Bethany rolled her eyes and immediately regretted it when her head began to ache anew.
“Get dressed.” Tabetha began rifling through one of the wardrobes. “And we need to do something with your hair. The last thing we need is someone thinking Lord Chaswick slammed your head against the headboard.”
“I thoughtyou would be languishing with your wife this morning,” Stone greeted Chase as he stepped into Greys’ study.
“Your eye looks worse today. Hell, a few more bruises and you’ll be as ugly as me.” Mantis made a rare reference to the scar that slashed down the right side of his face.
“No one’s as ugly as you,” Chase groused, rubbing the back of his neck. For years, he’d found complete acceptance around these men. He hoped he hadn’t ruined that.
“Chase will be as pretty as ever in a few weeks,” Peter offered vaguely, plucking at his cello in the corner. The man was never far from one. He might marry eventually, but the damned instrument would always be his favorite mistress.
“Speaking of pretty. How is… Lady Chaswick this morning?” Greys asked from where he sat behind a large, disturbingly orderly desk.
Chase removed a half-smoked cigar from his pocket and twirled it back and forth between his fingers. Greys was not asking after his mother but afterhis wife.
“She injured herself during dinner.”
At their incredulous looks, he briefly explained what had happened, reassuring the others with the doctor’s prognosis. “Her maid informed me she was resting peacefully when I left.”
Silence fell in the room. They could extrapolate whatever the hell they’d like with the knowledge that he’d gleaned such information from her maid. He dropped onto the divan, leaned his head back, and closed his eyes.
“Is it really necessary we attend this ball tonight? She’s injured. She’s hardly going to be up to it.”
“Not only necessary but imperative,” Blackheart answered from where he stood, arms crossed, leaning against the wall at the back of the room.
“Don’t you have some silver to polish or perhaps an insubordinate servant to reprimand?” Because that was not the answer Chase wanted to hear.
“I’m afraid I agree, Chase old boy,” Greys said without looking up from the paperwork he was examining. At least he wasn’tChaswickinghim this morning.
“And it’s imperative that she appear content, even better if she looks happy,” Mantis added.
“Extremely happy. She cannot look as though she’s trapped a brute.”
Chase whipped his head around to glare at Stone. “She did not trap me.”
“Doesn’t matter if she did or if she didn’t. Everyone believes that she did.”
“So appearance matters more than facts right now.”
“Isn’t that always the case?” Peter paused in his plucking long enough to ask.
“Are we to seriously believe that while taking a stroll through the garden, she accidentally wandered around to the back of the folly, and then, accidentally threw herself onto your lap?” Stone’s skepticism was grating.
“She came outside to warn me.” It was all he would say. Most unexpectedly, Chase wasn’t thrilled to discuss personal details pertaining to his wife, even with these gentlemen. The moment she’d married him, she’d fallen under his protection.
Greys withdrew a snuff box and placed a pinch on his fist before inhaling with an all too dignified sniff. “No one in this room believes that Lady Bethany Fitzwilliam would stoop to trapping anyone. The trouble is that not everyone knows her for the person she is.”
She’d become distraught at dinner over this very concern. He glanced down and cursed. Without being aware of it, he’d snapped his perfectly good cigar in half.
“Ensure that she appears looking like a satisfied and content bride.” This from Blackheart. “I’ve faith you’re up to the task.”
“Especially since she’s pined after—”
“Go home, Chase,” Blackheart interrupted Stone.
Chase swept his gaze around the room. “Especially since she’s pined after who?”
“Nothing.” Peter was plucking again.
