Bride For A Night. Rosemary Rogers
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church echoed in Talia’s heart.
She felt…numb. As if the humiliation of being abandoned at the altar was happening to some other unfortunate lady.
It was a sensation that refused to be dismissed even when her father had stormed from the church, swearing that the bastard would suffer for having made a fool of Silas Dobson. And when she had been forced to return to the house and announce to the two hundred avid, twittering guests that the wedding had been regrettably postponed.
Or now, as she sat in her private sitting room decorated in soothing shades of lavender and ivory.
Perched on the edge of the window seat that overlooked the rose garden filled with guests still reveling at being in attendance at the greatest scandal of the season, Talia understood she should feel something.
Anger, humiliation, heartbreak…
Anything but the awful emptiness.
Absently she watched as Hannah paced across the Persian carpet, the swish of her rose satin gown the only sound to break the thick silence. The poor girl was clearly at a loss as to how to handle the awkward situation.
“I am certain there must have been an accident,” Hannah at last muttered, her round face flushed and her frizz of brown curls escaping from silver combs.
Talia shrugged, unable to stir an interest in why Harry had failed to appear at his own wedding.
“Are you?” she asked, her voice dull.
“Yes, indeed.” Hannah’s dark eyes held a sympathy she couldn’t entirely disguise. “No doubt the carriage overturned and Mr. Richardson and his family were knocked unconscious.”
“Perhaps.”
“Oh.” Hannah pressed a hand to her plump breasts. “Not that I would wish for the passengers to be injured.”
“No. Of course not.”
“But it would explain…”
“Explain why I was left at the altar?”
Hannah grimaced in embarrassment. “Yes.”
An uncomfortable silence filled the sitting room, and with an effort, Talia searched her mind for a means to be rid of her companion.
It was not that she didn’t appreciate Hannah’s attempts to offer comfort, but for the moment she desperately wished to be alone.
Clearing her throat, she glanced toward the door. “Has my father returned?”
“Do you wish me to discover if he is here?”
“If it is no trouble.”
Hannah gratefully latched onto the small task, obviously pleased to be of service.
“Not at all. And I shall bring you a tea tray.”
Talia shuddered at the mere thought of food. “I am not hungry.”
“Perhaps not, but you are very pale.” Hannah’s soft brown gaze lingered on Talia’s face with obvious concern. “You should try to eat something.”
“If you insist.” Talia managed a smile. “You’re very kind.”
“Nonsense. I am your friend.”
Hannah left the room and softly closed the door behind her. Talia heaved a sigh of relief. Later she would appreciate Hannah’s staunch loyalty. After all, the young lady could easily have used her position in the center of the brewing scandal to elevate her status among the gossipmongers still cluttering the rose garden.
Instead she had stayed at Talia’s side, anxious to provide comfort.
It was not her fault that Talia was incapable of weeping and wailing and wringing her hands like a proper bride who had just been publicly jilted.
With a frown, Talia reached to push the window open, hoping for a breeze to stir the air. The room felt…stifling. Too late, she realized that two of the unwelcome guests had strayed from the banquet tables and were currently standing just below her window.
“Good heavens, Lucille, you appear quite flustered,” one of the ladies was exclaiming.
“Have you heard the latest?” the second woman demanded.
Talia froze on the point of sliding shut the window.
It was absurd. What did she care what rumors were swirling about society? The gossip could be no more humiliating than the truth.
Still, she found herself unable to curb the destructive urge to know what was being said.
“Tell me,” the first woman breathed, her voice vaguely familiar.
“Lord Eddings is said to have been with the missing bridegroom last eve at some horrid gambling establishment.”
“That is hardly news. It is Harry’s fondness for the cards that forced him to become engaged to Dowdy Dobson in the first place.”
Talia’s hands clenched in her lap. Dowdy Dobson. It was an insult she had endured since her first season.
“Yes, well, last eve he was heavily in his cups and he confessed that he never intended to wed the vulgar chit.”
“Never?” There was a malicious giggle. “But why become engaged at all? Surely it was not just a cruel hoax?”
“According to Eddings, the naughty boy insisted on a portion of the dowry to purchase a suitable townhouse he discovered in Mayfair.” There was a dramatic pause. “Instead he intends to take his windfall and disappear.”
The first woman sucked in a scandalized breath. “Good…heavens.”
“Precisely.”
Talia knew she should have been equally scandalized.
Despite the fact that Harry had all but ignored her since the announcement of their engagement, he had appeared resigned to the notion of taking a wife. Certainly she’d had no warning that he intended to deceive her father into handing over a small fortune and using it to flee from London.
And from her.
“A daring scheme, but Harry cannot possibly imagine that he can hide from a man such as Silas Dobson,” the first lady said, her tone edged with revulsion at the mention of Talia’s father. “The brute no doubt has a dozen cutthroats on his payroll.”
“True enough.”
“Besides, think of the scandal. Lord Ashcombe will have his head on a platter.” Would he?
Talia was not nearly so confident.
From the whispers that had circulated throughout society, the earl had washed his hands of his younger brother when he had announced his intention to wed the daughter of Silas Dobson.
“Not if Harry escapes to the Continent,” the unknown Lucille insisted.
“In the midst of a war?”
The woman’s sudden laugh drifted on the breeze. “Obviously the danger of being shot by a Napoleon is preferable to marrying Dowdy Dobson.”
“And who could blame him?” her companion swiftly agreed. “Still, he cannot intend to remain exiled forever?”
“Certainly not. In a year or so the scandal will have faded and Harry will make his glorious return.”
“And be welcomed as the prodigal son?” There was the sound of a fan being snapped open. “You have a very odd notion of the earl if you believe he will forgive and forget. The man terrifies me.”
“He may be terrifying, but he is so wickedly handsome.” Her soft sigh was filled with the feminine appreciation shared by most women. “Such a pity he has so little interest in society.”
“Well, at least polite society.”
“I would be as improper