The Black Widow by Charlotte Louise Dolan

point. “I noticed you were with Lord Thorverton last night.”
    Somehow Meribe was not at all surprised that his name had come up—in fact, she had been expecting it ever since Lady Hazelmore had entered the room. “Yes,” she said briefly. She had never before taken anyone in instant dislike, but she now had a strong premonition that this woman was not here to offer her friendship—that Lady Hazelmore had some ulterior motive for her visit.
    “I felt it was my Christian duty to come and warn you.” Lady Hazelmore smiled, but Meribe could see neither good humor nor kindness in the smile.
    “There is no need to warn anyone,” Meribe said rather sharply. “Lord Thorverton is well aware of the rumors connected with my name.”
    “No, no, my dear, I was not thinking of that. Knowing how you have suffered from your terrible affliction ...”
    Meribe felt herself stiffen, and she began to hate the other woman for her casual remarks, whose cruelty was scarcely concealed by the smiles that accompanied them.
    “... and knowing what scandalous gossip has already been spread far and wide about your, uh, misfortunes, shall we say?” She smiled sweetly, revealing matching dimples. “I felt it was no less than my duty to come here and warn you, lest you suffer even more on my account. I should feel forever guilty if I caused you even a second of additional pain. You see ... Demetrius and I ... How shall I say this?”
    Meribe suspected that Lady Hazelmore knew exactly how she was going to say whatever spiteful words she had come prepared to spill out. More than likely she had practiced each little hesitation, each falsely sweet smile in front of the mirror.
    “I have known Demetrius since I was quite young. We were, in fact, childhood sweethearts, and everyone knew that someday we would marry.”
    She paused, watching Meribe out of the corner of her eye to see what effect her words were having, but Meribe managed—she hoped—to keep her smile bland. “How nice,” she murmured, not wishing to let this woman know exactly how much pain her words were causing.
    “Three years ago, we became formally betrothed, and dear Demetrius swore that he would love me forever. Indeed, I thought at the time that I loved him also.” She dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief, but Meribe could see no sign of tears.
    “But alas, I was young and did not know my own heart. I certainly did not plan to fall in love with Hazelmore, but he was so persistent, and I could not resist his entreaties. A week before I was to have wedded dearest Demetrius, I eloped with Hazelmore to the Continent.”
    Meribe stared in astonishment. “You jilted Lord Thorverton?”
    “Oh, you must not think badly of me,” Lady Hazel-more cried out, affecting deep distress. “I was quite young and so much in love, I could see no other way out. I did not wish to break Demetrius’s heart, but how could I marry him when my own heart was given to another?”
    “You could have simply asked him to release you from the betrothal,” Meribe said.
    “I was not brave enough to face him,” Lady Hazel-more said, again dabbing at her eyes. “I could not bear to see his grief. I was so young, barely eighteen, and since I had ceased to love him, somehow it seemed as if he must also have stopped loving me. If I had known I was breaking his heart—alas, I do not know what I would have done, for Hazelmore threatened to kill himself if I wedded another. As it was, we were forced to flee to France, lest Demetrius challenge my dearest Hazelmore to a duel. He is a deadly shot, you know—Demetrius, that is. But Hazelmore is more adept with a clever rhyme.”
    How ridiculously dramatic this foolish woman is, Meribe thought. It amazed her that anyone could be so silly and yet take herself so seriously.
    “It was only later that I realized I had broken dear Demetrius’s heart, but by then there was nothing I could do to ease his pain. I returned from France to discover that he had