Page 136 of Ashen Torment

I pick up the paper with caution, immediately recognizing the masthead, one of those rags that feed on the social corpses of others.

My name is printed in bold.

Dorian’s right beside it.

THE LONDON GAZETTE

OCTOBER 5, 1870

Scandal at Winterbourne: Viscount and Lord Vanish

A dramatic turn of events occurred during the traditional riding party organized by Duke Durant of Winterbourne. Viscount Evander Rochefort and Lord Dorian Vasiliev Ashford disappeared into the woods following a sudden storm, generating panic and murmurs among the participants. Reliable sources report that Viscount Rochefort, quite young and impetuous, had distanced himself from the group before the heavens unleashed their fury. Lord Ashford, known for his ardent temperament and dedication to his peers, reportedly followed him. The two were found hours later inside an isolated shack, drenched and shivering, but fortunately unharmed.

PARTICULAR BEHAVIOR

Witnesses claim that the Viscount, having ridden off earlier, exacerbated the confusion among the horses. Beyond the physical dangers, certain observers could not ignore what they define as unusual gestures from Lord Ashford toward the Viscount.

Whispers among the servants suggest particularly marked attentions, and even the Viscount’s apparent coldness has done little to stifle the rumors. It is noted that the prevailing morality and strict social conventions render any unconventional gesture or attention subject to misunderstanding and scandal. It is not difficult to foresee that, for days to come, the conversations of London’s drawing rooms will revolve around this unsettling affair between the two nobles.

“Well?”

My mother’s face contorts into a strange expression, her hands drumming on the edge of the table.

“Unusual gestures? What are they talking about?”

I place the newspaper on the table.

“Nothing happened, Mother. The horses were spooked during the storm and we remained in the woods under the rain until we found shelter. That is all.”

She rises with a slow movement.

“You distanced yourself beforehand.”

“You know,” I retort, “these types of papers exaggerate the facts.”

“Mademoiselle Agnes,” she cuts in, tilting her head, “said that you left abruptly.”

“I simply wanted to ride,” I say. “It was a riding party, Mother.”

She approaches, the distance between us is reduced to a few steps, her eyes filled with a rage I know all too well.

“You are doing it again, aren’t you?”

“What are you saying?”

“You persist in claiming that which could never belong to you.”

Claiming?

Restraining my anger, I clench my fists behind my back, trying to keep my breathing calm.

“You are mistaken. Nothing happened.”

I look her in the eyes. Eyes that haven’t been misty for a long time now.

“I have never claimed him, I have never wanted him.”

She sneers, curling her lips into a frigid smile. “It is your nature, after all...”