There. That part was done.
When Lady Bagshot carried this tale into the next drawing room, she’d be certain to make it clear the Ramseys were not without friends in London. If thetonintended to cut the Ramseys, they’d also have to cut the Huntingtons, the Dares, Lady Chase, and all their friends, as well.
“But there’s something I still don’t understand, Miss Somerset.” Lady Bagshot arched an eyebrow at Hyacinth. “Surely Lord Huntington’s own brother isn’t a murderer?”
Hyacinth hid her hands in her skirts to cover their trembling. This part was a trifle more difficult to explain. “Mr. Ramsey, a murderer? Oh, no, my lady. Of course not. That was an unfortunate—”
“Because I distinctly recall you accusing him of that crime, my dear. I was sitting right next to Lady Chase when Mr. Ramsey approached you, and I heard every word that passed between you. I hope you don’t mean to say I can’t trust the evidence of my own ears?”
Hyacinth glanced at Lachlan Ramsey, but he simply raised one dark eyebrow at her, as if he were as curious as Lady Bagshot to hear her explanation.
“N-no. As I-I said, it was an unfortunate m-m-mistake on m-my part—”
“Mistake? My dear Miss Somerset, how in the world could you possibly mistake an innocent man for a murderer?” Lady Bagshot sat back, her lips curling with satisfaction.
Once again, Hyacinth caught herself glancing at the Ramseys. Isla slid to the edge of her seat, her expression anxious, and Lachlan…
He’d thrown an arm over the back of the settee, crossed one leg over his knee, and was casually examining the tip of his boot, but his jaw was tense, and Hyacinth knew he was listening intently to every word.
“A c-curious series of events led to my m-mistake. A few nights before the ball, I happened to witness a…well, I beg your pardon, Lady Bagshot, but there’s no other way to say this. I witnessed a violent brawl at an inn on the way back to London from Huntington Lodge. One of the men was badly beaten.”
“My dear, how shocking!”
“It was, especially for a lady like myself—that is, a lady with delicate nerves.” As she spoke, Hyacinth’s voice grew stronger. “I was very upset by it. It was still much on my mind the night of the ball, and when Mr. Ramsey approached me—I hadn’t yet met him at that time, and didn’t know his connection to Lord Huntington—I made a dreadful mistake and mistook him for the man I’d seen at the inn several nights before. Their countenances are similar, you see, though I confess not so similar it justifies my error.”
This explanation was met with a long silence while Lady Bagshot regarded Hyacinth with narrow-eyed suspicion. It was plain she didn’t entirely believe the tale, but it wasn’t so far out of probability she could challenge it outright.
At last, she gave a reluctant nod. “Well, that is a rather…curiousseries of events, isn’t it, my dear?”
“Yes. You can’t know how deeply I regret it, my lady.”
“I should say so.” Lady Bagshot turned to Lachlan. “Well, Mr. Ramsey. I’m very sorry our dear Miss Somerset should have made such a grievous error, but she’s always been a bit high strung, I’m afraid.”
Lachlan was staring at Hyacinth with an unreadable expression, but now he turned and nodded to Lady Bagshot. “You’re very kind, my lady.”
Lady Bagshot rattled on for another five minutes about their common acquaintances in London, dropping bits of gossip here and there like a trail of breadcrumbs, but Hyacinth had said what she’d come to say, and she and the Ramseys took their leave soon afterwards.
Isla chatted happily away on the drive from Lady Bagshot’s back to Grosvenor Square, prattling about how well Hyacinth had managed her ladyship, and making plans for the Hayhursts’ ball, but Lachlan only nodded now and again in reply.
Hyacinth didn’t say a word, but kept her face turned toward the glass, and watched the London streets pass by her window, her heart still pounding.
She could scarcely believe how well she’d done. Oh, she didn’t fool herself into thinking this would put an end to the gossip. Thetonwould continue to speculate, but she’d explained her actions, made her family’s position regarding the Ramseys perfectly clear, and discouraged further questions.
It just might do.
“Oh, look! Lord and Lady Huntington are back.” Isla nodded at their carriage, which was sitting in the drive. “Shall we go find Ciaran, Hyacinth, and tell him what happened with Lady Bagshot? He’ll laugh, of course, and poke fun at us, but he’ll like it.”
Isla didn’t wait for an answer, but leapt from the carriage as soon as it stopped, and ran across the drive toward the house. Hyacinth slid across the seat, intending to follow her, but Lachlan Ramsey stopped her with a hand on her arm.
“Wait. I want to talk to you, Miss Somerset.”
Hyacinth glanced back at him. Her gaze caught on his hard mouth, on the hazel gleam of his eyes, and sudden heat washed over her, leaving flushed, prickling skin in its wake. His gaze followed the pink wave over her cheeks and down her throat, his eyes darkening as they drifted over her neck.
A strange warmth pooled in Hyacinth’s belly, part alarm, and part…well, she didn’t know what, but she was quite sure it wasn’t proper. She snatched her arm away, suddenly panicked. “Can’t it wait? I...I’m f-fatigued, Mr. Ramsey.”
“It won’t take long.” He didn’t attempt to touch her again, but he studied her so intently he may as well have slid his fingertips over her skin.
“I beg your pardon,” he murmured at last. “You told me you knew how to manage Lady Bagshot, and you did. It was cleverly done. Masterful, even.”
