The four of them had gathered to play that afternoon, with Angeline and Olive being otherwise occupied. Charity had slept late, breakfasted frightfully near to luncheon, and finally dragged herself into the sunshine—rare since the last week or so had produced so much endless rain—and agreed to a game of badminton. She had supposed the game would distract her from the inconvenient feelings which had been plaguing her ever since Neville had visited her chamber the day before.
But the feelings remained, nagging and persistent and unwanted as ever.
“Something is wrong with Charity,” Raina called to their friends.
“Nothing is wrong with me,” Charity denied.
Although, in truth, something was.
However, she most certainly wasnotin love with Neville. She refused to think it.
Despite her protestation, Clementine and Melanie skirted the net and joined them on Charity and Raina’s side of the court.
“Are you feeling ill?” Melanie asked, frowning.
“You do look pale,” Clementine observed, her gaze roaming over Charity. “What is that mark on your throat, dearest? Is it a rash?”
Mark on her throat?
“Where?” she asked, wishing she were near a mirror.
Raina’s eye narrowed as she surveyed Charity’s neck. “It doesnae look like anordinaryrash.”
Melanie crowded closer, making Charity feel like an exhibit at a traveling menagerie. “Perhaps she has been stung by a bee, like Clementine.”
Charity wanted to laugh at the sally, but three pairs of eyes were examining her, and she was suddenly frantic to know what the mark/rash/bee sting they were all carrying on about looked like.
“Was it here when we began playing badminton?” she asked weakly. “Perhaps it is hives. Sunshine makes me itch.”
“It does?” Clementine asked, sounding dubious. “Would it be remiss of me to remind you of the recent occasion upon which you took me to task over a similar mark on my own neck? What was it that you said? Oh, yes.The next time you and Dorset are sneaking about in each other’s chambers, you should be certain he makes his claim known in a place that is covered by your gown. Have I taught you nothing?”
That was what Charity had taunted her friend with, verbatim. And drat Clementine for recalling it.
“I do believe a man’s whiskers caused those marks,” Raina said, her tone matter-of-fact.
“Definitely not hives,” Melanie declared with a sniff.
Friends.Why did they always seem to be so dratted omniscient?
Charity gripped her racquet tightly and forced an amused chuckle. “The three of you are so silly. Of course sunshine gives me hives. It always has done.”
“I think I would remember that about you,” Clementine said.
“I dinnae ken anyone who gets hives from sunshine,” Raina added.
“Raina is correct. Those marksdoappear to have been caused by a man’s whiskers,” Melanie concurred.
Charity would have asked Melanie what rendered her such an expert in the field of men’s whiskers, but she was too busy drowning in a sea of mortification. Oh, what was the use in continued prevarication? They had caught her.
And if Neville had indeed left redness on her throat, she would need to return to her chamber at once to apply some pearl powder in an effort to hide the evidence of her sins. Charity glanced around to make certain none of their fellow houseguests were nearby. Fortunately, the badminton court was set up in a far corner of the Fangfoss Manor lawns, and most of the other guests were distracted by tennis, archery, and riding on account of the good weather. There was no one else about.
“Neville came to my chamber yesterday,” she admitted on a rush.
Her confession was met with a chorus of confusedNevilles.
Oh dear.She had rather given herself away, had she not?
“Lord Wilton,” she elaborated, sure her face was aflame.
