Page 9 of The Baron’s Reluctant Bride (Marriage Mart Scandals #4)

The following morning, Gemma sat in the morning room, her untouched tea growing cold as she stared out the window.

The events of the previous night played over and over in her mind.

She could still feel the weight of the shocked stares, still hear the excited whispers that had followed her for the remainder of the evening.

"Miss Sinclair and Lord Brokeshire, alone on the terrace..." "Always thought she was too prim by half..." "Like father, like son, the old Baron was notorious for his conquests..."

Rain pattered against the windowpanes, matching her somber mood. The drab London heavens seemed a fitting backdrop for what promised to be an equally dismal day of reckoning.

She had barely slept, her mind churning with the implications of both the terrace incident and the conversation she had overheard between William and Thorne.

Her family faced not one crisis but two, her compromised reputation and William's dangerous entanglement with a man who clearly had nefarious designs on Hawthorne Trading Company, whatever that might be.

The door to the morning room opened, and Gemma turned to find her mother entering, a stack of correspondence clutched in her trembling hands. Helena's face was drawn with worry and poorly concealed anger.

"Good morning, Mama," Gemma said quietly, steeling herself for the impending storm.

Helena placed the letters on the table with deliberate care.

"Lady Pembrooke sends her regrets. We are no longer welcome at her garden party next week.

" Her voice was brittle with suppressed emotion. "As do the Ashbury’s, the Whitfield’s, and"—she lifted another note—"oh yes, the Hargrove’s.

How remarkable that news travels so quickly in this dreadful weather. "

Gemma winced. "Mama, I—"

"Do not," Helena cut her off sharply. "Do not tell me again that it was merely a misunderstanding. That explanation might suffice for a na?ve country miss, but I raised you in London society. You are fully aware of the implications should one be discovered alone with a gentleman."

"It truly was innocent," Gemma insisted, though she knew the truth of her mother's words. Perception mattered more than reality in the rarefied world of the ton.

Helena sank into a chair, suddenly looking every one of her eight and forty years. "Your father would be so disappointed."

The words struck Gemma like a physical blow. "That is most unjust, Mama."

"Is it?" Helena's eyes glistened with unshed tears. "We have struggled these past two years to maintain our position, to secure a future for this family. Now, in a single evening, you have placed everything at risk."

"I was seeking William," Gemma explained, frustration sharpening her tone.

"If anyone has placed our family at risk, it is he.

Do you know where our dear brother was last night while I was supposedly compromising our good name?

Bartering gossip with Mr. Albert Thorne in exchange for gambling markers! "

Helena gasped. "Lower your voice immediately! The servants will hear."

"Let them hear!" Gemma rose from her chair, years of practiced decorum slipping away in the face of her mother's accusation.

"Let all of London hear that while Gemma Sinclair stands accused of impropriety for a chance encounter on a terrace, William Sinclair gambles away our future and sells information to the highest bidder! "

"You go too far," Helena whispered, pressing a handkerchief to her lips.

Gemma’s heart paused momentarily, the rush of anger faded.

Her mother was not wrong. Immediately contrite, Gemma knelt beside her mother's chair.

"Forgive me, Mama. I spoke in anger. But please understand, I did nothing wrong last night.

Lord Brokeshire and I were merely speaking when Lady Montford and her cohort discovered us. "

Helena patted Gemma's hand, her anger fading into resignation.

"Intention matters little in cases like these, my dear.

We live in a world that judges harshly and forgives reluctantly, particularly when it comes to young women.

" She sighed deeply. "I fear Lord Brokeshire's reputation only compounds the problem. He is known throughout London as—"

"A rake of the first order," Gemma finished dryly. "Yes, I am aware of the baron's reputation."

"Then you understand why this situation is especially delicate. A respectable gentleman might have offered for you immediately, but Lord Brokeshire..." Helena trailed off, leaving the implication hanging in the air between them.

Before Gemma could respond, the door burst open. William strode in, his face flushed with what appeared to be a mixture of anger and fear. His cravat was untied, his hair disheveled, suggesting he had just returned from one of his night-long escapades.

"Is it true?" he demanded without preamble. "Were you discovered alone with Brookfield last night?"

Gemma rose to her feet, squaring her shoulders. "Good morning to you as well, brother."

"Answer the question, Gemma!" William's voice cracked slightly. "Half of London is already talking, and Thorne—" He stopped abruptly, seeming to realize what he had been about to reveal.

"Yes, I imagine Mr. Thorne would be most interested in this development," Gemma said coolly. "Another piece of gossip for you to trade in exchange for your gambling debts."

William blanched. "You know nothing about it."

"I know enough. I overheard you with him last night, William. He asked about Lord Brokeshire's investments specifically."

Their mother looked between them with growing distress. "What is this? William, what have you done?"

William ran a hand through his already disheveled hair, his youthful features tight with strain.

At the tender age of three and twenty, he should have been growing into his role as Viscount with confidence and pride.

Instead, he seemed nothing more than a frightened young boy attempting to play the part of a gentleman.

"It's nothing, Mama. Business matters that needn't concern you," he said dismissively.

"Don't lie to her," Gemma interjected. "Not when our family's future hangs in the balance."

William's temper flared. "That's rich, coming from you! I'm trying to salvage what remains of our fortune while you're dallying with rakes on moonlit terraces!"

"Enough!" Helena's sharp command silenced them both. "William, sit down. You will explain precisely what business you have with Thorne that involves Lord Brokeshire. And Gemma, you will tell me truthfully what transpired last night."

For the next quarter-hour, the siblings took turns confessing their respective situations.

William, shame-faced but defiant, admitted to the extent of his gambling debts and Thorne's growing control over him.

Gemma recounted the events at the musicale, from her concern about William's conversation with Thorne to her retreat to the terrace and subsequent discovery with Lord Brokeshire.

When they finished, Helena sat in stunned silence, the full weight of their family's precarious position settling over the room like a shroud.

"We are ruined," she whispered at last. "Utterly ruined."

"Not necessarily," William said, his pride reasserting itself. "I am still Viscount Sinclair. The estate may be encumbered, but the title retains value."

Gemma gave a most unladylike snort. "And what do you propose to do with this valuable title? Sell it to Mr. Thorne alongside whatever other information he desires?"

"I am doing what I must to protect this family!" William snapped.

"You are protecting no one but yourself," Gemma retorted. Brat .

***

Meanwhile, across London, Jameson faced his own interrogation. His mother confronted him in his study, her elegant figure silhouetted against the lamplight, her expression a mixture of disappointment and concern.

"Your rakish ways have finally caught up with you," Lady Belinda declared, her voice tight with restrained emotion. "And this time, you've trapped an innocent young lady in the process."

Jameson lounged in his chair with practiced nonchalance, though inwardly he felt a twinge of regret. Not for his encounter with Miss Sinclair—he'd done nothing improper there—but for the distress it would undoubtedly cause her.

"You exaggerate, Mother," he replied, swirling the brandy in his glass. "It was a momentary misunderstanding, nothing more."

"A misunderstanding witnessed by Lady Montford, of all people," his mother countered. "This is different from your usual... indiscretions. Miss Sinclair holds a favored and respected position in society, unlike the other young women whose reputations you've tarnished."

Jameson suppressed a sigh. How he wished he could tell his mother the truth—that his rakish demeanor was merely a facade, born from the pain of Lady Caroline's betrayal and maintained to protect both his heart and his business interests.

But he had maintained this charade for too long to abandon it now, even for his mother's good opinion.

"I assure you, Mother, the situation will resolve itself," he said dismissively. "Society has a short memory for such trifling matters."

Lady Belinda's eyes flashed with anger. "Trifling? A young lady's reputation is at stake! Have I raised such a callous son?"

The accusation stung more than Jameson cared to admit. He set down his glass with deliberate care, avoiding his mother's disappointed gaze.

Later that afternoon, the air in the merchant’s office near the docks carried a pungent blend of brine, tobacco, and ink. The tall windows stood open to the bustling quay, where the cries of sailors and the creak of rigging lent a discordant harmony to the serious discussion taking place within.