A Good Debutante's Guide to Ruin_The Debutante Files

Well, that made two of them.

“Come.” He turned and led her up the set of stairs to the bedroom. He knew several of the bedchambers would have been prepared for his guests. The staff was accustomed to one or several of his friends staying the night on any given occasion.

He led her to the room two doors down from his. It was mostly pink and yellow. He assumed it fitting for a young lady. Whatever else she was, she was that.

He cast a glance over his shoulder at her, noting her small steps, her slim shoulders pulled back in very correct posture. Definitely a lady. Ironic, considering the little hoyden she used to be. And the identity of her mother. But then Melisande had fooled his father. Perhaps Rosalie was all pretense, too. His eyes narrowed, sweeping over her slight form in her shabby attire. Was she another social climber in the making?

“Here you are.” At the door to her room he pushed it open and waved her within.

She peered inside and gave a brisk nod. “Thank you.”

“I’ll begin the search for your mother on the morrow. With luck, she is in Town.” His lip curled. “She always did prefer it to the country.”

She swallowed, the delicate muscles in her throat working as she no doubt recalled the truth of that statement. “We can only hope.”

Despite her words, her voice lacked a ring of anticipation. Surely she wanted to find her mother. She couldn’t want to remain here. Here, in the lavish town house of a duke. Bitterness welled up inside him. Perhaps that’s exactly what she wanted.

“Don’t make yourself too comfortable, Miss Hughes,” he warned, unable to stop himself.

She blinked and then her cheeks flushed darker. Clearly she read his suspicions. “I’m certain that won’t happen, Your Grace.”

“Might I also suggest we stay out of each other’s way? I don’t see the need for us to reacquaint ourselves. We are not truly family, after all.”

She nodded, her eyes unnaturally wide and bright in her face—as though she was forcing herself not to blink. She made him think of a kicked puppy right then and he shoved back the sensation that he was a veritable bastard. She looked down at her boots for a moment before meeting his stare again. “Indeed. We are not.”

With a lift of her chin, she slipped inside the room and closed the door.

He lingered in front of her door, staring unseeingly at where she had stood moments before, wondering how soon he might be able to locate her mother.





Chapter 3


The chamber was cavernous. The bed swallowed her. She felt like a child at its center, engulfed in the fine linen sheets, her head lost deep in the plump pillows that smelled faintly of lavender.

It was nothing like the room she shared with Rachel back at Harwich’s, and despite its opulence, she longed for that room right now. She longed for her friend. For the familiar. For smiles and eyes that did not stare coldly down at her.

He hated her.

She could see that at once. Perhaps this was just what he had become. Arrogant and pompous. A haughty nobleman immersed in his sparkling world of privilege. She was simply an unwanted relation to be tolerated.

He was a duke now. Not a boy to abide her with grudging affection and fetch her down from trees. Something inside her chest softened at that memory. He had more than tolerated her back then. He had answered her questions, endured her following him all about the countryside with good humor. Where had that boy gone?

She laced her fingers across her stomach and stared into the dark of the canopy above her as if she could see something there. Some truth, some bit of strength she so desperately needed right now. It did not matter how he felt about her. He would do his duty. He would shelter her until he located her mother, and then . . .

Well, she wasn’t certain what came next. With her mother, one could never be certain. That much she had learned. One thing she did know, however, was that she could not count upon her. She would have to forge her own future. Rosalie rolled onto her side and tucked her hands beneath her cheek as the image of Declan filled her mind.

He had changed. At age fifteen he had been a mere shadow of the man he was now. He was more fleshed out now. Muscular, his chest and shoulders broad, filling out his jacket to an impressive degree. She’d seen very few gentlemen in Yorkshire. Just local villagers and neighboring farmers. If she wasn’t careful, she would let the old infatuation return. And nothing good could come of that.

Declan would not—

She stopped the thought, crushing it with a wince. She must cease to think of him thusly. She was practical. He was a duke. She was a nobody. Daughter of a barrister and a woman he had never accepted as his father’s wife. She should simply consider herself fortunate he had agreed to let her stay on . . . and begin planning for the future.

She blinked in the darkness and closed her eyes only to a deeper dark, wondering why that thought did not provide her with any real comfort. It was well and good to decide she needed a plan, but until she had that plan, she doubted she would sleep well.

With a sigh, she opened her eyes again and stared sightlessly ahead for long hours into the night, her mind churning. Only as dawn tinged the sky, peeking through the partially opened drapes, did she succumb to sleep.





Chapter 4


Aunt Peregrine and Aurelia arrived soon after breakfast—a feat that duly impressed Declan. Especially since they came armed with their maids, too many trunks and valises to count, and a slit-eyed cat that looked thoroughly displeased to be carted about.

He had sent a missive explaining the situation and requesting that they stay with him until the matter with Rosalie could be resolved. He could not imagine he would require their presence longer than a week. He’d already sent several of his footmen about Town. He was confident he would know the location of Melisande by the end of the day. She was hardly inconspicuous. She thrived on attention.

Although he didn’t expect her to be in Town. That would be too easy. And he would have likely heard if she was. He always heard. Rumors he ignored. People dropped tidbits of his stepmother’s activities in his ear as though he might actually care. They watched his face closely as though they might witness his outrage at the exploits of his father’s widow. They were disappointed every time.

She was the type of female that caused ripples wherever she went. She’d taken many a lover since his father’s death, and doubtlessly during his father’s life—only then with more discretion. He’d heard no gossip of late, so she must be out of Town. Perhaps in Bath. Or the Lake District. Over the years, whenever his mind brushed on the memory of Rosalie, it was with the thought that she was better off away at her rustic school. He supposed it should have occurred to him that she would eventually leave the schoolroom.

He joined his aunt and cousin in the drawing room. The same room where he had found his stepsister the night before, sleeping like some child who had fallen to slumber with no care or thought for her surroundings. He had directed the massive amount of luggage to be carried upstairs, with Aurelia’s belongings being placed in the bedchamber beside Rosalie. They were of like age, and he rather liked Aurelia, even if she was one of those creatures he dreaded—a young lady of the ton. She would be a good influence.

Rosalie with her candid stare and drab garments flashed before his eyes. She dressed atrociously. Clearly, a proper lady’s wardrobe was not of any importance at the school she had attended. Or was it simply because her mother had neglected to send the necessary funds? In any case, he was certain his aunt and cousin would see that she was properly attired. They could also polish any rough edges off her.