Page 34 of A Sporting Chance (The Chances #8)

S trange. Kathleen had never noticed a stain in that particular part of the ceiling.

Staring at it, the little black, ragged edges as it crept across her ceiling, she could almost forget about the pain in her ribs. She could almost forget the crusted tears at the corners of her eyes. She could almost forget—

Bang, bang, bang!

“You have to let me in eventually, Kathleen Mary Andilet,” came her sister’s irate and concerned voice. “You can’t stay in there forever!”

Quite to the contrary, Kathleen was almost certain she would stay in her little bedchamber forever.

She saw no need to ever leave, after all, and she was adequately provided for.

A swift stop at a pie seller on her rushed way home from the London Archery Club had given her not one, but four large pies.

If she was careful, they could last her an entire week.

She would never have to leave before then.

Bang, bang, bang!

“Are you going to tell me what’s happened? Because I know something has happened and if you don’t tell me about it, I… I…”

Kathleen half-smiled to herself as she lay on her bed, even through her tears. Yes, her sister did not have much of a threatening way about her. That had never been Angela’s way.

Her sister’s voice faded as Kathleen ceased attending to it, distracted instead by her own very unpleasant thoughts. Thoughts, and memories.

“Look, I know my reputation as a gambler makes it difficult to believe me, but—”

“What makes it difficult to believe you is that I just heard how you had planned the bet!”

Turning onto her side as though she could turn away from the pain, Kathleen tried not to visualize the look on Leopold—on Lord Leopold’s face. Tried not to think about what she had overheard. Tried not to think about how she had been betrayed.

She screwed her eyes tightly, but that could not force the memories from her mind. What had she done? Had she truly been as foolish as her sister?

Difficult as it was to admit, especially to herself, Kathleen had always considered herself…

Well, better than her sister. Not better.

Cleverer. She had not gotten herself into trouble.

She had not been caught out by a gentleman.

She had not allowed a scandal to befall the family, even with the way she’d navigated Town without a chaperone.

It had been a priggish sort of pride, and only now could Kathleen see just how foolish and arrogant she had been.

Because here she was, having made almost exactly the same mistake. Despite all the careful instruction their mother had given them, and that which Angela had given her, Kathleen had very carefully and very cleverly made precisely the same mistake.

Bang, bang, bang!

“I will go to Scotland Yard! A bobby will break the door down. He’ll make you see reason!”

Kathleen smiled weakly to herself as she stared at the door that was the victim of so much knocking.

A peeler would not bother with the likes of her.

What had occurred was a tragedy, to be sure, and it would be the end of their meager reputations.

They would have to leave London, attempt to get by on their father’s allowance in a different city—but it was no crime.

It certainly felt like a crime, what Leopold had done to her. But it was not.

“I should never have allowed you to come to London.”

Kathleen sat up. This time, her sister’s voice was sorrowful, slow, self-criticizing. The knocking on the door had ceased and instead there was—was that a sniff?

Biting her lip, Kathleen tried to harden her heart. Yes, her sister was crying. There would be a great many tears shed once the truth was out, wouldn’t there? Perhaps it was better that Angela was getting the worst of it from her system.

Another sniff. A half-strangled sob.

Guilt twisted in Kathleen’s gut as she cried into her handkerchief. This was her fault. She had brought ruin onto the family, perhaps even worse than Angela had, and there was no going back from this.

A shaking hand pressed against her stomach, against the place where they had joined and there could now be… but surely, the odds…

A timid tap on the door. “Please, Kathleen.”

Kathleen sighed. Her sister knew she could ignore her until the cows came home when she shouted and raged. It was the quiet that she could never resist.

Tension clutched at her gut. And where had resisting got either of them? Leopold—Lord Leopold was a gambler with a poor reputation who had lost the woman who loved him. She had lost her dignity and her innocence, and perhaps had gained something as well…

“Kathleen?”

Kathleen sighed heavily, rose from the bed, and padded across the bedchamber floor, her handkerchief clutched in one hand.

She was going to regret this in about fifteen minutes, she was almost sure of it—but as there was a small chance that Angela would alleviate her worries and lift her spirits, it was worth the risk.

She swallowed a sob and laugh at the same time. Give my sister a sporting chance.

The click of the lock seemed to resound loudly around the room. The instant the key had turned, so too did the door handle, though this time, the movement was coming from the other side.

The door opened, Kathleen needing to step promptly back to ensure her nose wasn’t knocked by the swiftly moving wood.

“Kathleen?” said her sister hastily, glancing at her face as though seeking out the truth from her eyes.

Try as she might, Kathleen could not smile. “Angela.”

And then the tears came back.

Angela was swift. She pulled Kathleen into an embrace that was tight and reassuring, one hand stroking her hair as Kathleen poured all her frustration and pain into her sobs.

It did not help. But it did help.

When the tears finally abated—and for a while, Kathleen had thought they would never end—Angela stepped back and looked carefully into her sister’s eyes.

“Handkerchief,” she said quietly.

Kathleen stifled a smile and a sob and passed her sister her handkerchief. It was almost dripping.

“Ah. Right, well. You can borrow mine,” said Angela, pulling hers from her sleeve and handing it to her sister. “Come on, tidy yourself up, and then you can tell me what you’re moaning about.”

It is a special kind of sympathy, that which you receive from your family , Kathleen could not help but think as she used her sister’s handkerchief to mop up her weeping eyes and give her nose a good blow.

It wasn’t always that comforting in and of itself, but it was reassuring in its predictability.

Now she’s going to ask me—

“I suppose this is about a gentleman,” Angela said quietly as she moved across the room and sat on Kathleen’s bed.

What was she supposed to say? The truth would be out there soon—she doubted that the gentlemen of the London Archery Club who had been involved in the betting pool had any honor at all.

They would not think twice before bandying her name about the place, ruining her reputation even further, and making it impossible for her to ever go back there.

Go back there? What was she thinking?

“Kathleen?”

“Yes,” Kathleen said quietly, turning to her sister and trying to keep her gaze defiant.

“I said, I suppose it—”

“And I said, yes .” Kathleen sighed, willing her cheeks not to flush but not holding out much hope. “I… I’ve made a terrible mistake.”

It was painful indeed to see the look of abject horror on Angela’s face.

And there it is , Kathleen could not help but think.

The fears of her family, her sister in particular, had come true.

She had lost her good name, the good name of Andilet, just as her sister had done.

Once lost, there was no retrieving one’s reputation.

It was impossible; no gentleman would ever look at you again.

No lady would ever consider conversing with you.

Invitations were over, socializing done with, and the best you could hope for was not to be stared at or pointed at.

It was not much of a life to look forward to. Assuming she ever had a chance at a better life, after her sister’s fall.

“Oh, no,” murmured Angela, dismay palpable in every syllable. “Not…not…a gentleman . That man who came here?”

It was challenging indeed to maintain eye contact with her sister as Kathleen nodded, but somehow, she managed it.

The misery that swept into the room was almost tangible. It was like a tidal wave of destruction moving into their lives, making it impossible to think, to see, to breathe.

Everything they had tried to maintain—the veneer of respectability, the joy of being in London, the hope that one day, everyone would forget about how the eldest Miss Andilet had experienced such a shameful rendezvous… All that was over.

Kathleen swallowed, her throat dry and seemingly only made of sandpaper.

What had she done?

Yes, well, obviously that —but that was part of the problem. She should never have permitted her desires to overcome her good sense, even if Lord Leopold Chance was the most enticing and intriguing man she had ever met.

But even if that had never occurred, it was his damned gambling obsession that had ruined her.

She’d believed him when he’d insisted the rumors weren’t true.

But now? The archery, that, she could always admire, but the betting pool?

He could not leave it alone, could he? He could not allow her to aim to be respectable. He had to drag her name into the mud.

Angela cleared her throat and Kathleen jumped, so lost had she become in her thoughts.

“Come and sit down,” her sister said quietly. “I think you had better tell me all about it.”

“Oh, there is not much to tell,” Kathleen said as airily as she could manage.

Angela was not fooled for a moment. “Yes, there is.”