Page 15

Violet stared at the retreating back of Alistair Crawford as he and Pembrooke helped Miss Jenson into the grand townhouse, before closing her eyes in dismay.

She’d made a fool of herself this evening, and possibly one of Catherine too.

It hadn’t even occurred to her that Alistair would disregard her directions, not after the way they had been in sync in the gardens.

But that was just our bodies , she reminded herself. And she knew that bodies could be untrustworthy. Look at Miss Jenson, whose asthma attack had brought her to her knees on an evening when she should have been dancing and flirting and making merry.

Or her own, which had led her straight into the arms of a scoundrel when her mind knew well enough to stay put. Her body had endangered her heart when it should have protected it. Her heart had suffered enough.

“Come,” she heard Catherine whisper to her as she slipped her arm in Violet’s. “Let’s go home.”

The two women wound their way slowly back through the crush of carriages. Violet was silent, running through the evening’s events over and over in her head.

“Are you alright?” Catherine asked.

“I don’t know.” Violet looked down at the once-beautiful ball gown she was wearing. “I have ruined my dress.”

“That you have. But I wasn’t referring to your dress.”

“Was I wrong?” Violet asked. “Should I have stepped aside and let Mrs. Jenson call for a surgeon? Or not intervened at all?”

Catherine shrugged. “I cannot say. Sarah is Mrs. Jenson’s daughter, on the one hand. On the other, if you hadn’t been there…” Catherine shook her head. “Miss Jenson was in real danger, was she not?”

“She was. She may still be if they give her too much laudanum and her mother agitates her.”

“That’s all you can know. But that isn’t what I was referring to, either.”

“There isn’t anything else to discuss,” Violet said.

“There may be one other issue.” Catherine looked at Violet, who refused to make eye contact. “Really, cousin. You must stop pretending there is nothing between you and Lord Alistair.”

“There isn’t,” Violet said quietly.

There couldn’t be. She’d asked him for help, for respect , in front of a dozen witnesses, and he’d turned his back to her. There was nothing between them at all but some kind of misplaced chemistry she’d fallen victim to.

Again.

“He ran straight for you,” Catherine said, exasperated. “You really cannot deny that it means something.”

“Only that he mistook the situation. There is nothing between us. I promise you.”

Catherine reached for her hand. “I don’t believe that to be true, Violet. I saw his expression when he reached for you. He looked like a man who would break the world if you needed him to.”

“And yet he opted for the surgeon.”

“He did. It cannot have been easy for him, cried out in public like that by Mrs. Jenson. And the insinuations she made were really quite too much. You understand that don’t you?”

Violet shrugged her shoulder in an imitation of Madame Tremaux. “It doesn’t matter. I’m more worried about any damage done to your reputation this evening than I am about Alistair Crawford. I’m sorry, Catherine.”

Catherine squeezed her hand. “I wouldn’t worry. There will be another scandal tomorrow, and then another the day after that. Tonight will blow over. Let’s get some rest, and tomorrow will be a new day. We can put this evening behind us.”

That we certainly will , Violet thought.

Tomorrow will be a new day. One in which I never see nor speak to Alistair Crawford again.

Alistair left Waverly House as soon as Miss Jenson was safely inside. He was furious with himself and didn’t want to spend the remainder of this disastrous evening playing cards with Pembrooke or being run through the rumor mill by the rest of the beaumonde.

He’d made the only decision he could, with Mrs. Jenson’s insinuations lingering in the air and Miss Jenson’s pale lips an unnatural shade of blue. He’d put an end to the incident, deflected attention away from Violet, and gotten Miss Jenson medical attention. All as soon as possible.

He’d made the right choice.

Didn’t I?

If he’d thrown his weight publicly behind Violet, there would be no end to the gossip.

The damage done to her reputation would be catastrophic.

He didn’t care about his own reputation, but he wasn’t cad enough to ruin hers.

It made a difference whether one was male or female as far as reputations were concerned.

And then there was McGann.

They were supposed to be partners, for Christ’s sake, and Alistair had gone and seduced the woman he was meant to introduce him to. The woman they had both hoped McGann might marry.

He wished for his whisky flask again but wasn’t sorry he’d left it at home. The last thing he should do was drown himself in drink. He needed his wits about him to figure out what came next.

He threaded his way through the crowded drive to retrieve his carriage, feeling like an utter cur. But then he caught sight of Violet and Catherine up ahead, slowly making their own way through the crush.

“Miss Goodwin!” he called out, hurrying his steps.

The least he could do was explain why he’d done what he’d done. He’d seen the look of hurt that passed through her bright blue eyes when he’d called for the surgeon, and he hated knowing he’d caused it.

“Miss Goodwin!”

She didn’t seem to hear him, so he picked up his pace. With his long legs, he could catch them if he hurried.

“Miss Goodwin!” he tried again, and when she still did not hear him, he broke into a run.

Alistair cursed the anxiety burning in his stomach and the crowd of coachmen and horses that blocked his path.

“Miss Goodwin!”

The two women were nearly to their carriage now. He could see the insignia of the Earl of Chester emblazoned on its side. They stopped in front of it, and Catherine raised a hand in greeting to the footman as he placed the stepping block for her.

“Miss Goodwin!” he bellowed once more in desperation, and this time he was sure her blonde head tilted up as if she’d heard him.

But she didn’t acknowledge his calls. She only shook her head a little as he’d noticed she often did, making her golden curls bounce, and then she followed her cousin into the carriage.

Bollocks!

He ran faster, catching the vehicle just as the footman was climbing onto the dais behind the seats.

“Wait!” Alistair called to the coachman, who paused the flick of his reins that would set the horses in motion.

“Yes, gov?” the man asked, but Alistair was already rushing to the back where the footman was in place.

In one swift movement, he stepped onto the back rail, grabbed the footman by the lapels, and deposited the young man on the ground.

And then Alistair, in full evening attire, took his place on the footman’s dais.

“I’ll explain it to your mistress,” he called over his shoulder as the carriage began to move forward once again.

“This certainly has been an exciting evening,” Catherine said as she and Violet settled in for the ride home.

“That it has.” Violet closed her eyes. “I don’t know how it went so pear-shaped. Although I was right about this dress.”

Catherine leaned out the rear-facing window slightly with a puzzled look on her face.

“You were,” she agreed, and her brow furrowed for a moment. “There is something you weren’t quite right about, though.”

“And what might that be?”

“Lord Alistair’s interest in you, cousin. I don’t believe you can ignore it.”

“Really, Catherine. Not that again. I don’t wish to discuss the man any longer.”

“That’s a shame,” Catherine said. She craned her head again and then gave a satisfied nod. “I’m not sure you’ll be able to help it though.”

“I don’t mean to be rude because I understand you mean well. But I’m tired from this evening’s events. Could we share some silence for the ride home?”

“Absolutely,” Catherine agreed with eyes that were dancing with far too much mischief.

“I hardly dare ask what’s gotten into you.”

“Nothing at all.” Catherine smiled sweetly. “I thought we were riding in silence?”

“We are,” Violet muttered, while the carriage rolled on.