A Good Debutante's Guide to Ruin_The Debutante Files

“Why are you doing this to me?”

“If you had just done as you were told none of this would be happening to you. You think I’m happy that you’re marrying Peter?”

“Then let me go. I love Declan. And he wants to marry me. I have a chance for happiness. You’re my mother. Can’t you want that for me?”

A flicker of something crossed Melisande’s face, and Rosalie thought she might be reaching her. But then the carriage door was suddenly yanked open.

“Come. They have a room for us.”

“Just one?” her mother asked as she offered him her hand and stepped down from the carriage.

“It’s all he has, but it’s for the best. We can better keep an eye on her.” He held out his hand for Rosalie, but she climbed down without his help, holding her hands close to her sides.

“Did you speak with the innkeeper?” Melisande asked.

“Yes. No worry. He accepted my story of your mad daughter. I could have fed him any story so long as I lined his palm with coin.”

Splendid. If that was true, she wasn’t going to find much help from him.

The inn was crowded and the innkeeper hardly paid them notice. Indeed no one did as Horley ushered them upstairs. Only one bed occupied the room, barely large enough to accommodate two bodies.

Melisande motioned to the chaise near the window. “Perhaps the innkeeper can spare an extra blanket.”

“Oh, I sleep there?” Horley queried.

Her mother looked back and forth between Horley and Rosalie, appearing uncertain and uncomfortable. A first since this whole nightmare began. “Where else . . .” Her voice faded. The arch of Horley’s eyebrow suggested just where else he thought he could sleep. “You wish to begin your wedding night?” Melisande demanded in a tightly controlled voice. “With me in the room?”

“You’re mother and daughter. Is it not right to share?”

Rosalie pressed a hand to her stomach, afraid she was going to be sick.

Her mother turned and started pulling the bedding back with angry, stiff motions. Only Rosalie saw that her hands shook, too. “I think you can wait until Scotland to do your ‘duty.’ ”

Horley sighed. “I suppose.” He moved toward the door. “I’ll go see to our dinners.”

As soon as the door clicked shut behind him, Rosalie whirled on her mother. “Mama, please. You cannot want this for me . . . or for you.”

Melisande faced her, eyes suspiciously bright with what looked like tears. “What do you know of what I want? I want to be rich again. I want to be young and beautiful. I want men to want me again with the same desperation that they did before. What I don’t want is an upstart daughter making me look a fool.” She pointed at Rosalie. “Now you’ll do as I say. You’ll forget about Declan just as I’ll forget that my own lover will share your bed.”

“You speak as though I want this!”

Her face scrunched up, making her look almost unattractive. “How did such a stupid creature ever come from me?” She tugged the pins free from her dark hair as she moved toward the mirror. “I keep hearing that word come out of your mouth. Want, want, want. I want more than a paltry widow’s settlement. I want a rich lover . . . a man who won’t tire of me in a fortnight.” She stopped in front of the mirror and speared her fingers in the dark mass of hair. “It’s time you learned that you don’t get the things you want in life. I don’t.” Her gaze lifted and collided with Rosalie’s in the mirror. “And you won’t either.”

The dinner of roast hare was surprisingly good, but that didn’t encourage Rosalie to eat. Her stomach was knotted and queasy. Horley ate with relish, gulping down multiple glasses of wine between mouthfuls of food. Her mother picked at her food, focusing mostly on the wine as she stared back and forth between Rosalie and Horley with ill-disguised animosity. She said very little, offering up only monosyllable replies to anything Horley said. He, on the other hand, grinned lasciviously over his wine cup, looking from Melisande to Rosalie.

Forgetting her scarcely touched meal, Melisande rose and undressed herself, heedless that Horley and Rosalie watched her. Dressed in her nightgown, she slipped beneath the sheets of the bed.

Horley looked at Rosalie. “What of you? You should get your rest, too. We have a long journey tomorrow.”

Nodding, Rosalie moved to the empty side of the bed. Even with her mother in the room, she wasn’t sure she could sleep in such close proximity to Horley. Sinking down on the mattress, she unlaced her boots and set them carefully on the floor beside the bed.

“You’re not changing?”

She only had what her mother packed for the both of them, and although they were of like size, she did not relish rifling through her mother’s things to find something to wear. If her mother really cared, she would have pulled something out for her. Instead, Melisande was already snoring on her side of the bed, deep asleep with no thought to her daughter.

“I am quite fine in this.” She settled down next to her mother without another glance at Horley.

With her hand tucked beneath her cheek, she listened to Horley’s movements, his smacking lips and slurps. He made no move toward the bed, and gradually some of the tension eased from her shoulders.

She held herself still, waiting for him to douse the light, knowing full well that she would not sleep. Even if she did not intend to slip from the room and escape, she would not sleep with Horley so close. She wasn’t that trusting.

The sound from the inn belowstairs had quieted by the time he finally put out the light. She listened as he settled himself on the chaise. His breathing steadied to a soft snore after several minutes, but still she waited. The night lengthened, but she held herself still. At one point, someone’s tread thudded down the corridor, but silence soon reigned again.

Rosalie carefully pushed the counterpane off her and stealthily slid her legs over the side. Bending, she slipped her boots on.

Horley snorted and mumbled something. She froze, bent over in the dark, her hands on her laces. Satisfied he still slept, she finished tying off her boots and stood.

She worked her way around the room, moving slowly, wincing at every creak of the floorboards. Her palms were sweating by the time she reached the door. A thin line of light glowed beneath it, alerting her of where to go in the dark. She stretched out a hand and groped air until she felt the door latch.

The hinges let out a creak so loud as she opened the door, it sounded like thunder to her sensitive ears. Clenching her teeth, she shot a glance over her shoulder, her heart pounding so hard her chest ached. The flickering light from the sconces in the corridor sent a shaft of dim light into the room and she could see Horley sleeping on the chaise, snoring deeply, his features lax. Hopefully his wine consumption would keep him in a deep sleep for many hours to come.

Although the sight of him, even deep asleep, sent panic fluttering through her. In some ways, her stealthy escape had been easier to execute in the cover of darkness.

She dove out into the hallway, shutting the door behind her with shaking hands. The corridor stretched long and empty. She made it to the top of the stairs, half expecting to hear Horley crying out behind her.

But he wasn’t there. There was no cry. No hard hand clamping down on her shoulder. She was free. She hastened down the steps and stepped out into the main room. There was no crowd as earlier. A couple of travel-worn customers sat at one table, nursing tankards. They didn’t spare her a glance.