as cursed as His Grace is.”
“She did not say so specifically,” Elizabeth pointed out. “It was heavily implied, of course, but not specified.”
“And we inhabit a society that thrives upon speculation and hearsay,” Clara retorted, dramatically exclaiming as she pressed her arm to her forehead in a theatrical manner. “Our sister is ruined!”
“Clara,” Edward said sternly. “Do not say such things. Bernadette, you spoke with the dowager duchess herself. Surely she would know of her son’s past, and how it would affect us, yet you said she remained eager and impressed with Amelia. Does that not say something?”
“Of course it does,” Bernadette answered. “But we cannot bring a curse to our family! His Grace’s reputation is stained, while Amelia hangs by a thread for her third Season. Amelia, dear, I am sorry to say it so bluntly but it is true. We cannot afford any risks.”
Amelia’s vision went hazy, and she felt as though she was not entirely in the room.
Her hands clenched in the folds of her pink simple dress.
Her tongue was sand in her mouth, her thoughts heavy.
She recalled her father’s saddened words that he would be forced to find an older, desperate gentleman who had no hope of winning the hand of a young lady in a ballroom, so therefore had to be arranged to marry one against her will.
It happened often, but Amelia did not want that. She could not resign herself to that.
Like a mirror, Amelia’s happy daze after her night, of dancing and laughing, of even muttering about Lord Percival’s annoying manners, it all shattered.
Only dread crept through her heart. She wished to defend His Grace but she recalled that even Beatrice had warned Cassandra against the Duke of Blackthorn.
“Do you see this list of accusations?” Bernadette asked, her voice hushed, despite the entire table hearing her. She waved the sheet. “It is horrendous. Murder, Edward. How can we allow Amelia to have even danced with him?”
“Those rumours have circulated for years. Pay it no mind!”
“Why did His Grace hide away in his countryside estate for so long after the duel that night?” Clara piped up, not entirely helping the situation. “Guilty people hide, do they not?”
“Innocent people also might have to hide,” Elizabeth piped up. “For they know that the situation looks terrible and they will not be believed.”
“I think I would always protest my innocence,” Clara muttered.
Elizabeth sniggered. “Then you are foolish, Clara.”
“I am older than you!”
“Girls.” Bernadette’s voice rang out through the breakfast hall. “We must focus for your sister’s sake. For now, we shall bide our time, and see what happens. Let us not make a hasty decision but proceed with caution.”
Her eyes met Amelia’s and nodded. Slowly, the Hawthornes resumed their breakfast yet their movements were shaky and uneasy. Amelia herself could not bring herself to eat one morsel, even when her father encouraged her to do so.
***
“Mother, do stop pacing, you are making Daphne dizzy,” Graham muttered, his face propped up in his palm.
“I shall not!” Felicity cried out, her pacing continuing even faster. She went back and forth in the parlor, her hands clenching at her side. The paper clasped in her right hand wrinkled with the force. Turning on her heel, she paced once again.
“Mother!”
“Do not raise your voice at me,” she snapped.
“I find myself quite worn and tattered, Graham.” She waved the gossip sheet in his face.
The breakfast he had eaten quickly before everybody else had woken up, suspecting that such a thing would happen like being the center of the gossip sheet, turned to stone in his stomach.
He tried to put on a nonchalant mask but his own dread crept up, pooling in him.
He glanced at Daphne, who bit her lip, ducking her head. Usually he could count on her to brighten the mood, to settle their mother, but today, she had no words to offer. She could only watch as Felicity unraveled before them.
“Mother, please,” Graham tried again.
“‘His Grace can only be described as a rake with how close he danced with Miss Hawthorne,’” his mother read out, and Graham groaned, his breath shortening at the memory of having the young lady in his arms. “‘Perhaps the Duke has already acquainted himself with such salacious happenings with a female. Is this why he keeps himself shut away in Blackthorn House, why he retreated to Blackthorn Manor following the death of the late Duke of Blackthorn? To conduct his sultry dealings away from the ton’s ever-watchful eye? Well, no scandal remains hidden by this particular writer. And to choose Miss Hawthorne, the ton’s wallflower, it seems the Beastly Duke may have found a woman to overlook his scars.
However, what else does she see in growing closer to the Blackthorns, one must ask. ’”
“Salacious happenings!” Felicity continued, quoting the sheet. “I saw your dance with my own eyes—”
“Exactly,” Graham hissed, his patience thin.
“So you tell me, Mother, if anything untoward was happening right there on the dance floor, in front of the whole ton, at my aunt’s residence.
Refrain from indulging in these scandalous publications.
They weave fanciful tales for profit, often at the detriment of others. ”
“I thought your dance was romantic,” Daphne sighed, giggling. “I did not think anything bad of it. Certainly not sultry.”
“See?” Graham sighed. “Daphne is making sense of everything. They are trying to make her out to be a seductress after our fortune, and me to be a shadowed murderer who practically beds his way through London.”
His mother finally stopped her relentless pacing, as if she had realized the foolishness of the claims. Slowly, she lowered the sheet, sighing, as she collapsed into a velvet armchair.
Immediately, tea was brought forth, served to all three of them.
Graham clenched his cup in hand, wishing it possessed something stronger.
“One dance meant nothing,” he insisted. “And you spoke with both Lady Hawthorne and Miss Hawthorne. Do you truly believe they schemed? Miss Hawthorne looked terrified when I asked her to dance. Many women would smile as if they expected such a request, but all she appeared to be was confused.”
“A good actress, perhaps?” Felicity suggested, her hysteria receded. “I do not know. She seemed very pleasant to speak with but… I do not know if I trust what I saw.”
“I think that is exactly what you need to trust, for these are entertaining words spun for a scandal sheet, Mother. Surely the title of such a tiresome concept alerts you to the lies.”
“Except it is not all lies,” Felicity said quietly. “They speak of the night of your duel.”
Graham’s stomach clenched as he looked away from his mother.
He shook his head, ignoring the sound of gunfire cracking through his mind.
He clenched his cup harder, trying to banish away the feel of sticky blood on his hands.
“There are lies surrounding that night as well. You know this as surely as I do.”
“But do the Hawthornes know it?”
“Pray, have you suddenly developed an interest in their opinion of us? For a moment, I was under the impression that it was quite the reverse.”
Felicity shot him a warning glare. “Do not be smart with me.” She sighed, pressing a hand to her forehead.
“Heavens. I truly hoped that the next time we saw our name in the gossip sheets it would be for a good reason.” She smacked the sheet with the back of her hand.
“Why could the author not have written about how beautiful you indeed looked together? Why did she have to question motives? Heavens forbid a man dances with a young lady.”
“Only moments ago you sided with the sheet,” Graham reminded her. “You questioned Miss Hawthorne’s motives.”
“In a moment of panic, yes, but I have had time to think now.” Felicity huffed, her brows pinched.
Graham had never seen his mother so harried in a while.
She always spoke tentatively with him, always hesitant with his moods, but never before had she appeared so hysterical about something.
Yet when their name was being publicly shamed, and they both knew the Hawthornes would be brought into the mess, he could see why she reacted in such a way.
“I truly thought it was lovely to see,” Daphne said, cutting through Graham’s and Felicity’s bickering. “As your sister, I have wished to see you happily dance with someone at these balls. And Miss Hawthorne was most pleasant when I spoke with her last night.”
Although her insistence and excitement grated on Graham’s patience, he could not help himself from feeling more tender at his sister’s enthusiasm. Part of him was glad that life had not marred his sister—that she had such hopeful innocence.
“We can simply ignore the sheet,” he said. “I likely shall not cross paths with Miss Hawthorne again. If we ignore it, our lives remain the same.”
Felicity opened her mouth, likely to berate his dismissive mutterings, only for the parlor door to open. The butler, Mr. Frederick Hanson, stood in the doorway, his lined face pulling into a polite smile.
“Your Grace, Lord Owen Radcliffe is here.”
“Send him in,” Graham said.
Moments later, Owen strode in, grinning. “Well, good morning Blackthorns. If it is not the most spoken about family of the ton.”
Graham shot him a warning glare.
“I did see the gossip column,” Owen said, his voice growing softer. “And I wished to pose a ride through Hyde Park, Graham. I wondered if you might need some fresh air after… well, everything that was touched on in the column.”
He was on his feet in seconds, breathing a relieved, “yes,” as he bid his mother and sister farewell. They could spin themselves into a frenzy if they wished but he would not sit idly by and wait for gossip to ruin him all over again.
And he would not hide. Not right now. Not when that was what everybody likely expected him to do.