Caught in Scandal's Storm. Helen Dickson

for her welfare. Alice was sorry she had hurt him, which had added to her disgrace.

      And then London. She was sent to London to live with Lady Marchington and to learn some wifely skills and, presumably, the sense that her brother set such store by. She had told herself it was for the best. She had to trust William to have her best interests at heart. On saying farewell, he had looked mortally wounded. Alice had felt regret like a sudden pain. It gave her no satisfaction to see her brother’s distress. But then his expression had changed. ‘Don’t worry,’ he had said. ‘The matter will be dealt with. I’ll take care of everything.’ There had been a hardness in his voice that had made her uneasy. But, encased in her own misery, she had thought no more about it.

      It was when she had been in London for two weeks and received a letter from William’s wife that she realised there was a side to William she did not know. She shuddered, not wishing to dwell on the contents of that letter just now—of how her brother, defending her honour, had fought a duel to the death with Philippe. She kept the guilt and shame locked away, and there it would remain until, coward that she was, she could face what had happened.

      ‘I suppose there are many who would say running away never solved anything,’ Roberta said, breaking into Alice’s reverie.

      ‘It is a fresh start, Roberta.’

      ‘A happy one, I hope. Whatever people say I, for one, am glad you’re here. So now I insist that you forget all about him and begin by enjoying my betrothal party.’

      Alice no longer lived in dread of seeing Philippe again, but nor was she able to relax. She was suspended in a past for which she felt a deep shame and hated to think about, and a future she could not bear to contemplate.

      Although she had not been raped by Philippe it had still been an assault—she had been so young and innocent, and what he had done had had life-changing repercussions. She was no longer the happy, carefree girl she once was and she mourned the loss of her innocence. Her heart had been badly damaged and she felt so tainted that she had lost her faith in love. Romantic love was just a silly dream. Feeling insecure in herself, she did not feel capable of having a successful relationship after all that she had endured, nor did she imagine that she could ever be truly happy again, or make someone else happy.

      With Roberta hard on her heels Alice hurried along the landing and passed through her chamber doors. She began to unfasten her dress. ‘I’m surprised Lady Marchington agreed to allow me across her threshold—although I suppose William’s wife being the daughter of her closest friend had something to do with that.’ What she said was perfectly true. Lady Marchington had taken her in as a favour to William’s wife, Anne, but also to act as companion to Roberta. Alice was in no doubt that as soon as Roberta wed Viscount Pemberton, Lady Marchington would lose no time in securing a match for her. Although, she thought bitterly, she could not hope for as fine a catch as Roberta. Anyone would do as long as Lady Marchington got her off her hands.

      Seeing her fingers struggling with the buttons, Roberta went to her. ‘Here, let me.’ After a moment she asked, ‘What was he like—Philippe? Was he handsome?’

      Alice’s gaze hardened as her heart had hardened when she had decided not to marry him. ‘Oh, yes, he was handsome. It was a matter of fact rather than opinion. But it was his handsome looks that annoyed me. They added to his air of arrogance and his self-belief. Confidence was not lacking in that particular male either. It never occurred to him that he would not get what he wanted.’

      Roberta helped her off with her gown and draped it over a chair for Alice’s maid to attend to later. ‘But he must have attracted you for you to agree to marry him.’

      ‘Perhaps a little—in the beginning. Philippe Duplay, the Comte de St Antoine, was the kind of man women dream of—a man to whisper words like little pearls into their ear. Weak men would give their souls to be like him, to be as tall and fair as him, to possess those laughing blue eyes—witty and gay—and to ride and dance like him. But strip away those pretty words and fine titles, and what is left? Arrogance, a blackguard—a roué, a gamester.’ She spoke with such bitterness that Roberta looked at her with a questioning eye.

      ‘You speak of him as if he were dead, Alice.’

      Alice stiffened and looked at her hard. ‘He is, Roberta. Philippe is dead. And now, if you don’t mind, I do not wish to discuss him further.’

      Turning away from the shocked expression her revelation had caused, Alice moved to the window and watched the snowflakes flutter down. Roberta disappeared into her dressing room to compose her thoughts and to select a suitable gown to wear for her meeting with Lady Marchington.

      Alice thought of William, with whom she had lived for most of her life in a village close to Paris. When she had reached eighteen, William had only one ambition and that was for his sister to marry—and to marry well. William was wealthy in his own right and would offer a substantial dowry. Suitors came and went, leaving Alice feeling like an animal at the local market. It was finally decided that she would wed Philippe Duplay, Comte de St Antoine, who had long been enamoured of her.

      But from the start Alice had felt out of her depth. The scale of the Duplay family’s power and wealth intimidated her, reflected as it was in their grand chateaux and vast estates and the value of everything with which they surrounded themselves. The treasures that filled the Châteaux Duplay were all manifestations of the Duplays’ significance.

      ‘What you did,’ Roberta said, emerging from the dressing room with a plain blue day gown over her arms, ‘deciding not to marry him—knowing a scandal would ensue—was a brave thing for you to do, Alice.’ Much as she would have liked to ask how Philippe had died, not wishing to distress Alice, she refrained from doing so.

      Alice was normally a mistress of restraint. She hated being the subject of gossip and speculation. Generally she kept her thoughts and opinions to herself, observing the outbursts of emotion and the careless talk of others with disdain. With Philippe, she had learned to control her feelings better than ever. In this way she kept up the appearance of being a perfect fiancée. Sometimes, however, when provoked too far, she would allow herself the luxury of a spontaneous outburst. When it came, it had the impact of a summer storm, which was the case when she told Philippe she would not be his wife.

      She had not been prepared for his vicious retaliation or how she would afterwards be ostracised by society. To cover his embarrassment on being jilted, Philippe had let it be known that she had the morals of a harlot.

      This piece of slander was repeated all over Paris and with much embellishment. At first Alice was hurt, then she was angry. With strength and determination, she made herself come to grips with what she had done and faced the painful knowledge that her former life was permanently over. She learned how to cry lonely, private tears for all she had lost, then put on a brave face and her brightest smile. But unable to avoid the publicity and the very unsavoury scandal, she left Paris for good.

      ‘I would not have been happy married to Philippe. When I thought of him I could not see him as my husband. He gave me so much grief when we were together I could not bear it. I decided to weather the scandal of walking away rather than live the rest of my life with a man for whom I felt neither love nor respect.’

      Roberta looked at Alice’s still figure and sighed. ‘We have both experienced a broken engagement, Alice, so in that we are alike. I can only hope that in the future you find yourself with someone who will make you as happy as I am with Hugh.’

      Alice very much doubted she ever would, and at this present time, when bitterness continued to gnaw at her heart, the very last thing she wanted was another man in her life. She supposed she would marry eventually. A good man. One who would treat her with the respect and tenderness due his wife. Please God, she thought, let such a man exist.

      Roberta moved to stand behind her, her face flushed with disquiet. ‘I—I’m sorry, Alice. I hope I didn’t sound insensitive—I didn’t mean to.’

      Smiling reassuringly, Alice turned and patted Roberta’s hand. ‘You were not insensitive, Roberta. I was merely thinking.’