But it was all different when the tempest resulted from a decision she had made; after all, she had suggested Thorn keep Rose hidden away. The dower house had been her idea. She felt paralyzed, as if she had somehow found herself on a public stage without being told her lines.
“You invited me and my daughter here under a pretense!” Lady Rainsford screeched. “Had I not uncovered your shame, my daughter might have married you and been ruined—utterly ruined. How long did you think to disguise the presence of your by-blow?”
“I am not Rose’s father,” Thorn stated. The look in his eyes made India shiver.
Lady Rainsford seemed unaffected. “Poppycock! She was tucked away in a separate house, just as my maid informed me this morning. I could scarcely believe it myself, but here she is. If this child of shame were truly your ward, there would be no need to conceal her existence. I think we can all agree to that!”
India felt another pulse of guilt; she should have guessed that Lady Rainsford would employ her maid as a spy. Then she felt Rose’s thin shoulders trembling under her hands, and her guilt was replaced by outrage.
How dare the woman say such things in front of a child? She was despicable. She had to be silenced.
Lady Rainsford moved to a new target, the Duke of Villiers. “And you! I suppose you were applauding your son’s attempt to dupe those of us who take marriage vows seriously. Is Christian morality a mere jest to you, Your Grace?” The last two words were not meant as a title of respect.
The duke didn’t speak, but his expression was terrifying. He stepped forward, and India could tell that his intervention would only make the situation worse.
“This has nothing to do with Mr. Dautry,” she cried, cutting off Villiers before he could reply or, worse, throw Lady Rainsford into the nearest hedge. The duke ignored her, moving forward like a predator.
Lady Rainsford merely snorted, her eyes returning to the little girl trembling under India’s fingers. “She’s the image of her father, and I don’t mean that as a compliment.”
Utter fury ripped up India’s spine. “You are a vile woman,” she snapped, “as are your disgraceful allegations. Rose is my daughter, and no concern of yours!”
She scarcely believed that she had blurted out those words, even as they came from her mouth. But silence fell.
Blessedly, silence fell.
Lady Rainsford’s expression was incredulous. “She is your child?”
India drew a deep, stunned breath. There was no turning back now. “Yes,” she said defiantly. “Mine. You should cease your unpleasant insinuations, Lady Rainsford. Mr. Dautry is innocent of your charges.” She pulled Rose even closer.
“I always knew you were no better than you should be!” the lady said, her mouth twisting with distaste. “People driveled on about how wonderful you were, but there were those of us who knew that only a light-skirt would accept money from a man. The way you moved from household to household, I wonder if you even know the father’s name!”
Her words struck with the bitterness of a poisoned dagger. In that instant, India grasped what her hasty remark would mean for herself, for her own reputation. Her heart dropped to her feet. Would she never learn to think before she spoke?
Thorn took a step toward Lady Rainsford, the rage in his eyes controlled but savage. “I want you out of my house within the hour.”
“I surmise that you are indeed the father,” the lady snapped, “since you protect this fallen woman!”
With one impulsive comment, India had destroyed years of guarding her reputation. Lady Rainsford would spread her malice across all London. Thank goodness, Adelaide had retired to her room for a rest. Not that it mattered.
She was ruined. Utterly ruined.
She swallowed hard; it felt as if a giant hand had just squeezed her heart. Any chance she had of making a life with Thorn was over. He, more than anyone, couldn’t marry a ruined woman; their children would be pariahs after Lady Rainsford spread her malicious story.
But suddenly, unexpectedly, Vander, who had been standing silently beside her, wrapped his right arm around her shoulder. “Lady Rainsford,” he said in the frosty voice of an insulted nobleman, “I should be very careful about what you say next. You are speaking about my wife.”
India started, but Vander tightened his arm in a silent warning.
“Rose is my daughter,” he continued, his voice dropping into the register of a civilized but homicidal maniac. “We have chosen not to reveal our marriage because of my father’s unfortunate circumstance.”
His large body warmed India’s back, for all the world as if they were truly a family. Her mind whirling, India numbly registered that the Duke of Pindar’s confinement owing to insanity was scarcely a plausible reason for a clandestine marriage.
But Vander hadn’t finished. “If you again insult my wife—the woman who will someday be the Duchess of Pindar—I will have you thrown out of society, Lady Rainsford. Do not doubt it.”
Another stunned silence shuddered through the air.
“I am finding this so enjoyable,” the Duke of Villiers said, his smoky voice completely unamused. “All this drama, and we weren’t even charged admission. Surely, this is my cue? Lady Rainsford, I see no reason to wait for a further insult. I intend to make certain that you are never invited to another event in the rest of your natural life. I believe that it will be one of the few good deeds I’ve done in a misspent life.”
Lady Rainsford took in a harsh breath. Her eyes popped out a little so she looked like an angry frog as she looked from Vander, to the duke, to Rose. Finally back to India, standing in the shelter of Vander’s arm. “I don’t believe it!” she shrilled. She was clearly too beside herself to consider her family’s place in society.
“I will hardly produce my marriage lines for one such as you,” Vander said with contempt.
Faced by the united front of two ducal families—and the prospect that she had grievously insulted the future Duchess of Pindar—Lady Rainsford exhibited a fledgling instinct for self-preservation and commenced a babbling apology.
A moment later she faltered to a halt, confronted with five pairs of icy-cold, unsympathetic eyes.
Eleanor stepped forward, taking advantage of her silence. “Lady Rainsford,” she said, her tone grimmer than India had ever heard it. “You will no longer be welcome at any event at which you might reasonably expect a member of the family of the Duke of Villiers or of the Duke of Pindar to appear.”
Lady Rainsford opened her mouth, but Eleanor held up her hand. “If the slightest rumor ever emerges regarding Lady Xenobia or Miss Rose—as well as your vile and sordid accusations—we will not only put it about that you are stark raving mad, Lady Rainsford, but I will also allow my husband to wreck havoc on your finances. You and your husband will retire to the country in abject poverty. Your maid will do no more spying, because you will not be able to afford her. Have I made myself absolutely clear?”
“Yes,” Lady Rainsford said, with an audible gulp.
“You forgot ‘Your Grace,’ ” Villiers stated, his voice a cutting blade that made it clear that the woman should address his wife as would a servant, not an equal.
“I think . . . I think I shall look for my daughter.” Lady Rainsford scurried up the stairs and back into the house without another word.