Chapter 143 - Hundred And Forty Three
George sat on the park bench, the crumpled, hateful pamphlet still clutched in his hand. The sun was warm on his face, a stark contrast to the cold, sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. He had tried to tune out the whispers of the people around him, but it was impossible. The city was a hornet’s nest, and the pamphlet was the stone that had been thrown into it.
A well-dressed couple, the woman’s hand resting on the man’s arm in a clear display of courtship, passed by his bench. They both held copies of the pamphlet.
"And I thought she was such a well-coordinated, respectable young woman when I saw her at the Grayson’s ball last season," the woman said, her voice full of a disappointed disapproval.
The man beside her let out a cynical scoff. "Who cares about respectability? She is a beautiful woman, and beautiful women like her are often trouble. She is just a witch who knows how to use her face to get what she wants."
Further down the path, two men in their nice coats were discussing the matter with a more heated tone.
"She is certainly pretty, I will give her that," one said with a sly, lecherous smile. "And men will always go for a pretty face. I certainly would not be an exception if she looked my way."
The other man replied with a look of stern, moralistic disgust. "Have some self-respect, my man. I would never go near a woman like that. She has no honor, no loyalty. She is poison."
Two older women, their faces hidden by the shade of their elegant parasols, walked by, their voices a low, gossipy murmur.
"The ex-fiancé must be in such a state of shock right now," one of them said, shaking her head sadly. "The poor man. He had to stand by and watch a more powerful, more wealthy man just take his woman away from him. It is a terrible shame."
"It is a shame for the Carsons, is what it is," the other woman replied, her voice sharp. "Maybe she will get kicked out of the family now that this is public. This is a terrible stain on the reputation of such a prestigious family."
George tried to tune them out, to stop listening to the whispers that were dissecting his life, his failure, his shame. He closed his eyes, but it was no use.
From just behind him, he could hear the light, soft voices of a group of young ladies who had gathered on the grass.
"Isn’t this story about Lord George Pembroke?" one of them asked, her voice full of a breathless excitement.