“Is that so? I’ll just have a word with your brother about it first, shall I, my lady?”
Oh, no. No, no, no.
If Cass discovered she and her sisters had come to London without Johnathan and Emmeline—without their approval or even their knowledge—this ruse would be over before it could even begin. They’d be packed off to Kent so quickly their heads would spin.
What was she to do? There was only one answer.
Lie.Again.
“I’m afraid that won’t be possible. At least, not tonight. Even if it weren’t well past calling hours—and it is—my brother and Lady Melrose won’t arrive in London until tomorrow afternoon.”
“Tomorrow,” he repeated flatly. The dark eyes she remembered so well narrowed, but he couldn’t possibly know she was lying.
Could he?
“Yes. They were unexpectedly detained in Kent and are a day or so behind us.”
“You’ll do me the courtesy, my lady, of letting your brother and Lady Melrose know that I intend to call on them tomorrow.”
“Oh, I’m afraid that won’t do. You see, we don’t expect them until well past calling hours, my lord.” It was a desperate enough ploy and would only gain her another day at the most, but she’d already told half a dozen lies by now. What was one more?
“Tomorrow evening, then.”
“No, that won’t do, either, as they’re sure to be fatigued after their journey.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Fatigued by a drive from Kent to London? It doesn’t take more than half a day to make thatdrive, Lady Harriet. Unless Lord Melrose is a great deal more enfeebled than I recall, I find it difficult to believe he won’t have the strength for a brief meeting.”
Of course, he did, because it was a bald-faced lie, and she was digging herself deeper with every word out of her mouth, but she’d gone too far to give up the truth now.
“You may believe what you like, my lord, but it doesn’t change the fact that my brother and Lady Melrose will not be at home to visitors tomorrow evening.”
Or anytime. Not to Lord Windham.
He didn’t reply, but gazed down at her with an expression that would have flayed the skin from the bones of a lesser woman. He’d been in London for less than a year, but in that time, he’d perfected the withering aristocratic stare.
“Very well, Lady Harriet,” he said at last. “I’ll return the day after tomorrow to call on Lord and Lady Melrose. You’ll let them know to expect me?”
“Of course, my lord.”
“Then I will bid you a good evening.” He offered her a coldly formal bow. “I will see you at Lady Farthingale’s garden party tomorrow.”
She remained where she was until he was gone, gazing at the spot under the cherry tree where Cass had been standing only moments before, every inch of her trembling as the clop of his horse’s hooves on the drive faded to silence.
When he was gone at last her shoulders sagged, and she collapsed onto a nearby stone bench, her legs shaking.
Dear God, what had she just done? She must have gone temporarily mad to commit herself and her sisters to a London season! For pity’s sake, Johnathan and Emmeline didn’t even know they were here, and now they were about to embark on an endless whirl of social engagements, without her brother’s permission?
And that was saying nothing of the lies she’d told. She’d lied to Johnathan by omission, she’d lied to Cass about Johnathan, and worse, she’d embroiled her sisters and Lady Fosberry in her lie about the season.
God above, what had she been thinking?
Shehadn’tbeen, that was plain, but Cass had been so dismissive, so certain she couldn’t hold her own among thetonthat she’d lost her mind for a moment.
Or perhaps not.
If she was going to help Cass, she must be in his company. That was by no means a simple matter, as there was little opportunity for a gently bred young lady to find herself in the company of a wicked earl. Without the season to bring them together months could pass without her ever laying eyes on him.
But the season offered unique opportunities in that regard. He’d already said he’d see her at Lady Farthingale’s party tomorrow.
It was a start, at least. Perhaps tomorrow she’d get a chance to tell him…
To tell him…
Very well, so this part was a little fuzzy in her mind, but she’d think of something.
She had to.
Because Cass was still her dearest friend, regardless of whether he returned her warm sentiments. She’d never forgive herself if she stood by and allowed him to destroy himself without lifting a finger to stop it.
