“I am not—” Nicholas stopped himself, turning from his friend to look over the valley. His hand flexed around his book as he stood. “You will not have ridden here for entertainment. Tell me what you came to say or leave.”
His friend looked slightly taken aback, glancing down at the hat he had wrung between his hands. The wind rustled George’s hair, turning the tips of his ears pink. For a moment, Nicholas was reminded of their youth, running up and down this very knoll without a care in all the world.
A simpler time.But better…?
“You know that is not my habit. Entertainment? At your expense? Never,” George said, straightening. His eyes rounded in misery. “There is…talk, in town.”
Nicholas had expected as much, but not so soon. “The woman fell—convulsed. Was I to leave her, for all I knew, to her death?” he said in his defense.
“There is no need to explain yourself to me. I know who you are.Whatyou are. Not a gentleman who would seek out a troubled woman like Miss Tate. Not like that Paul de Rees…”
The name reanimated the anger burning low inside Nicholas. “How do you know?” he asked.
“Philippa…Miss Ashwood… I caught her while the ball was closing and asked if she had any idea what had transpired. Shesaid Miss Tate had been lured outside by De Rees. How you ended up at her side instead is still a mystery. But the Oxford folk have devised a sinful explanation indeed.”
“As is their wont, always.”
Nicholas flinched at the thought of Miss Tate’s name passing from one Oxonian to the next. Another scandal she did not deserve. Samuel’s opinion—that she had faked the whole ordeal—was not worth considering. She was blameless.
He could still see the sudden panic wash across her face in his mind’s eye. No one could feign that.
“What will you do?” George asked, gesturing around them. “For you cannot remain here forever.”
He was inclined to ask whether he should do anything. But fleeing was beneath him. It was not the first time Nicholas had found himself in trouble—not even in recent memory. He took no issue in being fodder for writers andtongossips when he was culpable. But to pay for a crime he did not commit was a lofty ask.
It seemed obvious, thinking back to the moment he had come across Miss Tate in the dark, what would need to happen next.
“To fight a fire… one must first approach the flames,” Nicholas pressed, punctuating the sentence with a sigh. “I must go to Miss Tate.”
“And do what?” George stepped forward as Nicholas made to move. “To be seen at the house would only incriminate you further.”
“If society believes we are entangled, there will be no unraveling us by force of will…” Nicholas took a final look at the horizon, an idea forming in his mind. “We must play the parts they have assigned us.”
For better or for worse.
Amelia curled into the window seat in her room, wrapping her arms around her legs. Her head hurt from crying, and she pressed her swollen eyes shut, focusing on the sounds of passing carriages outdoors. Rain trickled down the windowpane, and she wished she were outside, somewhere far away…
Away from Oxford, where everyone thought she had fallen from grace.
A knock rapped on the door, and Amelia’s breath hitched. Before she could say anything, Mary-Ann crept inside, closing the door behind her.
“Mama sent me up to make sure you were not dead,” Mary-Ann jibed, leaning against the door. She hissed at the inelegance of her words. “That was a silly thing to say. Not her words, but mine… Though really, Amelia, worse things have happened.”
Amelia laughed miserably. “I know full well, though it does not feel like it now.” She tucked her head between her knees, the cotton of her day dress soft against her cheeks. “What are they saying?”
“Mama…? Oh, you mean…out there.” Mary-Ann locked the door and crossed the room, pushing Amelia’s legs out of the way so she could sit beside her. “I did go for my morning promenade today, despite Papa’s order to remain indoors. You know I never listen to him. And I do not see why I should be punished for your indiscretion anyway.” She paused. “Did he kiss you?”
“No,” Amelia swore, frowning. “He did no such thing.”
“Because that is whattheyare saying, if you really want to know.” Mary-Ann grinned, looping a ringlet of hair around her finger. “Well, that and more, though I shan’t repeat the worst of it. They may believe you have compromised yourself, but I know you are too pure for that.”
Feeling like she might be sick, Amelia tucked her head back between her knees. She felt Mary-Ann’s hand on the crown of her head, stroking her hair in an unusual display of affection.
“If we wait long enough—”
Mary-Ann barked a laugh. “Oh, heavens! You’re not about to suggest that time will make people forget, are you? Amelia, please. Not evenyouare that naïve.”
Amelia blinked the tears from her lashes and stared up at her cousin. Her words were unusually acerbic—as though she took some deranged pleasure in seeing Amelia so upset. Or perhaps it was the involvement of the Duke that pleased Mary-Ann.
