What must Cass have thought of her, when he’d come upon her on a darkened terrace with Lord Egerton, particularly when he’d taken such pains to warn her away from the man? At best, he must think she was every bit as naïve and foolish as he’d accused her of being, to allow herself to be lured away by a scoundrel like Egerton.
At worst, he might have believed she’d gone with Egerton willingly.
The thought made her shudder, but even that wasn’t what had kept her awake all night, tossing in her bed. No, the worst of it was that thetonwas putting the entire blame for the incident on Cass. She’d heard the ladies whispering behind their fans as Lady Fosberry had whisked them out of the ballroom last night.
They said that it wasn’t Cass’s first brawl, and almost certainly wouldn’t be his last. They claimed he was dangerous, an unrepentant villain. Those who didn’t blame the hereditary Windham wickedness for the incident were quick to point to Cass’s childhood spent in the rookeries as the reason for his behavior.
They’d called him low-born. They said it would have been better if he’d remained in St. Giles.
They’d said he might be an earl, but he wasn’t a gentleman.
All this, because he’d saved her from something too awful to contemplate.
How could she ever ask his forgiveness for something like that? His reputation was in tatters, and it was all her fault.
Coming to London had been a mistake.
She’d thought so a dozen times since they arrived, but only because she’d believedshewould be the one who’d end up hurt. All the while she’d been worrying that Cass would reject her—that he’d tell her he’d decided to stop writing to her because he no longer wished to be her friend.
It had never once occurred to her thathe’dbe the one who’d end up hurt.
How selfish she was, how unthinking?—
“Here, drink this, dearest. You look a trifle pale this morning.” Lady Fosberry refilled Hattie’s teacup. “When did you wish to leave for Kent?”
“Today, if possible. This morning, if the thing can be managed.”
Margaret exchanged a glance with Lady Fosberry. “So soon as that?”
“Yes.” Now she’d made up her mind to go, she couldn’t leave London quickly enough. “You and Sarah needn’t return with me,” she hastened to add. “If Lady Fosberry can spare a servant to accompany me, I’m happy to make the journey alone.”
In truth, “happy” might be a bit of an exaggeration. With the memories of last night’s awful scene still fresh in her mind, she wondered if she’d ever be happy again.
“I have no objection to your returning home.” Margaret cast another cryptic glance at Lady Fosberry. “If you’re certain that’s what you?—”
“Of course, you must go if you wish, Hattie, but alas, I’m afraid I can’t accommodate you today, dearest. The, ah…well, you see, it’s the carriage. It’s broken.”
“Broken? But we took it to and from Lady Dumfries’s ball last night, did we not?”
“Yes, indeed! We did, but this morning Coombs informed me that one of the, er…the axles is cracked, and the, ah…what do you call them? Oh, yes. The wheels! The wheels are damaged,and the horse’s harnesses are in a terrible state. A terrible state, indeed.”
“The axle, and the wheels,andthe harnesses? My goodness. That is unlucky.” More like unlikely, but her suspicious glance was met with identical bright smiles from Margaret and Lady Fosberry.
“It’s dreadfully unlucky indeed, but Coombs is seeing to it, and I daresay you can leave tomorrow, or perhaps the next day. Will that do, dear?”
It would have to, wouldn’t it?
She dredged up a smile from somewhere, but it felt stiff on her lips. “Of course, my lady. I don’t wish to inconvenience you.”
“Not at all, my dear child, not at all.” Lady Fosberry patted her hand, but her brow was furrowed with worry. “Last night was dreadful, but I have a feeling it will all be fine in the end. We’ll soon see you set to rights again.”
There was only one thing that would set her right again, and that was to return to Kent. Just the thought of her beloved home made her ache with longing, but she’d be there soon enough, and once she was back, she’d never make the mistake of venturing into London ever again.
“You haven’t eaten a bit of your breakfast, Harriet.” Lady Fosberry glanced at her untouched plate. “Shall I have the footmen fetch some of those peach tarts you like? I believe cook made some just this morning.”
“No, thank you, my lady. I don’t have much of an appetite. I didn’t sleep well, and my head aches a bit. I believe I’ll retire to my bedchamber.”
“All right, dear.”
