A Winter Scandal Read Online Free Page A

Miss Bainbridge.”
    Thea rose on somewhat shaky legs. “My lord.”
    Lord Morecombe turned to her, his eyes moving over her without interest. “Miss Dandridge.” He sketched a polite bow before moving on with Mrs. Cliffe.
    Morecombe’s two companions bowed to her in turn, greeting her by the same name. Thea nodded to them instinctively, not really hearing them, aware of nothing but the hard, cold knot forming in her chest.
    Gabriel Morecombe had not remembered her.

Two
T hea sat back down with a thump as the men walked away.
    “Well, I must say, he’s a handsome one. They didn’t lie about that,” old Mrs. Cliffe said, turning toward Thea. “Are you feeling quite right? You look pale as a sheet.”
    “Yes, I mean, no—I—I’m not sure. If you will excuse me, ma’am, I do think I should leave the room. It’s a trifle warm.”
    Scarcely waiting for Mrs. Cliffe’s response, Thea slipped out the nearest door. A short distance down the corridor, she ducked into a small room, unlit except for the light spilling in from the hallway. She dropped into a chair and leaned back, closing her eyes.
    Gabriel Morecombe had not remembered her. There had been not even the slightest glimmer of recognition in his eyes when he looked at her. She had tried to prepare herself for his reaction, whatever it might be. She had thought he might look at her, unsure, and she had little doubt that he would probably not remember her name. After all, it had been ten years since they had met at the wedding of Lord Fenstone’s eldest daughter. She had even braced herself for the possibility that Lord Morecombe would remember everything, down to the last embarrassing detail, or that, even worse, he might blurt out something about that night. It had been her first ball of any consequence, and while Veronica shone as she always did, Thea had merely watched, hoping and yet dreading that the handsome young lord would take notice of her . In the years since, Thea had often thought of him as one would a fond dream—wistfully and without expectation of seeing it again.
    But while she knew their encounter was for him nothing of consequence, she had not really considered that Lord Morecombe would not have even the smallest recollection of having met her. Danced with her. Kissed her.
    Thea braced her elbows on her knees and buried her face in her hands, humiliation burning through her. The night that she had remembered so well had been such a small thing in his life that it had entirely slipped his mind. She had not expected him to recall it as vividly as she did. After all, he was a sophisticated London bachelor. No doubt since then he had kissed scores of girls—hundreds, even—whereas she … well, that had been the only kiss that the spinster Althea Bainbridge had ever received. But it scalded her that it had been so commonplace, so meaningless, so utterly forgettable that he registered not even the faintest recognition or, at least, some degree of discomfort.
    She leaned back against the chair, and her mind went back to that long-ago evening at Fenstone Park when she had first met Gabriel, Lord Morecombe.
    Thea’s father, Latimer Bainbridge, was cousin to the Earl of Fenstone. Latimer’s father had been the youngest brother of the family, and the Earl’s father, the eldest. Latimer, in turn, was the youngest son of his family and had, in accordance with family tradition, gone into the clergy. He received his living from the Earl, as his son would receive it from the Earl after Latimer’s death. While Thea’s family moved in an entirely different world from the Earl’s, on special occasions, when the entire Bainbridge family gathered for one reason or another at their family seat, Fenstone Park, Latimer and his wife and children were invited.
    One of those occasions was the wedding of the Earl’s oldest daughter ten years ago. Fenstone Park was packed with relatives and friends, so that not only did Thea and her sister, Veronica, share a