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To her own surprise, Sarah laughed, and then Bash laughed to see his mama laugh, striking Langworthy’s cheek a second time to see if it would elicit the same result.

“Oh, don’t, darling,” she reproved, unable to hide her smile. “Naughty. Mustn’t slap people.”

“I’ve had worse,” Langworthy answered, but then he could have bit his tongue out because she went red.

He straightened, watching her, the happy little moment over. “You’ve heard something then—about yesterday evening—I take it.”

Despite not knowing if she had anything at all to do with Mr. Langworthy and Wrigley’s imbroglio, Sarah could not prevent feeling guilty and embarrassed, but whether it was more on her own behalf or his she could not say.

“News travels fast,” he went on with a grimace. “I daresay we are somewhat insulated at the rectory, but if Polly goes for the post in my absence that should complete the circle.”

She raised her clear eyes to his, wishing it were permissible to say, Then you tell me what happened, and I will believe you .

But it was not. She had no right to demand the truth from him, even if courtesy allowed it.

With a grunt he shoved himself from his chair to pace the room, not that the crowded parlor allowed a very lengthy circuit to relieve his feelings.

Sarah and Bash watched him trace a path, however, to the window, the door, the desk, the bookcase, along the back of the sofa, to the mantel.

There he paused, regarding her, his lips parting and then closing again before he made another circumnavigation.

“What did—Wrigley—say to you, when you were left alone with him at the ball?” he asked at last, when he stopped again by the mantel.

Another wave of color flooded her face. She swallowed.

“He said that—he was a servant of—of your Miss Pence.” This last made her wince. Should she have said “his” Miss Pence?

He overlooked this, if he even remarked it. “Is that all? Nothing else?”

She noticed he did not confirm Wrigley’s claim, but neither did he deny it.

Folding her hands in her lap, she repressed a sigh.

And what emerged next, she later admitted to herself, sprung more from offended dignity than from any noble motive: “After he revealed his identity, Wrigley then…upbraided me for…pursuing you.” There! She said it.

Muttering something under his breath, he turned away to hide his expression.

When he faced her again, his voice was tight, anger humming below it.

“I hope you will not hold Wrigley’s nonsense against me, Mrs. Sebastian.

We both know that—we both know that it was I who came to Iffley to offer for you and who chose to linger here, even after I was refused. ”

There was balm in hearing him say it, nonetheless, and a smile spread across her features. “Thank you,” she said. “And in return I will defend you, by reminding you that Sebastian is to blame for you coming in the first place, and therefore to blame for it all, from start to finish.”

“Sa-ba-chen,” said Bash, pointing to himself.

“A different Sebastian,” Sarah assured him. She looked at Langworthy again, waiting.

He tapped a finger on one of the corner scrolls in the mantel’s plasterwork, not looking up.

“Mrs. Sebastian, since you are proving so agreeable in answering my questions, I cannot refrain from pushing my luck. Tell me—what rumor concerning me did your family hear this morning, which sent them rushing to Perryfield forthwith?”

“Would you rather not tell your side of the matter first?” she questioned, her heart sinking at his wariness.

“I’m afraid not.” But seeing her dejection, his hands clenched. “You see, it is not entirely my own story to tell. Therefore I must learn what is said and determine what, if anything can be done about it. Though I fear little can be done.”

“Ah.” If it was not his story to tell, it must somehow involve Mary Pence, Sarah guessed, and it made her sigh inwardly to think the young lady still held such sway over him. Fortunate, fortunate Mary Pence! To have treated him so and still to be loved.

She was relieved to see Little Bash close his book and yawn at this juncture, for she would rather he not be present if they were going to discuss Mr. Langworthy’s public incident.

One never knew what little mouths might repeat!

Therefore she bent to whisper to him. “It is time for your nap, sweeting. Colds make one quite sleepy. Go and find Reed in the kitchen, and she will give you a little milk and take you upstairs.”

He made a half-hearted protest but then slid from the sofa, giving the visitor a farewell wave, which Langworthy solemnly returned.

Sarah rose to open the door for her boy, and when he had toddled away, she returned to her chair, conscious of Langworthy’s steady regard.

“Where were we?” he prompted. “Oh, yes, you were about to divulge all.”

Reaching for her basket, she drew some work from it, that she need not look at him.

“You will think we are very gossipy, sir, when I tell you what I heard this morning, but I assure you our man Irving takes a long time to say anything, so we are sadly in the habit of not attending carefully, which is how he managed to say as much as he did before any of us understood half of the—nonsense—he spouted. Truly, as soon as my mother-in-law did realize, she stopped him and—and we were left to wonder what precisely—”

“Let us have it, Sarah,” he interrupted. “That is more beating about the bush from you than I have ever heard before.” A ghost of a grin fleeted across his features, so distracting her that she failed to upbraid him for using her Christian name.

“Very well. Irving returned from the Tree Inn this morning, where it seemed there was a veritable conclave in process. The undergardener from Perryfield, Mrs. Robson’s cousin from the Angel Inn—”

“Angel Inn!”

His guilty start did not improve matters, but when he said no more Sarah was obliged to continue. “Apparently that fellow, Briars or Beers or something, is a waiter there. Anyway, the undergardener said Harker said to Mrs. Dere—you see how muddled it is! All hearsay, and all secondhand—”

“I do see. Pray go on, Mrs. Sebastian.”

Her stitches were suffering, and if she did not pick them out later, the cloth would have a ripple and not lie smoothly.

“Very well,” she agreed. “In short, sir, it seems Harker reported seeing you supposedly either—embracing—or struggling—with Wrigley on the Pettypont Bridge, and Briars or Beers further reported a—a certain oddness between you both when he saw you in the coffee room. Mrs. Dere is horror-struck that you might be a viper nourished by the Perryfield bosom, as it were, and she required calming by the baron. That is it. The sum total of what I heard this morning before Mrs. Barstow recovered enough to send Irving from the room.” Finally she looked up at him, her brow clouded.

He said nothing, though he ran long fingers through his hair and tugged at his locks even as Sarah had tugged at Bash’s. Then he heaved a sigh and resumed his seat, leaning against the back of it as if exhausted.

When she could bear it no longer, she prodded, “Well…? Is there nothing you feel at liberty to add or explain? If you do not, who knows what construction idle tongues will put upon it.” For pity’s sake, she wanted to plead, can you not even say whether it was kissing or fighting?

But how could it have been kissing? There were some sailors who preferred or who resorted to—other sailors while at sea.

Sarah vaguely understood this, though it was a subject Sebastian had certainly never raised in his letters.

But could Mr. Langworthy possibly be such a person?

As if he divined her thoughts, he at last made reluctant response.

“It was…an argument, of sorts which Harker witnessed. A physical altercation, though no one was injured. Wrigley—when Harker came upon us—Wrigley gave Harker an explanation for it. It was…hardly adequate. And if you find that people are not…persuaded by the reason he gave, I can only say it was not, in fact, the true one.”

And it appeared the true one he could not, or would not, share.

“What…will you say, when you are questioned more closely?” she asked after another pause.

“I will not be questioned more closely.”

“But—but—”

He sat forward in his chair, leaning toward her so that their knees nearly touched.

“I am going away. This very morning. Rearden will send my trunk after me. After I leave here, I’m walking into Oxford and taking the next coach out.”