A Good Debutante's Guide to Ruin_The Debutante Files

He frowned at the direction of his musings. How she dressed or comported herself was not his concern.

Aunt Peregrine looked up from her tea as he entered the room. “Ah, there you are, Declan-dearest. I began to fret that you had forgotten us.”

“Hello, Aunt Peregrine.” He bent and fondly kissed the cheek of his father’s sister.

The enormous cat in her lap hissed at him, not caring for his proximity. Dec bared his teeth at the beast and the cat growled. His cousin giggled and his aunt sent him a cross look. “Be kind, Declan-dearest.”

She only ever addressed him as Declan-dearest. As if that was his full name. She was kind if not a little vacant-minded at times, but he could not fault her for that. When his father cast him out, she had always welcomed him into her home. Every holiday from school, he always had a place beneath her roof and at her table. She was the closest thing to a mother he had ever known. Will and Aurelia were more like siblings than cousins.

He bent and kissed his cousin on the cheek as well. “You’re looking well, Aurelia,” he greeted.

Aurelia patted the space between her and her mother as though she expected him to squeeze between them. That infernal cat growled low and deep again as if to warn him not to even consider it.

“Come, seat yourself and tell us of this . . .” Aurelia paused, watching him carefully. Unlike her mother, she was ever astute. Her doe eyes were watchful and took everything in at a swift glance. She finally arrived at her words. “Tell us of this new development, cousin.”

Development. Trust Aurelia to use such a vague term with such meaningfulness.

Aurelia was not like other females, given toward emotion and histrionics. At two and twenty, she was a bookish girl with a stinging wit. She missed her first Season when her father passed away, casting the family into deep mourning. A setback she never seemed to recover from. Now with one Season fully behind her and well into her second, Aunt Peregrine never hesitated to bemoan her only daughter’s unwed status. Aurelia teased that she would reside with Will once he married and produced the requisite heir.

I’ll play doting aunt, she always declared. Will always looked terrified at that announcement. Whether it was the prospect of him marrying and becoming a father or his sister living with him permanently, Dec could only hazard a guess. His cousin grumbled enough at having his mother and sister spend the Season with him. Will would probably thank him the next time he saw him for taking them off his hands and out from beneath his roof for the Season.

Dec seated himself across from them on an overstuffed sofa chair. “It is no more than I said in my letter. Rosalie . . .” He paused and looked at each of them. “Do you recall the girl?”

His aunt’s eyes brightened and she sat straighter. “Was she not Melisande’s child with that dreadful orange hair?”

“Er. Yes.” He didn’t bother adding he thought the color rather pretty. Unique. Then and now.

She sniffed and her shoulders slumped back. “Tell me her hair has faded to a more palatable auburn.”

“Not quite.”

“Well, unfortunate that. Red hair is not the most fashionable. So many fabrics and colors don’t suit.”

Aurelia rolled her eyes and took a sip from her teacup.

He stifled a smile. He was familiar with his aunt’s inane comments and his cousin’s thinly veiled forbearance.

“Yes, well it seems that Rosalie has completed her studies and her mother . . . forgot to collect her.” He didn’t bother adding that she forgot to collect her two years ago.

Aunt Peregrine tsked. “She doubtlessly doesn’t want her. Shame on Melisande. It’s time the girl was ushered into Society properly.”

He shrugged. “That is not my responsibility.”

“Is it not?” his cousin asked, her brown eyes wide over the rim of her cup. “She is your stepsister.”

He glared at Aurelia. “I’m not her father. Or even her brother.”

“But you are the head of her family . . . as far as Society is concerned,” Aurelia replied, unruffled. “That does make you responsible for her, does it not?”

His aunt nodded, her gray-blond curls bobbing. “True. That is true, Declan-dearest. This does cast light upon you.”

He ground his teeth and sent Aurelia a look that clearly did not convey gratitude to her for pointing this nuance out to Aunt Peregrine. “No. I am only responsible for her if I take responsibility.”

Aurelia and Aunt Peregrine stared at him, looking unconvinced.

He stared back, astounded that they should give him such looks. His father had cast him out in favor of Melisande. They could not expect him to go to such lengths for her daughter as though all was well and right between them. “I intend to leave her in the care of her mother once she—”

Aurelia lowered her teacup to its saucer with alacrity. “Well, that might be difficult to do considering she is in Italy with her latest paramour.”

His aunt swatted her daughter’s arm. “Aurelia, where did you hear such a thing? That is far too risqué to fall from your lips.”

Aurelia lifted her chin, looking exasperated. “Mother, you would be surprised how much one hears when they are invisible.”

“You’re not invisible,” Aunt Peregrine objected. “And who said such things in your hearing, I’d like to know?”

“Mother, I’m not a child . . . and to answer you precisely . . . everyone.”

Dec would have smiled over their banter. It usually amused him, however, his cousin’s proclamation was the only thing he could think upon—the only thing he could feel. Like rocks sinking to his stomach. “Melisande is in Italy?”

“Yes,” his aunt admitted, sliding her much aggrieved gaze from her daughter with a sigh. “She departed a week ago with her latest . . . friend. It has caused quite a stir, you see, because the viscount is a good deal younger than she is.”

He grimaced. She always did like them young.

His aunt continued, “Everyone had thought he was shopping for a bride this season, as he is quite destitute, but then your stepmother—”

“I understand,” he broke in, tempering his tone with a smile. He really did not wish to hear of his stepmother’s exploits. “So that leaves me with Rosalie.” He rubbed his forehead. “What am I supposed to do with her?” He lifted his gaze to his aunt and cousin almost pleadingly.

“Oh, we can’t take her. We live with William. That wouldn’t be suitable. And I already have one unwed daughter to contend with.”

Aurelia flinched. It was imperceptible, but Dec noticed it. Aurelia lowered her gaze and took another long sip from her tea.

“No, I should not wish to impose on you,” he murmured, his mind racing, working . . . wondering a little desperately if he could not simply dump a settlement on her and never have to see her again. Much like the arrangement he had with his stepmother.

Melisande received a town house and a settlement upon the death of his father—a settlement that she had obliterated in under a year’s time. She had come to him then, full of tears and pleas. She was penniless, money lenders hunting her down all hours of the day.

She had wept in his drawing room like there was nothing between him. No ugliness. No past. No night ten years ago where his world had died. Jumped off its axis and placed him on the path that led him to where—and who—he was today.

She was going to have to sell the house. She had nowhere to go. She would have to plead with friends to keep her . . . and oh, how ill that would paint him, she pointed out. Her own stepson did not care to support her. Tongues would wag.