Page 5 of An Earl Like You (Games Earls Play #6)

“Yes, of course. I beg your pardon.” Sarah hastily folded the letter and stuffed it into the pocket of her dress. “I’m certain it’s all lies in any case, or at the least a wild exaggeration. One can’t trust what one reads in the scandal sheets.”

It was no lie. They all knew it, but none of them had the heart to say it, and a heavy silence descended on the drawing room.

What was there to say? Not a word, and there was even less she could do about it. It wasn’t as if she could rush off to London. She wasn’t fond of society. She despised the dirt and noise of Town and avoided it like the plague. She hardly ever ventured outside of her quiet little corner of Kent.

“I believe I’ll go for a walk.” She jumped to her feet, tipping the table askew in her haste to get away. “It’s a lovely day.”

It wasn’t. The sky was overcast, and a chilly wind had arisen in the last hour, rustling the treetops, but neither Sarah nor Margaret contradicted her. Margaret said only, “Wear your cloak, won’t you, dear?”

“I will.” Hattie dropped the broken larkspur into the pocket of her dress. “I’m just going to the east garden. I won’t be long.”

This reassurance did nothing to erase the anxious furrow from Margaret’s brow. Hattie hated worrying her sisters, but all at once the walls of the drawing room were closing in on her, and she couldn’t bear to sit still for another minute.

The fresh air would set her right again. Of course, it would. A few deep breaths would chase Cass’s ghost out of her head.

But she hadn’t taken more than a half dozen steps down the corridor before Margaret’s low murmur made her pause. “Cassian’s situation seems to grow worse with every day that passes. One can’t pick up a scandal sheet without seeing his name on the front page.”

Hattie eased closer to the drawing room door, pressing against the wall so she wouldn’t be seen if Sarah or Margaret happened to glance toward the corridor.

She wasn’t eavesdropping. No, nothing so low and tawdry as that. She was merely curious, that was all.

“Yes, I’m afraid that’s so.” Sarah let out a heavy sigh. “He’s become the spitting image of his father, hasn’t he? It’s such a pity. It hardly seems possible such a lovely boy as Cass could have become such a disappointing man.”

“On the contrary, it’s entirely possible, especially with such a father as he had. Even before he inherited the title, Cass had too much money, too much freedom, and a father who set the worst possible example for him.”

“Indeed. He really had no chance, did he?”

“No, and though I hate to be a harbinger of doom, with the way the aristocratic gentlemen carry on in London, I’m afraid it will only get worse.”

Worse? Hattie hovered in the corridor, her heart crowding into her throat. How could it possibly get worse than gaming and bloody, drunken brawls? But then Margaret was right. London was full of temptations, especially for a gentleman who had a title and plenty of gold coins in his pockets.

At least, he did for now. The Windham coffers were deeper than most, but more than one young, reckless aristocrat had lost their fortune at London’s gaming tables, and if the scandal sheets had the right of it, Cass spent an inordinate amount of time wagering.

How long? How long would it take before he was utterly ruined?

How long before he wasn’t Cass anymore? Not her Cass, the Cass she remembered, who’d once brought her handfuls of wildflowers and sat with her under the beech tree.

The boy who’d spent hours stringing daisy chains with her, and who’d written her letters from Eton, and then later from Oxford.

How long would it take before there was nothing left of that sweet, sensitive boy? Had his father bled every ounce of tenderness and compassion from him?

She had no answers. Just the darkening sky above her, the patter of raindrops on her head, and the whispers of Cass’s ghost in her ears.

The wind grew sharper, yet she wandered on until the hems of her skirts were soaked, and her slippers were ruined.

“Hattie? Hattie, wait!”

She turned to find Margaret hurrying toward her, holding her hat down with one hand, her skirts whipping in the wind. “My goodness, Hattie! Didn’t you hear me? I’ve called your name a dozen times.”

“Did you, indeed? I beg your pardon. I was distracted, I suppose.” She mustered a smile for her sister, but it was a poor, thin thing, stiff and awkward on her lips.

“Why are you walking in the rain?” Margaret came to a breathless stop beside her. “You’ll catch your death out here.”

“Is it raining?” She glanced up into the gloomy sky. Fat raindrops fell from the clouds and spattered her cheeks. “I didn’t notice.”

“Come inside, Hattie. It’s time for tea.”

Teatime, already? It was much later than she’d thought. Despite her promise not to linger outdoors, she’d been wandering the gardens for hours.

“Hattie.” Margaret took her hand and gave it a comforting squeeze. “Are you all right?”

Was she? She didn’t know anymore.

Margaret peeked under the wide brim of Hattie’s bonnet and her face fell. “Oh, my dear girl. Walk with me and tell me about it.”

They turned down a path that led toward the house, and she opened her mouth to pour her heart out to the sister she loved and trusted more than anyone else in the world but then closed it again without a word passing her lips.

Her thoughts were all tangled in her head. How could she explain that even though so many years had elapsed since that magical summer she and Cass had spent underneath the low branches of the beech tree, he still haunted her thoughts?

It was absurd, ridiculous that so brief a friendship still had the power to overset her, and yet…

And yet, here they were.

How could she ever explain it to Margaret in a way that made sense? How could she speak of him when the mere thought of him made her chest tight and tears sting her eyes? If she ventured a single word about Cass right now, she’d burst into tears.

It wasn’t that Margaret would laugh at her. Her sister would never do something so cruel, but her heart was tender today, bruised and battered, and she’d never felt more useless in her life.

Cass seemed to be determined to ruin himself, and there wasn’t anything she could do to stop it. If she could only talk to him, perhaps she could shake some sense into him, but he was in London, and she was stuck here in Kent.

Although was she truly stuck? She could go to London, but if she did, what would she say to him?

How could she make Cass listen to her? He’d cared for her friendship once, yes.

She had no doubt of that, but it had been years ago, and if she scandal sheets were to be believed, the man he’d become was nothing like the boy he’d once been.

But could she ever forgive herself if she didn’t try?

“Hattie?” Margaret laid a hand on her sleeve, bringing them both to a halt on the pathway and gazed at her with anxious blue eyes. “Are you unwell? You look strange.”

“I’m very well, I assure you. I was just wondering if…”

Did she dare? She wasn’t brave, not like Sarah, but the thing was, even if Cass was no longer her friend, she was still his .

“Yes? Wondering what?”

She sucked in a deep breath and leapt over the precipice. “The Royal Horticultural Society is doing a series of lectures over the next few weeks. I thought…well, I thought perhaps I might attend.”

Margaret blinked. “But the Royal Horticultural Society is in London .”

“Yes, I’m aware of that.” Despite her misery, a laugh fell from her lips. “That’s why some people call it The Royal London Horticultural Society.”

“No one calls it that. I believe you’re thinking of the London Royal Hospital. Or the London Royal Opera House. Or the London Royal Ballet, or?—”

“Yes, never mind. Sir Joseph Banks is meant to deliver a lecture this year, and the man is eighty years old if he’s a day. If we don’t hear him this time, we may never have another chance.”

Margaret frowned. “Since when are you so enamored of Sir Joseph Banks? This is terribly sudden, Hattie.”

“It’s not, really. I’ve been thinking of going for some time now.” It was a bald-faced lie, and her cheeks heated with shame, but she managed to hold Margaret’s gaze.

“Johnathan and Emmeline won’t like it.” Margaret hesitated, then added, “If they find out.”

“They won’t find out. We’ll be there and then back again before they return from Oxfordshire.” Johnathan and Emmeline had gone to Hawke’s Run to spend time with Emmeline’s sister Helena and Helena’s husband Adrian until Helena was delivered of her second child.

“Let me make sure I understand you, Hattie. You’re saying you want to go to London?”

Margaret’s eyebrows had risen into her hairline, as well they might. Hattie had never shown the least inclination to venture into London before this. She’d always been happy to remain in Kent with her flowers and her sisters to keep her company.

But Kent would be here waiting for her when she returned.

“Yes. I want to go to London, but how is the thing to be managed?” They’d have to go without a chaperone, and they couldn’t stay at the townhouse in Grosvenor Street without Johnathan finding out about it.

“A bit tricky, isn’t it, especially this close to the start of the season.” Margaret tapped her lip, thinking, then gave a decisive nod. “There’s only one lady in England who can see it done properly.”

“Who?”

Margaret’s lips curved in a grin. “Lady Fosberry, of course.”