Free His Lady Mistress by Elizabeth Rolls Page B

thread and snipped it. She had stood up for Sukey. What if she stood up for herself? Now? What if she refused to be Selina any more?
    She rose and took the mended gown to the armoire. She had become Selina in order to survive. So she would have to make a decision. Survival, or self-respect.
    The next item in her mending pile was a shirt of Godfrey’s. A button had come off. Even after laundering, the shirt still smelt of him, reminding her of what was likely to happen after the conclusion of the house party. Sick fear clenched her stomach. She had thought she had nothing left to lose. Apparently she did: survival, or self-respect. She doubted that she could have both.
     
    Celia came up to change for dinner in a foul temper and Verity learned that Lord Blakehurst had disappeared straight after breakfast and gone riding all day. By himself. Again.
    Stepping out of her afternoon gown, Celia sat down at herdressing table in her chemise and petticoat and said, ‘He was at breakfast, they told me, and then he simply vanished. Oh, and Mama is furious.’ She turned to Verity with a sneer and said, ‘Something to do with you, I believe. You’re for it when she comes up. She said you had tried to intrigue Lord Blakehurst.’
    Fingers suddenly numb, Verity dropped the slipper she had just picked up. Someone had seen them.
    ‘Imagine,’ continued Celia, ‘you! Attempting to intrigue a connoisseur like Blakehurst! They say all his mistresses are stunningly beautiful and that he flaunts them all over London. But it is all of a piece, I dare say. Obviously cowardice runs in your family and now you have attempted to become a whore.’
    Beyond the churning fear something stirred deep inside Verity. Something that had stayed chained for years.
    Celia pouted at her reflection and caught up a handful of hair, twisting it this way and that. ‘I think I shall have a new coiffure tonight. I’m so bored with my old one. See to it, girl.’
    Verity’s self-control shattered into a thousand gleaming, deadly fragments and her temper stepped free. ‘Certainly, cousin,’ she said, sweeping up the sewing scissors on her way to the dressing table. ‘How about this?’ She snatched up a section of hair and slashed with the scissors. ‘And this!’ Another bunch of curls joined their fellows on the floor.
    Celia’s shrieks and screams, as she clutched the shorn patches by her left temple and ear, had their inevitable aftermath.
    Verity turned calmly enough as Lady Faringdon rushed in. Her ladyship took one look at the ruin of Celia’s hair and rounded on her niece. ‘Get out,’ she shouted. ‘Return to your room. I’ll see to you in the morning, after I bid farewell to Lord Blakehurst.’
    Verity drew in a horrified breath which her aunt observed.
    ‘Yes, that’s right. He’s leaving. Did you think that you hadcaught his attention? No doubt your attempt to insinuate yourself into his notice has disgusted him. Now go!’
    Refusing to be cowed, Verity said cheerfully, ‘Goodnight, Aunt, Cousin. I dare say one of the maids can brush your hair before bed, now that I’ve lightened the task for her. Enjoy your evening.’
    Tearing herself from her mama’s enveloping bosom, Celia leapt at her with a shriek of rage, but Verity stood her ground with a little smile and lifted the scissors again. ‘Do you want me to even it up a trifle, Celia?’
    Celia shrank back. ‘Mama! She threatened me!’
    ‘Yes, well,’ said Verity, ‘after all, what else could you expect of a coward and a whore?’ She dropped the scissors and stalked out, slamming the door.
     
    She barely remembered reaching her chamber. Vaguely she noticed several guests appear from their rooms, excitedly wondering what all the commotion was about. One or two even asked if she knew, but she was too shocked at the enormity of what she had done to respond.
    Eventually she lay on her narrow bed, staring into the darkness, trying to hold back despair. There was no time to think