Page 8 of To Dance with a Devil

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19th September 1814. Holbrooke House, Sussex.

Bonnie fought for calm, fought not to cry as her friends chattered around her. She kept her eyes closed and pretended to sleep while focusing her entire being on keeping the tears at bay.

It was the afternoon after the engagement ball, and they all lounged on an elegant terrace overlooking Holbrooke House’s splendid gardens. The girls were discussing love and childhood sweethearts, and the likelihood of the remaining unwed ladies finding anything like the marital bliss beckoning Harriet and Jasper.

“What do you hope for?” Matilda asked Ruth, and Bonnie tried not to listen, or to think, or to do anything other than exist.

She wished she could pack her feelings up in a box and bury them deep underground where they would no longer trouble her or anyone else.

“I hope to please my father and make him proud by marrying a titled man, to elevate the family as he dreams I will,” Ruth said, sensible as ever. “I hope that man and I can be friends and allies and that we can make each other comfortable and perhaps even content. I hope to have children to love and a household to run and a position of respect and security. That is what I hope for. What about you?”

“I hope I can be satisfied with everything you just said,” Matilda replied with a short, humourless laugh. “For I know it is also everything I should wish for, and it ought to be more than enough, more than I have a right to expect in my circumstances.”

“It isn’t what you want at heart though, is it?”

Bonnie could hear the understanding in Ruth’s voice and her temper flared. Damn them for their good sense, for playing by the rules when the rules were unfair and unkind and the world about them was expressly designed for men, by men.

“Of course it isn’t!”

Ruth and Matilda both looked up in surprise at Bonnie’s outburst.

“How can either of you hope to be merely comfortable or content?” she demanded, too much emotion evident in her voice as she struggled to keep the tears back. “Perhaps that is the best reality will give us, but surely to goodness you hope for more than that? Don’t you hope and dream and wish for love and happiness and a life that’s full of all of those things, a life worth living, a life that touches others and leaves them changed by it?”

Matilda stared at her for a moment and then reached out and took Bonnie’s hand, squeezing it tight.

“Yes,” she said, holding on tight, the truth of her answer shining in her eyes. “Yes, I do. Of course I do.”

“Me too,” Ruth admitted, reaching out and taking Bonnie’s other hand. “Though I am well aware it’s a forlorn hope, I have to admit I do still dream of it.”

“And me.” Minerva got to her feet, put her arms about Bonnie, and kissed her cheek. “I dream of impossible things all the time, every day, and I shan’t stop, though no doubt that makes me a fool.”

“Not a fool,” Bonnie said, more touched than she could say for the way they rallied to her. They didn’t know what she’d done or why she was upset, but that didn’t matter. They were here, they cared. That meant more than she could ever explain to them. “It makes you alive, and I refuse to live as though I’ve one foot in the grave. Not yet, at least. I’ll not give in yet.”

Of all the things life had given her and taken from her, she was most grateful for these women. She knew they would not condemn her for what she’d done last night. Oh, they’d be dreadfully shocked and think her a reckless fool, no doubt—and rightly so, she supposed—but they’d not shun her or call her a slut. She wondered if she was a slut. The world would think her so, she knew that much, but the world had always been out of step with her, or she with it. She belonged nowhere, had never been wanted anywhere, and so it was second nature to wait for rejection. It wasn’t a matter of why, only when, because it always happened. For just a short time last night, she had belonged. She had belonged to Jerome, had found her place in his arms, and it had been every bit as perfect as she’d known it would be.

Until it was over, of course, but it was always going to be that way. She’d known it and had accepted it.

It was just as she’d imagined, watching the worry grow in his blue eyes as he realised what he’d done. She might have laughed at the predictability of it all, had she not been so heartbroken. Well, what was done was done. There was no point crying about it. He’d given her what she’d wanted, one night with him, one shining moment to remember a time when she’d lived for herself and her own dreams and no one could stop her. Ah, well. That was something. It was more than many could claim.

She looked up then and her poor abused heart constricted as she saw Jerome walking in the gardens with his brother and Harriet. St Clair looked stern, and she suspected Jerome had recently been on the receiving end of a lecture. Well, she knew the fact she’d come down to breakfast with short hair, when she’d gone to bed with acres of the stuff, had caused talk. No doubt St Clair was suspicious. She’d told them she’d cut it on a whim that morning, but she doubted they believed her. Oh, she would come clean to the girls later—she had to if she wanted to tell them she’d achieved her dare—but not while they were still at Holbrooke. She didn’t want any of them scolding Jerome on her behalf. It looked as if St Clair had that well in hand in any case.

The ladies drifted away, some of them electing to go for a walk whilst others sought the cool of the house and a quiet corner in which to read. Bonnie stayed where she was. She didn’t want company, didn’t want to talk, only to reflect on what had happened last night and how she would bear it when Gordon Anderson came for her and hauled her back to Scotland. She’d likely never see Jerome again. The nearest she’d get would be reading the scandal sheets and hearing about his exploits. No doubt one day she’d read the announcement of his marriage to some fine lady of the ton, perhaps Lady Helena. It was clear Lady St Clair favoured her.

Bonnie’s chest grew tight, and she squeezed her eyes shut, willing the tears back.

Whatever happened, she’d not marry Gordon Anderson. She’d go away if Morven wanted her to, which was likely once she told them what she’d done. Not that she’d mention Jerome by name, only that she’d fallen in love with a man who couldn’t marry her, and that she was damaged goods.

“Bonnie.”

She opened her eyes with a start, her heart thudding as Jerome’s voice filtered through her agitated mind.

“What do you want?” she said, knowing she sounded unwelcoming and wary, but she didn’t want to see him now.

Oh, what a ridiculous lie that was! Of course she wanted to see him. She wanted to wrap herself around him and cling like a limpet, never letting go, but that was out of the question. The only way she’d keep her pride and her sanity intact was by keeping her distance. Part of her wished Anderson would come for her now and get it over with. At least while she was rowing with him her other troubles would not be in the forefront of her mind—for they couldn’t be in a room together without Bonnie plotting the brute’s murder.

“We need to talk,” Jerome said, his expression serious.