The Tutor (House of Lords) by Meg Brooke Page B

I assure you, I am not offended,” Cynthia said, though it was only a half-truth. She wasn’t offended, not really, but she was having a hard time putting her finger on what she was. “What happened was as much my fault as your brother’s. I am quite prepared to forget the whole thing.”
    Lady Imogen frowned. “Might we sit?” she asked. Cynthia nodded and joined her on the sofa. “Miss Endersby—might I call you Cynthia?”
    “Certainly.”
    “Cynthia, then. You must call me Imogen.”
    “As you wish.”
    “My brother is a duke, about to take up a very powerful and visible position. You and I have been seen together about town more than once, and people have already begun to speculate about your connection with our family. After last night’s display, I am afraid that a simple apology will not solve the problem.”
    “Then I will write to your brother and tell him that I can no longer assist him in a professional capacity,” Cynthia said. “I will sever our ties, and soon everyone will have forgotten about it entirely.”
    Imogen bit her lip. “I’m afraid it will not be that simple. Let me be quite plain, Cynthia: by tomorrow, if this story has not died down, it will become a scandal. People will begin to speculate about your relationship with my brother. You will be ruined. And you will no longer be able to do the work you have been doing. Whatever plans you have, whatever you hope to achieve through this enterprise of yours, it will all be lost. I have been in society almost as long as you, and have nothing like your intelligence. If I know this to be true, you must also see it.”
    Cynthia had to admit that she had also reached this conclusion.
    “Then surely you see what must be done as clearly as I,” Imogen said.
    Cynthia shook her head. “It is not possible, Imogen. Even if he should offer for me, I could not in good conscience accept him. I am not...I would not be a good match for him. And I hardly know him.”
    “Well I do, and I have to disagree with you. I think the two of you would do well together. Why shouldn’t you accept him?”
    “I am not of noble birth,” Cynthia argued, grasping at straws.
    “Rubbish,” Imogen said. “No one cares about that sort of thing nowadays.”
    “All the same,” Cynthia said, “I won’t marry him. He doesn’t deserve that.”
    “You mean he doesn’t deserve you,” Imogen said, standing. “I am inclined to agree with you. But I can see we will get nowhere today. Wait until tomorrow. If this breaks the way I expect it will, you may expect my brother by two o’clock. I will see to it myself.”
    Then she swept out, leaving Cynthia speechless in her wake. She sat a few moments longer on the sofa, allowing the conversation to replay itself in her mind. Despite what she had said, she could not really believe that a scandal so great as to force the duke to offer for her could arise from such a little thing. Surely it would blow over by tomorrow, and she would be able to go on as she had been.
    Just as she was about to go back up to the library, Mallory came in. “The Countess of Stowe,” he announced.
    Cynthia almost said she was indisposed, away from home, anything to keep from seeing Clarissa at this exact moment. But then Clarissa herself appeared behind Mallory, looking elegant in a pale blue day dress, her strawberry blond hair dressed to perfection.
    “Close the door, please,” Cynthia said, rather unnecessarily as Mallory was already doing it. The latch clicked and she was alone in the parlor with Clarissa.
    For a moment neither of them said anything. Then Clarissa said, “Let’s sit down.”
    “All right,” Cynthia replied weakly, dropping back onto the sofa. Clarissa joined her.
    There was silence for another long moment. “Until this week, we have not seen each other since the night of my wedding ball,” Clarissa said at last. “It has been almost a year.”
    “Yes.”
    “Yet every moment of the conversation we had that night