Page 32 of The Duke and the Hellion Bride (Duchesses of Convenience #7)
Chapter One
“M iss Gillingham, I assure you that this is all a dreadful misunderstanding!”
Leopold Ashwell slurred, staggering slightly as he tried to execute a courtly bow. Instead, he nearly lost his footing, catching himself on the gilded edge of the powder room’s doorway. His grin wavered, more in an attempt to charm than to explain, though it failed entirely. The soft glow of the candelabras illuminated his flushed face, crumpled cravat, and the faint stain of spilled champagne on his waistcoat.
Lady Whittaker’s cane struck the marble floor sharply, a crack of thunder in the otherwise hushed room.
“Dreadful, indeed. Lord Ashwell, your conduct tonight is beyond abhorrent. And you, Miss Gillingham,” she snapped, her cold eyes cutting through the air like a blade. She turned to Diana, her glare enough to make her blood run cold. “What excuse can you offer for allowing such impropriety? Alone with a man in a powder room, no less!”
“I did not allow—” Diana’s words came out in a panicked rush, her voice catching as her chest tightened. “I only stepped away for a moment to collect myself. I had no idea he would follow?—”
“Had no idea?” Lady Whittaker’s scornful laugh echoed down the corridor, drawing the attention of a passing servant who quickly averted his gaze and hurried on. “Do you take me for a fool, Miss Gillingham? You must think your family’s ruin is some jest, for you have handed it to us all on a silver platter. The ton will not forgive this carelessness, nor will they forget it.”
Diana’s gloved hands clenched together, the delicate lace digging into her palms as her heart raced. Each of Lady Whittaker’s words struck with the precision of a seasoned executioner, dismantling her composure piece by piece. The distant strains of music from the ballroom now felt mocking, a cruel reminder of how quickly her night had unraveled.
“Lady Whittaker, if I may—” Lord Ashwell began, his voice overly loud in the tense silence.
“You may not!” the matron barked, turning her glare toward him. “You are a disgrace, Lord Leopold, and a blight upon your brother’s otherwise pristine name.”
Leopold’s mouth opened and closed, the flush on his cheeks deepening, but he made no further attempt to defend himself. Unrelenting, Lady Whittaker turned her attention back to Diana.
“Your father will hear of this, Miss Gillingham,” she spat, her voice low but brimming with finality. “And pray you have an explanation that carries more weight than the drivel I have been subjected to this evening. For his sake, if not your own.”
“And you, Lord Ashwell,” she added, her words sharp enough to cut through his drunken haze, “will not take another step until this girl’s family arrives. I will not have you skulking about to make this worse.”
Leopold blinked, a flicker of unease crossing his features before he hastily plastered on his trademark grin. “Lady Whittaker, there is no skulking, I assure you. I am merely?—”
“You will remain silent,” she commanded, the authority in her voice brooking no argument. “And you, Miss Gillingham, will remain here with me until your father is informed. Do not think for a moment that I will leave you unattended with this libertine again.”
Diana’s stomach churned, the shame curling around her more tightly with every passing second. She wanted to defend herself, to explain, but her throat was dry, and her words felt inadequate against the weight of Lady Whittaker’s disapproval. Leopold, of course, had no such restraint.
“I shall fix this!” he declared loudly, gesturing as if orchestrating some grand play. “Do not worry, Miss Gillingham. My brother?—”
“Your brother?” Diana interrupted, her voice trembling but sharp enough to slice through his drunken bravado. “You expect me to rely on the Duke of Rivenhall to repair what you have broken?”
“Yes, precisely!” Leopold’s enthusiasm did not waver, even as his balance did. “He is frightfully good at fixing things, you see. You will not find a more capable man in all of England. Trust me?—”
“Enough!” Diana snapped, her composure cracking under the pressure. Her voice rose, unsteady but fierce, cutting through the tension in the corridor. “You have done more than enough already. Leave me, Lord Ashwell. Just leave!”
“You have heard the lady. Now go stand over there by the wall, where you can do no further harm,” Lady Whittaker commanded, raising her cane and pointing it like a sword toward Leopold.
He hesitated, his eyes flicking between Diana’s glare and Lady Whittaker’s unyielding stance. With a sheepish grin and a half-hearted bow, he shuffled unsteadily to the side, his limp making his drunkenness seem more pronounced. Reaching the edge of the room, he leaned heavily against the wall for support.
Diana stood rigid, the air in the corridor heavy around her. She fought to steady her breathing, her gloves clenched tightly in her hands. Lady Whittaker remained by her side, the weight of Diana’s fate looming before her.
Ever since Diana and her sister, Alison, came out, Lady Whittaker had never been kind or generous to the young ladies, looking down on them because of their low rank.
Although Lady Whittaker had no eligible sons or grandsons, she seemed to take pleasure in reminding Diana, Alison, and other ladies from less wealthy families that they were unworthy of men of high standing. Diana often wondered if Lady Whittaker had been waiting for an opportunity to catch one of them making a mistake.
She cast hateful glances at Leopold, wondering what had inspired him to follow her in the first place. He had given Lady Whittaker the ammunition she had needed.
Moments stretched like hours until the sound of hurried footsteps broke the stifling silence. Diana looked up to see Alison and their father striding toward her. Her father led the way, his face pale with worry. Alison followed closely behind, her expression stricken.
“Diana!” her father called in a voice tinged with alarm. He slowed as he approached, his gaze darting between his daughter and the formidable Lady Whittaker. “What has happened?”
“Baron Crayford,” Lady Whittaker greeted, her tone grave as she gestured toward Diana, “your daughter has found herself in a most serious situation. I suggest you handle this matter immediately.”
“Thank you, Lady Whittaker. I assure you we will manage this from here,” the baron replied, his expression tight as he inclined his head toward the formidable matron.
Lady Whittaker pursed her lips, clearly dissatisfied but willing to relinquish her authority.
“See that you do,” she said sharply, then turned to Lord Leopold, who was still leaning unsteadily against the wall. “And you, Lord Leopold—if you have even an ounce of decency left in your debauched frame, you will leave quietly and refrain from causing further embarrassment.”
Lord Ashwell blinked at her, his drunken grin faltering. “I—yes, of course, my lady,” he mumbled, his attempt at dignity undermined by the wobble in his step.
“Come, Lord Leopold,” Lady Whittaker commanded, her tone brooking no argument. She gestured curtly toward the corridor leading to the ballroom. “You will follow me and await your brother’s reckoning. I expect no further scenes from you tonight.”
Lord Leopold glanced once at Diana. She had hoped to see a glimmer of guilt or contrition, but as he stumbled after Lady Whittaker, he seemed to express nothing more than mild annoyance. Lady Whittaker’s cane struck the floor with purposeful precision as she escorted him away.
Diana sagged against the wall, her composure finally crumbling. “I—I did not mean for this to happen,” she stammered, her voice trembling, tears now spilling freely. “I swear, Papa, I?—”
Alison reached for her, placing a steadying hand on her arm.
“We believe you,” she said, her voice soothing but firm. “Do tell us what happened.”
“There is nothing to tell.” Diana looked down, ashamed to meet their eyes. “I felt faint. I left the ballroom for air. And then... he was there. I did not invite him to follow me. I swear I did not!”
The baron let out a slow breath, his hand smoothing his jacket as if searching for words.
“We will leave at once,” he said finally. “There is nothing to be gained by lingering here. Alison, collect our things.”
Alison nodded and squeezed Diana’s arm before hurrying toward the ballroom. Diana stood motionless as her father’s concerned eyes fixed on her.
“I have ruined us,” Diana whispered, her voice cracking. “The scandal will destroy our family.”
“Do not say such things,” he scolded gently.” We will find a way forward. The Duke of Rivenhall is a man of honor. He will ensure that his brother makes this right.”
“And if he does not?” Diana’s gaze snapped up, tears still brimming in her eyes. “What will become of us, Papa?”
His response came after a brief pause, his voice quiet but resolute.
“We shall persevere. We must.”
Alison returned, trying to reassure Diana with a comforting grip on her arm as they made their way through the corridors. Each step felt heavier than the last. They could not avoid passing other guests during their exit. She avoided eye contact with several matrons, but could not help overhearing their whispers.
“It was bound to happen with her, was it not? Such beauty, but no connections worth mentioning,” one woman said, her fan concealing the curl of her lips. Diana felt her cheeks burn, shame tightening her throat.
By the time they reached the waiting carriage she could no longer hear the music; her thoughts were loud enough to drown it out. She climbed in, her father and sister close behind, and as the carriage doors shut, the tears she had held back finally spilled over. She pressed her hand to her mouth to stem the flow.
The rhythmic clatter of the carriage wheels was the only sound as Diana sat huddled in the corner of the seat, tears streaming silently down her face.
She could not believe how easily she had ruined her and her family’s life. She regretted not finding her chaperone or at least alerting Alison. She had felt so warm and faint and had not been thinking clearly. She had been stupid and reckless. Finally, the dam broke and her sobs spilled into the tense silence.
“I am so sorry,” she choked, sobbing into her hands. “I have ruined everything. I should never have left the ballroom. I should have known?—”
“Diana,” Alison interrupted gently, reaching across to take her sister’s trembling hands. “You could not have known. How could you anticipate the actions of a drunken fool like Lord Leopold Ashwell? This is not your fault.”
“It does not matter whose fault it is,” Diana replied, shaking her head as tears blurred her vision. “The damage is done. The ton will never forgive me. We will be shunned and the creditors will not be generous in the face of a downturn. And you—Alison, your prospects, your chances—they are now ruined because of me.”
“Stop this nonsense,” Alison said, her tone firm despite the worry etched on her face. “I care nothing for prospects if it means abandoning my sister. We will find a way through this, together. You must not let him rob you of your dignity.”
“How can I not?” she demanded of her well-meaning sister. “Everyone who saw—who heard—will think the worst of me, Alison. You cannot deny that.”
Across from them, Baron Gillingham sat silently, his gaze fixed on the window. His fingers drummed against his knee in an uncharacteristic display of agitation. The sound drew Diana’s attention, and she turned toward him with renewed guilt.
“Papa,” she said, her voice breaking. “I have brought this shame upon us. I am so sorry. Please, blame me—at least let me bear the brunt of it.”
Her father turned to her then, his face drawn but his eyes kind.
“I will hear no more of this, Diana. You are my daughter, and I will not stand by while you punish yourself for another’s wickedness. What happened this evening was not of your doing.”
Diana’s heart clenched as she met her father’s kind eyes. She had no doubt that he loved her, but in this moment, she felt her father’s love was blind to the situation. The guilt in her belly only grew as she wondered if her father truly understood the gravity of the situation.
“But it is my burden,” Diana whispered, her gaze dropping to the carriage floor. “I will do anything to make this right. If I must plead with Lord Leopold to marry me, then I will. If he refuses, I will find someone—anyone—willing to take me, even if it means marrying an elderly lord.”
The baron’s brows furrowed, and he straightened in his seat. “There is no need for such drastic measures, Diana. I will not have you sacrificing your future because of a moment of scandal.”
“How can you say that?” Diana burst out, her composure unraveling entirely. “Do you not see what this will do to us? To Alison? The whispers, the invitations that will dry up, the doors that will close? And you, Papa—your position was precarious even before this. Our family cannot withstand this shame.”
The baron’s lips tightened, and his face shadowed with thought. After a steadying breath, he reached out to clasp Diana’s hand.
“I understand your fear, my dear. But I will not allow this to destroy us. I am certain the duke will intervene to see this matter is resolved.”
“How can you be certain?” she scoffed, “One brother is a rake; what guarantees that the other is a man of honor?”
“Because he is known to be just that,” her father replied firmly. “Lord Rivenhall is a man of great influence and reputation. He will not allow this disgrace to fester. He is far too protective of his family name to stand idly by while unsavory matters unravel.”
Alison gave a small, hopeful nod, tightening her grip on Diana’s hand.
“Perhaps Papa is right. If the duke is truly as formidable as they say, he will ensure his brother does the right thing.”
Diana slumped back against the carriage seat in exhaustion. The faint flicker of hope offered by her father and sister felt distant; too fragile to grasp.
“I pray you are right,” she said softly. “But I fear no amount of honor can undo the damage that has already been done. He has not deigned to acquaint himself with us before this. I doubt he will feel generous enough to do so now that I am ruined.”
The baron sat back; his expression resolute. “Tomorrow, I shall write to the duke and request an audience. We shall face this with dignity, Diana, and we shall endure. You are stronger than you think.”
But as the carriage rolled on, Diana’s thoughts churned with the fear that her father’s optimism would not be enough. How could the rake’s foolishness ever be righted without leaving permanent scars on her family? She closed her eyes, the movement of the carriage lulling her into a restless silence as her tears finally subsided.
Even as she cried, she pressed her knuckles into her brow and promised herself that no matter what it took, she would ensure her poor decisions did not ruin her father and sister. They deserved to live a good life, away from the pall cast by her unintended indiscretion.