“It will be well,” Lucy said softly, meeting her gaze. “They do not say you—well—didanything. They cannot. They even admit the wind might have pushed you into him.”
“Yes,” Evelyn acknowledged. The article had conceded that interpretation—but chose to emphasise the other. “But what will people say?”
“Sensible people will not believe this drivel,” Lucy said stoutly. “Though I suppose the two of us have just read it.” She attempted a weak smile, though fear flickered in her eyes. “I truly think most will dismiss it.”
“It does not feel that way,” Evelyn whispered, though her friend’s words brought a flash of relief. Not everyone read the scandal sheets. Fewer still put stock in them. Some people—mostly men—appeared in them weekly without suffering any lasting harm, largely because they refused to let gossip dictate their bearing.
I could never do that,Evelyn thought. Even imagining it filled her with the urge to flee.
“People do not always choose to believe the worst,” Lucy insisted. “Many will ignore it. And I shall silence the gossip wherever I hear it. I was there—I know your courage, your kindness—” Her voice broke, tears slipping down her cheeks. “It isn’t fair. You only tried to help. And that man—”
“It was not his fault,” Evelyn said quickly, though she scarcely knew why she felt compelled to defend him. “He cannot be blamed for how people chose to interpret what they saw.”
“Nor can you,” Lucy replied fiercely.
“True,” Evelyn whispered, swallowing. A terrible thought struck her. “What if Mama sees it? She must not. It would destroy her.”
“We shall make certain she does not,” Lucy said at once, rising with sudden purpose. She went to the fireplace. “Tell her the paper was not delivered. Give it to me—I shall burn it.”
She held out her hand for the scandal sheet.
“She might hear of it,” Evelyn began unsurely, but even as she spoke, she realised that it was unlikely. Mama hardly ever ventured beyond the front door. If no one in the house knew, then there would be no one to tell her.
“Let us burn it quickly,” Lucy urged gently. “Before someone happens upon it.”
Evelyn passed the sheet to her, and Lucy tossed it into the fire. The smell of singeing ink made them cough—and then giggle. It changed nothing in truth, yet the act felt oddly empowering, as though they had taken back at least one small measure of control. Evelyn felt a little steadier, a little less afraid.
They returned to the table. Evelyn traced the grain of the polished wood with her fingertip, focusing on anything other than the terror tightening her chest. The danger was real. Without her reputation, she had no protection, no social standing—nothing with which to shield herself from those who might take advantage.
“If we—” Lucy began, but a knock at the door cut her off.
“Who is it?” Evelyn called, dread creeping up her spine. If it was her mother or James, she did not know how she could possibly keep her distress from showing.
“Miss Caldwell?” came Mr Soames’s voice.
“Yes?” Evelyn replied, heart pounding. She glanced instinctively toward the fire, though the sheet was already gone.
“Lady Evandale is here, my lady. Shall I show her in?”
“What?” Evelyn breathed, startled. “Yes—yes, please. And bring an extra tea setting, if you would.”
“Yes, my lady.”
Evelyn turned to Lucy in astonishment. The Countess of Evandale was one of the few members of the ton who had remained steadfastly kind to their family after her father’s death and their subsequent loss of fortune. She always called when she was in London for the Season—usually arriving with her son, the Earl of Evandale, for the Opening of Parliament.
“Why would Lady Evandale come at this hour?” Evelyn murmured.
Lucy shook her head. “I cannot imagine.”
The butler returned and opened the door.
“The Countess of Evandale.”
A tall, gracious woman entered, her white curls neatly arranged, her blue silk day-dress gleaming softly in the morning light. At the sight of Evelyn, she moved forward at once, taking both her hands.
“My dear child—how do you fare? I have seen the papers. I am so very sorry. Something must be done.”
Her gentle face was creased with concern. Evelyn’s eyes dropped; the kindness nearly undid her.
