Lady Ines Scandalous Hobby-Chapter 157 - Hundred And Fifty Seven

The morning sun tried to push through the heavy velvet curtains of the Alworth drawing room, but the atmosphere inside was cold as ice. There was no warmth here. There was only the heavy, suffocating silence of a family on the brink of collapse.

Lord Alworth sat in his high-backed armchair. He was usually a calm man, a man who cared about his club and his horses. But today, his face was a deep shade of purple. His hands shook as he held the morning newspaper. The paper crinkled loudly in his grip, the sound like dry bones breaking.

Priscilla stood in the center of the room. She was still wearing the same dress she had been thrown out in. It was wrinkled now, and the hem was stained with mud from her run to the carriage. Her hair was a mess, the expensive pins hanging loosely from her blonde curls. She looked small. She looked terrified.

Her mother, Lady Alworth, sat on the sofa. She was staring at her hands, which were folded tightly in her lap. She refused to look at her daughter.

Lord Alworth read the headline one last time.

THE MADNESS OF LADY P: A DIARY OF OBSESSION.

He let out a roar of pure frustration.

CRASH!

He grabbed the delicate porcelain teacup from the table beside him and hurled it across the room. It hit the fireplace mantle and shattered into a hundred tiny pieces. Hot tea splattered onto the expensive rug, leaving a dark, ugly stain.

Priscilla flinched. She took a step back, her hands flying up to cover her mouth. She had never seen her father this angry. He had never thrown anything in his life.

Lord Alworth stood up. He threw the newspaper onto the coffee table. It landed face up, showing a caricature of Priscilla holding a black book.

"So this is why," Lord Alworth shouted, his voice shaking with rage. "This is why you always asked for more money than usual? This is why you needed extra allowance for ’dresses’ and ’charity’?"

He walked toward her. He pointed a trembling finger at her face.

"You used my money to buy your own ruin!" he yelled. "To ruin someone else’s reputation because you want to covet an engaged man? You hired thugs? You bought forged books? You harassed a Duke?"

Priscilla shook her head frantically. Tears streamed down her face, ruining the makeup she had not washed off from the night before.

"Father, please," she sobbed. "It wasn’t like that. They tricked me. Ines tricked me!"

"Silence!" her father bellowed. "Do not speak that woman’s name. She is going to be a Duchess. And you? You are a laughingstock."

He ran a hand through his graying hair, pacing back and forth on the rug.

"What did I do to deserve this?" he asked the ceiling. "I gave you everything. I gave you the best tutors. I gave you the finest clothes. I introduced you to the best society."

He stopped and looked at her with pure disgust.

"Your name is on every page as a home wrecker," he said, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "The newspaper says you stole personal belongings. It says you wrote letters begging for love. Do you have any idea what the men at my club will say? Do you know what the Queen thinks of us now?"

Priscilla felt like she couldn’t breathe. The walls were closing in on her. She looked to the sofa.

"Mother," Priscilla whispered. "Mother, please. Tell him. Tell him I was just trying to secure a good match."

Lady Alworth slowly lifted her head. Her eyes were red-rimmed. She looked at Priscilla, but there was no comfort in her gaze. There was only deep, crushing disappointment.

Priscilla reached out a hand. "Mama?"

Lady Alworth threw her face away. She turned her head sharply toward the window, refusing to acknowledge her daughter’s plea.

"You have shamed us, Priscilla," Lady Alworth said softly to the windowpane. "You have shamed us all."

Priscilla dropped her hand. She felt a cold chill settle in her bones. She was alone.

Lord Alworth continued, his pacing becoming more agitated.

"Seems I gave you too much freedom," he muttered. "I let you go to parties unchaperoned. I let you choose your own friends. And look where it got us."

He stopped in front of Priscilla again. He crossed his arms over his chest. He looked at her not as a father looks at a child, but as a judge looks at a criminal.

"I have made a decision," he announced.

Priscilla looked up, hope flickering faintly in her chest. Maybe he would just ground her. Maybe he would take away her allowance.

"I will send you to your aunt’s manor," Lord Alworth said. "In the outskirts of London. In Yorkshire."

Priscilla’s eyes widened in horror. "Aunt Margaret? But... but she lives in the middle of nowhere! There is nothing there but sheep and mud!"

"Exactly," her father said coldly. "There is no society. There is no gossip."

He took a step closer, looming over her.

"We will find you a husband there," he declared. "A country squire. Or perhaps a widower who needs a mother for his children. Someone who lives far enough away that he has likely not known you have a scandal."

Priscilla felt her knees go weak.

"A country squire?" she gasped. "But Father... I am meant for the ton. I am meant for London!"

"Not anymore," her father said brutally. "Chances of you being married here are very low now. No gentleman in London will touch you. You are damaged goods, Priscilla. You are the woman who stalked the Duke of Carleton."

Priscilla fell to her knees. She grabbed the hem of her father’s coat.

"Father please," she pleaded, sobbing loudly now. "I don’t want to! I can fix it! I will apologize to the Queen! I will apologize to Ines! Please don’t send me away!"

Her father looked down at her. He pulled his coat out of her grip.

"Apologies?" he scoffed. "Do you think an apology will erase the ink in the newspapers? Do you think the Queen forgets?"

He raised his voice, the anger returning in a fresh wave.

"Why didn’t you think of that before ruining this family’s reputation?" he shouted. "Why didn’t you think of the consequences when you stood in the middle of the Royal Opera House and screamed like a banshee?"

"But I..." Priscilla choked out. "I thought I would win... I thought..."

"You thought only of yourself!" her father interrupted. "And now, you will live with the result."

He walked to the writing desk in the corner of the room. He picked up a piece of paper and a quill.

"I will send a letter to your aunt immediately," he said, his back to her. "Informing her of your arrival so she can make preparations. She is a strict woman. She will not tolerate your tantrums."

He scratched the pen against the paper. The sound was harsh in the quiet room.

"During the days we wait for her feedback," Lord Alworth said, turning his head to look at her over his shoulder, "you are not allowed to leave this house. You are not allowed to leave your room. You will take your meals alone."

He turned fully to face her one last time. His eyes were hard as stone.

"Am I understood?"

Priscilla slumped on the floor. Her violet dress was spread around her like a wilted flower. She looked at the broken teacup. She looked at the stain on the rug. She realized that her life in London was just like that cup—shattered, and impossible to put back together.

She nodded with sobs, her shoulders shaking violently.

"Yes, Father," she whispered.

Lord Alworth nodded once. He didn’t say goodbye. He didn’t offer a comforting hand. He simply walked past her, his boots heavy on the floor. He opened the door and left the drawing room, closing it firmly behind him.

The click of the latch sounded like a prison door locking.

Priscilla stayed on the floor, weeping. She looked up at the sofa.

Her mother was standing up now. Lady Alworth smoothed her skirts. She looked tired.

She looked at her daughter huddled on the floor. For a fleeting second, her expression softened. Her hand twitched, as if she wanted to reach out and brush the hair from Priscilla’s face. It was a look of pity.

But then, Lady Alworth remembered the shame. When she remembered the way the other ladies will look at her, She hesitated, her hand hovering in the air. Then, she dropped it to her side.

She looked at Priscilla one last time.

"You should have been satisfied with what you had," her mother said softly.

Lady Alworth turned and walked to the door. She stepped out into the hallway, leaving Priscilla alone in the silent room, surrounded by the wreckage of her own making. The morning sun continued to shine, but for Priscilla, the long winter had just begun.