Lucy beamed. “Yes, of course. Is it beginning already? We must hurry.” She turned to Evelyn. “Do excuse me.”
“Of course,” Evelyn said warmly.
Lucy and Lord Nicholas disappeared into the hall together, speaking in a flurry of delighted, distracted tones.
Evelyn grinned as she watched them go.So that explained Lucy’s sudden romantic courage.She was happy for her friend, happy to see her enjoying her evening.
Her smile faded to a thoughtful one as she gazed out into the darkened garden.Lucy is right,she admitted to herself.Sometimes one must defy the whisperers… and choose one’s own life.
But did she have the courage to do so?
Chapter Seven
Sebastian drifted down the hallway toward the breakfast room, his thoughts in disarray—pulled back, again and again, to the memories of the previous night. He recalled the young lady’s firm, sweet form pressed briefly to his during the turn of the waltz, the thrill of that fleeting contact sending heat into his cheeks. She had a beautiful figure—soft and lovely—and the gentle pressure of her curves against his, the enticing swell of her bosom brushing his chest, stirred a longing he could not pretend away. She was an excellent dancer, graceful and assured, and the pleasure of moving with her still hummed through him.
“Miss Caldwell,” he murmured to himself, a smile tugging at his lips. It had a bookish sound to it that was entirely at odds with her voluptuous beauty, and somehow that delighted him.Miss Evelyn Caldwell,he added silently in his mind, and his smile deepened.
He walked slowly towards the breakfast room, the smell of toast wafting, appetising and delicious, from the doorway. As he neared it, he paused. He could hear voices through the open door—raised and angry. He tensed.
“...it will not do! He will ruin us, I tell you,” Mama said harshly.
“Mama. Don’t you think you’re being a little pessimistic? I mean...” Nicholas began.
“Pessimistic? Nonsense. How could there be any outcome but that?” she snapped.
Sebastian’s jaw tightened. He would not allow Nicholas to be scolded on his behalf. He stepped into the room, drawing himself to his full height. Years of fencing and friendly boxing had taught him how to appear formidable, and he summonedthat imposing stillness now. Even his mother fell silent as he stood in the doorway, posture steady, gaze level.
“Mama. Nicholas. Good morning,” he said mildly.
Nicholas exhaled, visibly relieved. His mother said nothing.
“Good morning,” Nicholas offered, a touch stiff. “Come and sit. I—”
He reached for the newspaper, attempting to sweep it out of sight, but before he could move it, his mother spoke.
“Did you see the papers? It is disgraceful! How could you make such fools of us and blacken the family name?”
Sebastian’s expression snapped into a narrow, wary look. “To what do you refer?” he asked coolly.
“To your foolish, wild indiscretion last night. At Lady Evandale’s ball! You must recall it—unless it was so lightly done you have no memory of it?” Her icy blue gaze pinned him.
Sebastian raised a brow. Inside, he was furious, but his many confrontations with his father had taught him that rage, hidden, was a handy weapon that could not be turned against one.
“I recall nothing wild, nor foolish, Mother. I danced one dance, drank lemonade, ate sandwiches, and spent a considerable time speaking with Captain Rawlings—an elderly gentleman newly returned from his last campaign in the Peninsula. What, precisely, is scandalous in that?”
“You dancedone dance,” she retorted, voice tight. “And that withthatwoman—whose name is already dragged through the muck! I shall not have it. You must show some sense of propriety!”
His composure cracked.
“I behaved with propriety by acknowledging her in public,” he said, voice low with restrained fury. “That young lady did nothing but save my life. Even those contemptible scandal-sheets were forced to admit as much—should anyone bother toread more than their wretched headlines.” His gaze held hers, cool as steel.
“I do not care to know,” she raged. “And neither does society. What they will see is a young woman of tarnished reputation, wholly without fortune, and—if the papers are to be believed—burdened with debts. They will relish it. And it will stainourname.”
Sebastian blinked. Debts? He had not known that. His mind flicked guiltily to the Shakespeare volume he still possessed. He must return it.
“Debts?” he asked sharply.
“Yes—debts, Sebastian! Their entire estate could apparently not be sold to pay them off.”
