The Fallen Duchess (A Lady’s Vow #9)

Chapter 1

“You should have seen her, Temperance. It was quite the spectacle. Half the room had already fainted before she even reached the dance floor.”

Temperance pressed her lips together to keep from laughing. She had seen her, of course. She had been standing three feet away when her mother swept into the ballroom wearing a pair of perfectly tailored emerald trousers with a silk evening coat that brushed her ankles.

Hardly something that one expects from a lady. But then again, Albina had her own way of doing things.

“All eyes were on her,” Charity went on. “It was really quite the sight.”

“And she’s given the ton a lot to chat about,” Alethea chimed in. “As you know, they love a good spectacle. Though, I should think that perhaps some of the ladies were just jealous that your mother could walk around so easily, not being in a ball gown and all.”

“They certainly had a strange way of showing that they were jealous, though. Lord Pemley’s wife wept,” Charity pressed on, leaning forward. “She said it was an affront to the natural order.”

“The natural order,” Temperance repeated, shaking her head. There was no shortage of dramatic reactions from the ladies of the ton, as was to be expected.

“Her exact words.”

“And what did you say?”

“I told her the natural order had been extraordinarily dull up until that point, and that I, for one, welcomed the change,” Charity smiled.

That made Temperance laugh properly. The ladies were at another ball, as was usual for them. Though, she was the only one left out of her group of friends to not yet marry.

These balls, therefore, should be a place where she should be hunting down a prospective husband. But most of the time, Temperance found that she was left chasing after her mother instead.

“In all seriousness,” Alethea said gently, “it has made every scandal sheet in London. Oliver showed me three different accounts over breakfast, and well, they definitely have an opinion. From the color of the pants, to the fabric, and to the impropriety of it all.”

“I helped her choose the fabric,” Temperance added, grinning.

“Temperance….”

“What? She asked my opinion.”

“You are not going to tell me you approved…” Charity said, wide-eyed. It was not every day that one heard stories such as this in the society to which they belonged.

No, ladies and older ladies especially were meant to be prim and proper. That was what was taught to them as right, and it was the only way for women to survive society.

Temperance paid little heed to such notions, though.

“I told her that if she was going to cause a scene, she ought to do it in something that fit well.” Temperance smoothed an imaginary crease from her skirt. “The cut was impeccable, and I will say that much for the whole affair.”

“You are insane,” Charity announced, though she was grinning despite herself. “Both of you. Truly. The pair of you are going to give the ton a collective apoplexy before the season is out.”

“We came rather close at the ball,” Temperance allowed. “I did have to intervene before she found the billiards room. She had that look in her eye… you know the one…. And well I had to step in then.”

“Good Lord.”

“She cannot help herself.” Temperance said it lightly, the way she always did, “She spent thirty years being told what to do, and now she is making up for every single moment of it.”

That was the honest truth of it.

Albina had spent most of her marriage strictly controlled, and it was only two years ago that she found the barest sliver of freedom when her husband, Temperance’s father, had passed away.

“She has earned a little freedom, I say,” Temperance’s’ voice turned sympathetic. It was unusual for her to show much emotion, as she usually hid all the less pleasant ones behind a sharp veil of humor and wit.

The room was quiet for a moment. Charity looked at her with that particular softness she occasionally forgot to conceal… the kind Temperance did not especially want directed at her.

“And the new heir?” Charity asked carefully. “Still no sign?”

“Not so much as a letter.” Temperance reached for her own tea.

“Whoever he is, he does not appear to be in any great hurry to claim what is his. I confess I stopped waiting for him some time ago. He can take the title and the estate and every creditor attached to it, for all I care. As long as Mother and I are left in peace.”

“That seems optimistic,” Alethea said.

“I prefer to think of it as practical.” Temperance smiled at her over the rim of her cup. “We are managing perfectly well on our own.”

Even if it wasn’t deemed perfectly acceptably by society’s standards.

“Well, if you can manage to keep your mother out of trouble, then yes,” Charity said. “Funny. It is usually the other way around.”

“I don’t mind it so much. It adds some flavor to my own life,” Temperance replied.

“Out of us all, you were always the one with the most zest for life,” Alethea nodded in agreement. “Proving that the apple does not fall too far from the tree.”

The three ladies shared a laugh, but then Temperance suddenly froze at a very familiar sound.

She knew that laugh. A very, very drunk laugh.

Temperance was on her feet before she had finished the thought.

“Forgive me,” she said, already moving toward the door. “I have to sort something out.”

Charity and Alethea exchanged a glance, but neither of them tried to stop her. They knew better.

She found her mother in the east garden. There were four of them gathered in a loose circle near the rose arbor and in the middle of them stood Albina Hosmer, Dowager Viscountess of Wilmington.

Forty-six years old, three glasses of champagne past sensible, and absolutely beaming.

“….and I told him that if his horse had more sense than he did, then perhaps the horse ought to be the one attending Parliament!” Albina announced, to a round of tittering.

“Oh, Lady Wilmington,” said one of the women, a narrow-faced creature in yellow whom Temperance did not know by name but recognized by disposition. “You are too dreadful.”

“I have been told,” Albina agreed cheerfully.

“One does wonder how your poor daughter manages,” said Lady Whitmore, with a smile that did not strike Temperance as sincere, though her mother might not have noticed. “Shepherding you about must be rather exhausting work.”

“Oh, Temperance loves it. She would be bored without me, I assure you.”

“I imagine she would be quite a lot of things without you.” Lady Whitmore glanced at her companions. “Respectable, for one.”

The laughter that followed was not kind but Albina’s smile did not waver, but something flickered behind her eyes before she tipped her chin up and said, brightly, “And you, Lady Whitmore, would be quite a lot of things without your husband’s fortune. Dull, for one.”

There was more laughter and Temperance stepped into the circle.

“Mother.” She took Albina’s arm with a firmness that brooked no argument and turned a perfectly pleasant expression on the assembled women. “What a lovely afternoon. I hope you’ll forgive us…. there’s someone inside who has been desperate to speak with her. You know how it is.”

Lady Whitmore looked at her disapprovingly.

“Miss Hosmer. We were simply enjoying your mother’s company.”

“How generous of you.” Temperance smiled. “I’ll be sure to let her know, once she’s rested. Good afternoon.”

She did not wait for a response and steered her mother firmly toward the garden path. Albina came along without resistance, which was either a good sign or a sign that the champagne had reached the stage where walking in a straight line required concentration.

“I was winning,” Albina said mournfully.

“You were entertaining them.”

“There is a difference?”

“Yes.” Temperance kept her voice low until they had rounded the hedge and the sound of the party faded behind them. “Winning would be not giving them anything to laugh at in the first place.”

“Where is the fun in that?” Albina made a dismissive sound.

“Mother….”

“They started it.”

“They always start it. That is rather the point.” Temperance stopped walking and turned to face her.

Up close, her mother was flushed and bright-eyed.

She was, objectively, a very beautiful woman.

She was also, objectively, at least three glasses past the point at which Temperance would have preferred to find her. “How much have you had?”

Albina held up two fingers.

“You’ve had more than two,” Temperance resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

“It is approximately two.”

“Mother.”

“Look. The glasses were very small, so I must have lost count. Why are you so upset with me for?”

Temperance took a slow breath. She was not angry, as she was never truly angry with her mother, no matter how many times they had this conversation.

How could she be? She had known her mother for three years now. But it was three years, after a lifetime of not knowing her at all.

Three years of learning that the woman she had spent half her life imagining was more extraordinary and more maddening and more genuinely wonderful than anything she could have invented.

She was not embarrassed by her. What she felt, when she watched those women circle her mother with their polished smiles and their little knives disguised as compliments, was something far closer to fury.

She just preferred not to let it show.

“You know they are not laughing with you,” Temperance said, “Those women are not your friends.”

“I know that.” Albina waved a hand, but the brightness in her expression had softened into something tired.

“I have always known that but simply find it more enjoyable to pretend otherwise. It gives me something to do.” She looked at her daughter with the particular directness she deployed when she wanted to say something true.

“I spent thirty years doing exactly what I was told, Temperance. Smiling at exactly the right people and saying exactly the right things and none of it made one bit of difference in the end. At least this way I am amusing myself.”