“Enough,” she said, her speech emerging too thin and reedy to be heard above the gaiety. “I saidenough!” Her sharp-edged cry ushered in silence.
Fleur whipped her attention to Linnie. “Linnie, he is your brother-in-law, yet you’ll say nothing?”
Linnie’s mouth moved several times.
Fleur felt them exchanging looks. “Is this who you are? Great bullies who mock a gentleman who is not only joined to us through marriage but one whom Brone, Campbell, and Aunt Leslie pushed for a union with.”
When the gentlemen in question averted their eyes, Fleur put her stare right on Meghan. “And need I remind you, Hart didn’t jilt Meghan—”
“Neither did Meghan—”
“Stop.” Fleur glared Dallin into silence. “The duke was willing to marry Meghan, even though Culross abducted her, and yes, I know that. I happen to hear more than you give me credit for.”
Fleur lifted her chin. “I ask, on what grounds do you mock him?” She didn’t give them a chance to answer. She didn’t want to hear from a single one of them. “We call him pompous, why? Because he values his name and honor? That we laugh in the face of scandal somehow makes us better? I ask, how?”
“We don’t laugh…”
Fleur shot her other eldest brother down with a single glance.
Her chest constricted. That uneasy feeling in her belly had returned with a force. “Our absence has certainly been noted. Hen—Hartwell is already fulfilling his end of the deal. I advise you to return and pay him in the same due courtesy.”
Exhausted all the way to her soul, Fleur grabbed the back of the bench. She took a slow breath. “Now, if you’ll all excuse me. I would like a moment alone for a few moments.”
Her family knew her well enough. They promptly bade her goodbye.
Once they had gone, she released the pressure on her shoulders and sagged.
All along, she had pressed Henry, urged him to find peace with her family. Insisted there were no bad intentions from her kin. He had been dubious. He had claimed Fleur’s family thought nothing of making him a fool in front of Polite Society, that the McQuoids only cared about improving their own standing. That they took him for a laughingstock.
She had believed his pride blinded him to who the McQuoids truly were.
And all along, he had been correct.
No wonder he had believed them rude and vulgar.
Fleur’s eyes slid shut.
She had gone her entire life seeing her family through rose-colored lenses. Naïve. Trusting. Trusting that her family was the greatest, most decent, and kindest. When in truth, she had been ignorant of their flaws.
Bile climbed her throat.
Fleur caught herself at the edge of the table. Gasping, she caught a stone urn and only just managed to drag it close when her stomach failed her. Moaning, she collapsed and hung onto the ornate adornment.
Only Cassia would have a planter in a terraced garden without a plant. She had never been more grateful for Cassia being, well, Cassia. Fleur spat several times into the makeshift chamber pot. She hung there several moments, waiting for the queasy sensation to pass.
An apprehensive feeling ran along her back, just a moment before the heavy tread of footfalls registered.
Tiredly, she opened her eyes.
Long, gloved digits dangled a flute of champagne before her.
Henry.
Fleur’s heartbeat raced, and, fatigue forgotten, she lifted her head.
“Lady Fleur.”
“Lord Cassian,” she said blankly. As in Lord Cassian Kilmartin.NotHenry.