“You do not understand.” Rubbing her arms, Agnes backed into the wall. “He did not seduce me, he…he…”
“He what, darling?”
“He attacked me.”
The words punched Simon in the gut. He brought both fists down on the table, anger tightening his skin, flooding his veins. “Miss Simpson, I don’t know what you’re trying to do, but we both know I have never hurt you.”
“You have done more than hurt me.” She swept a hand to Miss Whitmore. “And then you dare propose marriage to my cousin. You are despicable. You are wicked. And the most terrible part of it is…despite everything…she loves you.”
Loves me?He snapped his face back to hers, swallowing, as doubts and disbeliefs thronged him. Georgina Whitmore loved him?
No, it was impossible.
They both knew, all along, there had never been anything more than a meaningless promise binding them together.
He waited for her expression to deny the words, for her lips to murmur against such a thought, but they never did.
“Miss Whitmore, perhaps you should attend to your cousin.” Sir Walter helped Mrs. Fancourt to her feet. “Perhaps the lady of the house would be so good as to assist you.” In the absence of the three, Sir Walter faced Lord and Lady Gilchrist. “I admit, this evening has gone more awry than I could have foreseen. I suppose it would be futile to request that you keep the scandal we have all witnessed in silence until matters can be investigated.”
“I am quite afraid that is impossible.” Lord Gilchrist’s jowls trembled, as if in rage. “I was willing to overlook a mild offense against myself and my family, but I cannot in good conscience stand by while this barbarian ravishes innocents of society.”
“As one who so often occupies the courtroom, I know better than anyone else that things are not always as they seem.”
“I have heard all I need to hear.”
“James, let us go.” His wife took his arm. “There is no point in discussing this with either of them.”
“You are right, of course, my dear.” He skewered Simon with one last look. “You shall be locked away for this, Fancourt. I shall see to that myself.” The two marched away, the door slamming behind them, with an echo that ricocheted back and forth in Simon’s brain.
“We shall fight this, Fancourt. You are innocent, of course, and given the chance to examine this chit’s story, I shall uncover any lies that make such a tale believable.”
Simon headed for the door.
“Where are you going?” Sir Walter called after him.
“For a ride.”
“Not wise, I am afraid. You must remain here. I do not doubt but that Lord Gilchrist will have the authorities upon us before the night is through, and if it appears that you have run—”
“I do not have a choice.” Simon let out a breath slowly, enough that it tempered some of his fury. “Do what you can here, and I will be grateful.”
“You do not seem to realize what is at stake. If this story is accepted, you could face more than being jailed. You could be hung—”
“I said I do not have a choice.” With a quick nod of regret, Simon hurried from the dining room, escaped the walls of Sowerby House, and ran to the stables.
He had promised Helen Neale he would meet her tonight.
Everything else would have to wait.
“Agnes, how could you do this?” Georgina sat on the edge of the bed, a rock-sized lump at the base of her throat. Mrs. Fancourt had sent them to one of the upstairs guest chambers, where she’d instructed a servant to bring up warm milk and honey.
“You must stay here tonight. This has been such an ordeal for both of you,” Mrs. Fancourt had crooned. But the second Agnes entered the chamber, Mrs. Fancourt had seized Georgina’s hand and pulled her into the empty hall. “Can this be true of my son?”
“Do you truly doubt?”
“No, of course not.” Mrs. Fancourt had downcast her unseeing eyes. “But he has been gone so many years…sometimes I fear I do not know him anymore.”
“Mayhap you never knew him at all.” Perhaps the words had been unkind. Perhaps Georgina should have said something reassuring and soothing. But the reality had struck her with fear. If Simon’s own mother did not believe him, would anyone?
