Deceiving the Viscount

Chapter 8A

Mrs Brookfield waved it away. "This is the least I can do causing this mess in the first place." She bent down to inspect the dampened fabric when the housemaid held it up for her to see. "Yes, I think that's quite enough. Thank you."

Julia came to her feet. Despite her personal belief of not trusting a handsome face — in a man or a woman — something about Mrs Brookfield inspired a different sort of sentiment she didn't feel for most of the aristocracy.

Maybe it was the way the woman had saved her from a near fainting spell and making a spectacle of herself.

Or maybe it was the way she had so decisively rendered assistance.

Whatever the cause may be, Julia felt absolutely safe in the company of the older woman. That was probably what led her to bound forward and loop her hand through the crook of Mrs Brookfield with a familiarity usually reserved for a long-standing friend, a winning smile on a face. "Come, Mrs Brookfield. Shall we take some air together? It has been quite stifling in the ballrooms tonight."

They wove through the crowd silently until they made it out into the small garden at the back of the building. "Ah!" She let out a loud, contented sigh, seemingly uncaring about the looks she drew from the couples who were milling about. "It is so much better out here than inside." She turned to look at Frederica, a glint in her sky blue eyes. "Don't you agree?"

Frederica nodded. "Certainly." Somehow her warring thoughts never made it to her face for Miss Marlowe's smile didn't dim. Frederica made herself return the smile. "Yes, it really was quite terrible inside." She broke the eye contact and glanced about her. "I never knew there was a garden here in Almack's."

"Not many people are aware." Frederica heard the shrug in the other woman's voice. "After all, the entire purpose of being at Almack's is to be inside where the beau monde is, and displaying oneself to the Marriage Mart. Not outside."

Frederica felt a genuine smile tug at the corners of her mouth. She sounded so much like Adelaide who'd echoed similar thoughts on countless occasions, something they shared in common. Before Adelaide found a man who loved and accepted her for who she was. "Displaying oneself indeed." She looked back at Miss Marlowe. "You do not sound as if you relish the thought."

"Do you?"

The gears in her mind whirled. Dare she allow this true aspect of her belief to come to light in this false friendship? Would it help matters? Or would it result in only more pain at the end?

Before she could decide on a reply, Miss Marlowe said, "I feel as if I have a confidante in you, Mrs Brookfield. And I certainly hope you feel the same as well, or this friendship would be doomed."

Frederica didn't want to be anyone's confidante. It was bad enough she was deceiving the upper echelons of British society. But to actively insinuate herself into the life of another, form emotional bonds and have to witness the betrayal afterwards...it was a crime...nay, an atrocity she was committing. But how was she to deflect this innocent request without raising any suspicions? There was no way about it. So she ignored the growing guilt and nodded, "Yes, I feel the same, Miss Marlowe."

The girl clapped her hands in delight. "Wonderful! I'm so pleased you feel that way too." She chewed on her bottom lip. "It is so terribly difficult to forge genuine friendships." She lowered her voice and Frederica found herself leaning forward. "Half of them see you as their rivals on the Marriage Mart and would likely do whatever it took to land a wealthy, titled husband while the other half want you because they will get something in return from owning your person."

The sheer misery she heard in Miss Marlowe's voice tugged on her heartstrings. She'd been extremely fortunate that Adelaide and her had found one another two Seasons ago. Together, they'd navigated the treacherous waters of a London Season, were each other's buffers against gossip, each other's buoys when the tedium of it all became too much. Otherwise, she'd probably end up as dejected as Miss Marlowe here.