She swept her eyes over the polished table, expecting her parents’ accusing gazes, but instead a maid hurried forward, balancing a tray. The girl set a plate before Regina, followed by a steaming cup of tea.
“Mary,” Regina managed, her throat tight, “have my parents been down yet?”
The maid curtsied. “No, Miss Regina. They are still abed, I believe.”
Her chest constricted painfully. Relief warred with a sharper ache. Did her parents know and no longer care? Or did they truly have no idea?
She sat heavily, the scent of food overtaking every thought. She tore into the meal like a woman starved, shoving bites into her mouth, hardly tasting beyond the comfort of filling her belly.How unladylike. How desperate. She ate as she had kissed last night—with hunger she had not known lived inside her.
Indeed, she had been starved last night.Starved for affection.Bitterness filled her, the words twisting like a knife. How disgusting.
When at last she slowed her eating, her stomach too tight for another bite, she sat back, fingers pressed to her lips. She had never behaved in such a heathen manner—neither at the table nor in a man’s arms. Something maddening was happening to her.
She closed her eyes, breathing deeply. Perhaps a walk about the yard would help settle her. Perhaps the air would clear her head, and her stomach, of the storm still raging within.
But in her heart, she knew that no amount of air, and no amount of time, would ever erase the memory of Wayne Worthington’s kisses.
She pushed away from the table and walked into the corridor, the grandfather clock striking the eleventh hour. Regina frowned, confusion prickling. Were her parents still abed? How late had they lingered at the ball?
Another maid passed, and Regina lightly caught her sleeve. “Sarah? Do you know why my parents have not come down for breakfast?”
Sarah curtsied. “Yes, Miss Regina. They returned from the ball very ill and retired straightaway. I have not disturbed them since.” The girl hesitated, biting her lip. “Should I?”
Inwardly, Regina groaned. Sarah had been in their employ less than a year and had not yet learned the art of thinking for herself. “Yes, wake my mother. If she still feels ill, she will tell you so.”
“Yes, miss.” Sarah bobbed another curtsy and scurried upstairs.
Regina stepped outside, the air meeting her like a balm after the oppressive stillness of her chamber. The morning was warmer than the night before, the breeze gentle, the garden alive with the hum of bees and the cheerful song of birds. For the first time since leaving the coach, she drew a deep, steady breath. But then she heard the distant sound of hoofbeats.
She turned sharply, heart lurching, as a horse galloped toward the house. Jane Meyers and her constant companion, Pearl, reined in at the steps. Regina’s pulse hammered. Panic seized her. Had Jane learned? Had she come to accuse her?
She walked quickly forward, bracing herself. Jane swung down from her horse, skirts swishing. Her expression unreadable, she studied Regina as one might a painting, her gaze moving from head to toe.
Fear knotted in Regina’s chest. If Jane knew…if she had heard whispers of the coach…would she weep, rage, collapse into heartbreak? Or worse, would she cast Regina off forever?
At last, Jane folded her arms and arched a brow. “You do not appear ill today.”
Regina released the breath she’d been holding. “I thank you. I am much better.” It was true enough, though far from the whole truth. She would not feel better until she understood why she had acted so outrageously with Wayne Worthington.
Jane’s smile brightened, quick and disarming. “Splendid. Then you are fit to accompany me this afternoon to the dressmaker. You are still my dearest friend, are you not?”
The words pierced Regina, tight with double meaning. If Jane knew the truth, she would never call her that again.
“Yes,” she managed, her throat constricting. “Of course I am still your friend.”
“Excellent. Then come with me. I must be fitted for my wedding gown.”
Regina nearly stumbled. “Wedding gown?” Her voice cracked. “You have ordered it already? But your engagement has not even been announced.”
Jane shrugged, lifting her chin in practiced stubbornness. “The announcement is but a formality. Father will make it soon. Why delay what is certain?”
Bile rose in Regina’s throat. She swallowed hard, forcing composure. If only she could confess. If only she could shout that Wayne Worthington was no gentleman, that his kisses belonged to another only last night. But such truth would destroy them both. Her silence was the only shield she had.
“Then I suppose,” Regina said, mustering strength she did not feel, “it is best you be fitted without delay.”
Jane studied her closely, suspicion flickering in her eyes. “How unexpected. I thought you would rail against him again. Have you changed your mind about Mr. Worthington?”
At his name, Regina’s nerves quaked, the memory of his lips searing her. “No,” she admitted, voice thin. “I still believe he seeks your father’s wealth above all.”
