How to Catch a Sinful Marquess - Amy Rose Bennett Page 0,133
when she took in the nature of the scattered sketches. “What. Are. Those?” she demanded in a shaking voice. When no one responded, she raised a quivering hand to her equally quivering jowls. “And what have you all been drinking? Brandy? Is that brandy I see in your cups? And what’s that other bottle on the bed?”
“Port,” replied Charlie without batting an eyelid. She started to add, “They’re for medicinal pur—” but Mrs. Rathbone jabbed a finger in her direction.
“Not another word out of you, Lady Charlotte.” The headmistress all but charged across the room and snatched up both bottles. Although her expression still bordered on furious, Sophie thought she detected a covetous glimmer in the woman’s eyes. “This behavior is outrageous,” she continued as she tucked both bottles into the crook of one arm. “Beyond the pale. Smoking? Imbibing alcohol? Studying lewd material? And all in the middle of the night! I can scarcely believe it. In all my years as the headmistress of this establishment, I have never, ever encountered such shocking conduct from young ladies. You should all be ashamed of yourselves. Just wait till the school’s patrons and your parents hear about it!”
Charlie inclined her head. “Yes, it is shameful,” she agreed in a contrite tone that almost sounded sincere to Sophie’s ears. “And although you forbade me to speak, Mrs. Rathbone, I feel compelled to confess that everything you see on the bed—the books, the sketches, the cheroot cigars—and the bottles of port and brandy, all of it belongs to me. I alone bear the blame. Miss Brightwell, Miss Jardine, and Miss de Vere are innocent of any wrongdoing.”
Mrs. Rathbone narrowed her eyes. “Yet all of these proscribed items are in Miss Brightwell’s and Miss de Vere’s bedchamber. And”—her gaze darted about the room—“I spy four teacups of brandy.” She gave an inelegant sniff and looked down her flushed nose at them all. “As far as I can see, each one of you is guilty of unladylike conduct in the extreme and, subsequently, you are not fit to remain within this academy’s walls. In the morning, I shall send word to your families and begin the process of having you all expelled.”
Arabella sucked in a startled breath, Olivia wrung her hands, and Sophie felt as though a massive weight had just crushed her chest, driving all the air from her lungs. Oh, dear God, no. This can’t be happening. What would her family say? Her mother? Her stepfather?
The ton?
But it was happening. Even Charlie’s face was ashen.
As Sophie struggled to drag in enough air to breathe, Mrs. Rathbone issued instructions to Charlie and Arabella to gather up all of the offending items off the bed, and Olivia was ordered to tip the contents of the teacups out of the window into the frosty garden bed below.
“I’m sorry,” mouthed Charlie as she picked up her bandbox and followed a tearful Arabella and a righteously indignant Rathbone out of the room.
As soon as the door clicked shut, Sophie sank onto her bed and hugged a pillow against her chest. Hot tears of mortification and despair scalded her eyelids.
There was sure to be a scandal of monumental proportions. Thrown out of a young ladies’ academy. Her reputation and that of all of her friends would be ruined. There would be no invitations to Almack’s. No invitations to anywhere at all. Only stares and whispers, closed doors and censure wherever she went.
Her parents would be livid, her younger sisters heartbroken.
She was only eighteen, but she would be forever branded as a woman of loose character and questionable morals. A hussy.
A slut.
Sophie swallowed, attempting to dislodge the gathering ache in her throat. How on earth was she to meet her love match now? She’d never make a socially and financially advantageous union as her family had hoped she would; indeed, without such a marriage, there was a very real chance her stepfather might lose Nettlefield Grange and the accompanying estate. How shocking that her dreams and her family’s livelihood could be crushed to dust because of her folly.
The weight on her chest was back, and her heart felt as though it might crack beneath the strain.
“Do . . . do you think there’s any chance Rathbone m-might try to hush things up? To preserve her own and the school’s reputation?” murmured Olivia in a voice husky with tears.
Sophie dashed away her own tears with shaking fingers. “I expect she might try to, but word is bound to get out. Who doesn’t love a juicy piece of gossip? And besides Charlie, none of us has any social connections that would hold sway with Rathbone. I really don’t think there is anything we can do to stop our expulsion.”
Olivia’s eyes glimmered with fresh tears. “We’ll be socially destroyed then.”
Sophie’s heart broke just that little bit more at witnessing her sweet friend’s distress. She cast aside her pillow and crossed to the other bed. “Yes, Olivia,” she whispered as she enveloped the trembling girl in a hug. “I’m afraid we will.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Amy Rose Bennett has wanted to be a writer for as long as she can remember. As she is an avid reader with a particular love for historical romance, it seemed only natural to write stories in her favorite genre. She has a passion for creating emotion-packed--and sometimes a little racy--stories set in the Georgian and Regency periods. Of course, her strong-willed heroines and rakish heroes always find their happily ever after.
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