“He was engaged to Tilly Drayton? Lord Stanhope?”
Rose’s hand dropped before it made contact with the wood. Her breathing stilled, and her heart began to beat fast. Another voice answered.
“Shhhh…” it admonished. Then, “Not formally engaged, but everyone knew they had an understanding. It was just a case of waiting for the announcement. And then, all of a sudden, it was announced he’d married her, a girl not even out yet!”
“Perhaps he realised he wasn’t in love with Mrs. Drayton after all,” the other voice suggested in a wistful tone.
“No, it wasn’t that.” That assurance came promptly, smug with knowledge.
“How do you know?”
“Well—” The second voice grew confiding, promising a delicious revelation. “It was a very good friend of Tilly Drayton herself that told me—now, Martha, you mustn’t ever tell anyone this—”
“Of course I won’t!”
“I mean it, Martha. My friend was sworn to secrecy by Tilly Drayton.” She paused while the other muttered assurances before she carried on, her voice more hushed now. “Well, apparently, Stanhope had to marry Lady Stanhope—something to do with debts—and he was distraught about it. Told Tilly his wife-to-be was hideous or something and how he could never love anyone but Tilly—”
“She’s hardly hideous!”
“Not now, but apparently she used to look very different. And that’s something I’ve heard from quite a few people…”
The sound of one of the speakers moving in the withdrawing room, skirts swishing, footsteps falling, broke Rose’s frozen concentration. She stepped back, tiptoeing halfway down the corridor before turning back and walking forward again, making her approach audible this time. By the time she entered the withdrawing room, the two ladies were chatting about their children. They looked up and greeted her, one’s cheeks a little pink with embarrassment. Rose forced herself to converse pleasantly with them for a few minutes until she was quite sure they believed she’d overheard nothing.
When she returned to the main drawing room, she felt oddly dazed. She accepted yet more tea and joined a conversation about bonnets, in a desultory way. She was aware of Gil on the other side of the room, talking to two older gentlemen and sending her concerned glances. Later, she noticed Tilly Drayton approaching him and, helplessly, her gaze was drawn to the two of them, again and again. They talked for a long time, and Gil smiled fondly at his old love as she twinkled charmingly up at him. They looked well-suited, everything between them easy and familiar and amiable.
Tilly Drayton. Gil’s lost love. Sweet, beautiful and biddable.
No wonder he’d hated Rose. No wonder he’d resented marrying her so very, very much.
It was another full hour before they were finally able to depart, and by the time Rose climbed into the carriage, she felt utterly exhausted. As soon as the door closed, she let her head fall back against the leather upholstery and closed her eyes. Her face ached with the effort of maintaining her social smile, and a dull, insistent headache had settled behind her eyes.
It wasn’t just physical tiredness, though. She felt thoroughly down.
It was unlike her to be like this. Even at her worst moments, she’d never felt quite so bleak. But tonight had been singularly awful. First her argument with Gil, then Mrs. Hornby, and finally her discovery about Mrs. Drayton. And underneath all that was a roiling, resentful anger against Gil. That he had agreed to marry her and then abandoned her; that he had made her an object of gossip and pity. Those women had known everything: that he hadn’t wanted to marry her; that he’d been forced to. It seemed that everyone had known except Rose herself.
He’d even told Tilly how ugly Rose had been.
She should hate him. She really should. But all she felt was wounded, and the only person she hated was herself. Five years ago, she’d been weak and timid and silent. She’d had doubts, but she’d married him anyway, and then she’d let him walk away and leave her. And when she’d finally worked up the courage to face up to him? She’d lied about who she was.
Her gaze flicked to the other side of the carriage. Gil was watching her with a troubled expression.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“I have the headache,” she muttered. She could see that her words did not reassure him. But then, they were not meant to. They were only intended to stop the conversation. If he forced her to speak, she didn’t think she’d be able to control herself. All of her jumbled, anguished thoughts would come spilling out of her.
They accomplished the rest of the journey back to Stanhope House in silence.