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 as he desires if only he would glance in my direction.”
The two shared a giggle. “Shocking, my dear.”
“Oh, there is Katherine. We must tell her what you have discovered.”
There was a rustle of silk as the two women slowly moved away, their conversation muted but still clear enough for Talia to follow.
“Do you know, I almost have it in my heart to pity poor Miss Dobson.”
Talia grimaced. Despite her words, there was a decided lack of pity in the woman’s tone. In fact, it sounded remarkably akin to gloating.
“Yes,” her companion purred. “One thing is for certain, she dare not show her face in society again.”
“She should never have forced her way among her betters to begin with.” Talia detected a sniff of smug disapproval. “Nothing good ever comes of getting above your station.”
Despite the heat, Talia shivered.
She remained safely cocooned in her odd sense of detachment for the moment, but she wasn’t stupid. Eventually the protective shell surrounding her heart would shatter, and she would be laid bare to the endless disgrace of a woman scorned.
She couldn’t even console herself with the thought that her father would have the decency to allow her to withdraw from society until the scandal had passed.
No. Silas Dobson would never comprehend the notion of a dignified retreat. He would insist that she face her tormentors regardless of the pain and embarrassment it might cause her.
She was brooding on her bleak future when the door was opened, and Hannah crossed the threshold carrying a large silver tray.
“Here we are then,” she said in the overly bright tones that people used in a sickroom. “I have brought a small dish of poached trout in cream sauce and fresh asparagus, as well as a few strawberries.”
“Yes, thank you,” Talia softly interrupted, her stomach rebelling at the smell of fish.
Perhaps sensing Talia’s distress, Hannah moved toward the low cherrywood table near the white marble fireplace.
“I’ll just leave it here, shall I?”
Talia managed a weak smile of gratitude. “Did you locate my father?”
“No. It is…” Hannah broke off her words, gnawing on her bottom lip. “What?”
“I was told that Mr. Dobson has not been seen since he left the church.”
Talia shrugged. Her father was stubborn enough to search for Harry Richardson until hell froze over.
“I see.”
Hannah cleared her throat. “No doubt he will soon be returning.”
“No doubt he will,” a dark, sinfully dangerous voice drawled from the open doorway. “Mr.
