Carla did not let go of Bianca until she was certain it was alright to do so —several minutes later. Bianca immediately turned from her, silently dismissing her with her action, yet she couldn't bring herself to turn away. There was something about Bianca's sadness that tugged on the strings of Carla's heart, something that made her feel sorry for her sister.

Their relationship had never really been an actual relationship for her mother had made certain to keep them apart since they were little. Then, as Carla began to grow, she had been made to see Bianca as a rival, for it was Bianca's husband that was to inherit their father's wealth and title. Bianca would have everything —a wealthy husband and the title of a duchess— while Carla would be forced to find herself a man worthy enough to wed her. And for many months, she tried. The second she became old enough to attend balls, Carla sought tirelessly to find a husband —none of whose wealth could have scratched the surface of her father's. The realisation brought even more resentment to her heart toward her sister, for while she laboured to secure a future for herself, Bianca's future was already secured; it didn't matter who Bianca married, she would be the duchess of Leeds.

Until Race.

Carla should have turned Race's marriage proposal down, but her mother talked her into an even more sinister plan; pair Race with Bianca. It was her mother's idea that a they be married for a bastard could never be a duke.

Still, the idea might have come from their mother, but it was Carla who wrote the deceptive letter addressed to Race, informing him of her agreement to his proposal and her presence in his manor. It was Carla who convinced Bianca to deliver the letter to Race in Bath, unknowingly walking into a trap. It didn't matter that Carla hadn't expected the two to engage the shameful act that led to their forced marriage, Bianca's simple presence in Race's home without a chaperone would have sent the same message across, whether or not she and Race had indeed spent the night together. It was a complicated case of mistaken identity that Carla had propagated.

It was all her fault. Everything that happened —Bianca's forced marriage and her getting raped that evening because Carla and Race were at a ball together— was all Carla's fault, and because of her selfishness, her sister was not only almost killed, she was shamed before all of society.

Slowly, Carla turned around, the weight of her actions settling on her shoulders. It was an odd feeling of remorse, one compelled by the mere thought of losing the only family member she had left.

She sat in the drawing room the entire morning, going up to Bianca's room once it was time for luncheon, and being denied entrance. Knowing fully well that she couldn't blame her sister for her hatred, she decided to take a walk to clear her mind. She gathered her parasol and a light scarf to drape over her shoulders, before making her way out of the front door, her eyes immediately coming to rest on the carriage.

“Race?” She covered the distance between herself and the carriage, coming to a halt as he climbed down.

A small frown creased his face at the sight of her and she immediately knew he was displeased to see her. She knew she couldn't blame him, for after all she had done, it made sense that he would want nothing to do with her.

“Lady Carla.” He dipped his head slightly.

“May I please have a word, Mr. Belington?”

His frown deepened. “Is something wrong with Bianca?” He glanced up at the building, before turning back to her with question in his eyes.

“It is about her I must seek your audience, but I fear we cannot talk inside or we shall risk being overheard.”

The frown on his face maintained its position, suspicion clouding his eyes. “Perhaps I must decline, my lady? Bianca has been unwell all morning and I have spent more than enough time away from her.”

“Please,” Stepping forward, she placed a pleading hand on his right forearm. He glanced down at her hand that rested on his arm, before turning back to her, this time, with a guarded look in his eyes.

Carla suddenly felt embarrassed, the image of his lips pressed to hers bombarding her mind. Her hand on his arm must have reminded him of the shameful kiss as well, and even as she stood before him, she knew she regretted it. She had kissed him for the sole purpose of slighting her sister.

Letting her hand fall to her side, she cleared her throat. “It is important we speak in private.”

He watched her for several seconds, uncertainty creasing his features. Nodding slowly, “Where do you suggest we talk?”

“I was going for a walk. Perhaps you would like to come along with me?”

“Very well.”

A soft sigh of relief escaped her lips. Nodding in gratitude, she tucked her hand in the crook of his arm and allowed him led her down the path out of the estate, her free right hand clutching the parasol.

They walked silently through the streets, Carla doing everything within her power to keep up with Race's long strides. Most likely becoming aware of her struggles, he slowed down after a few minutes, but it was hardly enough for her to keep up with him.

Race Belington was no gentleman, for he was certainly not a man raised among the ton. He barely knew how to hold his own in social gatherings, barely dressed formerly, had terrible table manners, and certainly had no idea how to match a lady's pace while walking with her along the streets. But he was a good man, and while Carla felt remorseful for deceiving her sister and helping to entrap her in a marriage to him, she was thankful he wasn't a monster. She was thankful Bianca could be happy with him —she knew she could. She knew he adored her sister and that her sister felt the same way about him. Yet, so many things had happened to keep them both from truly being happy.

“Perhaps you have failed to read the news today?” Carla began slowly.

He shrugged. “I have no time for mindless gossips.”

“Lord Wilson's death was in the news, Mr. Belington,” When he didn't stop walking, she said, “His death and the reason for it.”

He pulled to a halt then, turning to face her fully. “What do you mean?” An angry frown claimed his face.

“Bianca...”

He swore, releasing Carla's hand and turning around sharply.

“Mr. Belington! Mr. Bel—” Carla hurried after his retreating back, failing to catch up with his hurried, long strides. “Race, listen to me!” She tossed her parasol to the grass, finding it impossible to race after him with the extra weight. “We need to talk!”

Still, Race didn't slow down. He kept moving, until he was storming in through the gates of the estate.

Flushed by the time she reached their home, she was barely breathing when she finally took captive of his wrist by the foot of the stairs leading to the front door.

“Race!” He shrugged her off. “You must listen to me if you must find a solution!”

“Solution?!” He turned eyes of steel to her, jaw set. “Pray tell, my lady, what solution there is to not only finding out that my wife was raped,” He gritted his teeth. “but finding out that the entire England knows about it, and you have taken me on a walk of shame to the park, affording everybody the chance to meet the bastard son of a marquess, married to the defiled daughter of a duke?!”

Carla gasped, her hand flying to her chest as the implications of his words began to sink in; he assumed she had forced him on the walk to disgrace him.

Shaking her head violently, “This was not my intention, Race.”

“And you expect me to believe that?!” He roared, eyes catching fire. “What do you want, Carla? What do you want from me that you cannot seem to get from any other man? Why are you desperate to ruin yourself by seducing your sister's husband?! Didn't you already turn me down, didn't you already shame me when you wanted nothing to do with me because of who I am?!” He let out a mirthless laugh. “For goodness's sake, Carla, I loved you! I loved you and I asked you to marry me, but I was never good enough for you, until you thought someone else might want me. I wasn't good until Bianca wanted me! Now you're riddled with jealousy and it's eating you up, consuming you alive! You are pathetic, despicable and pathetic, and perhaps you might even end up alone forever? I am in no doubt that you will one day succeed in pushing your sister away, and I, with her. Also considering no one else was willing to marry you with your father's wealth, imagine what will happen now that the wealth is gone? That's right, Carla, you shall end up alone and you shall regret the day you turned this bastard away.”

Unable to do anything but stand there in utter shock for several seconds, Carla listened to Race's words —every accusation, every insult and every threat. She listened to them until she feared she would sink under their weight.

Still, she didn't sink. Perhaps it was because she was already sunken? Perhaps it was because she knew they were true and she deserved to be so ruthlessly attacked?

“Take Bianca and leave.” She forced the words out of her trembling lips, forcing him to a halt at the top of the stairs. “It shall not only proffer a solution to my father's debt, but it shall proffer a solution to the morning news that is sure to ruin her life forever if she doesn't leave.” Wrapping her arms around herself, she swallowed her tears. “It is what I wanted to say, Mr. Belington, perhaps I was mistaken for desiring to say it in private.”

Turning around stiffly, she returned to her walk, this time without the parasol to protect her from the angry yellow sun above.

And as she walked, she couldn't help but admit to herself that she was truly alone.

I haven't written anything in many days but as you can see, we're nearing the end.