“Yes. You see, so long as I am engaged, no other gentleman shall dare to propose. I shall be left blissfully alone. And when the Season concludes, you shall cry off.”
“Shall I indeed? And will I be furnished with a script, or am I to improvise my heartbreak?”
“You may say whatever you like,” Hetty said airily. “A sudden discovery of my insufferable temper. Horror at my scandalous fondness for card tables. Perhaps you shall develop a passion for a melancholy German soprano.”
“How diverting. And your reputation?”
“Ruined,” she declared with a pleased sigh. “Utterly and magnificently so. I shall be deemed too difficult, too opinionated, far too independent. In short: entirely myself. No gentleman of sensewill dare approach me next Season after such a public catastrophe. It shall be glorious.”
They walked on in companionable silence.
After a pause, Theo’s voice broke the quiet. “You do realise, of course, that none will believe I sought to end the engagement.”
Hetty frowned. “Why ever not?”
He fixed her with a pointed look. “You have read the gossip columns, Hetty. At present, I am cast as the tragic figure, a wounded romantic, undone by a single glance at you. If anything, Society will believe you to have cast me off.”
“Nonsense. You are an earl.”
“It is hardly a safeguard. Stranger tales have flourished inThe Morning Gazette.”
“I shall see to it myself,” Hetty declared. “An anonymous report:Lady H.T., seen in tears, cruelly cast aside by Lord L., who has transferred his affections to a tragic opera singer with a fondness for Frenchsilk and humourless men in decorative waistcoats.”
“I am flattered by the accuracy.”
She swept on, undeterred. “By the close of summer, I shall be sufficiently untouchable. The scandal will deter even the most persistent suitor. You must admit, the plan is quite flawless.”
Theo said nothing, and continued walking.
After a moment, she glanced sidelong at him. “You are still in favour of the scheme, are you not? Do not disappoint me now, Theo Winslow.”
Still, he did not answer. When he spoke, his voice was quieter and uncharacteristically thoughtful. “I am in favour of anything thatspares you the indignity of being auctioned off like a prize heifer at a country fair. If this absurd arrangement affords you some measure of peace, then yes, I am in favour.”
She turned her head slightly, surprised by the earnestness of it, but he was already recovering, his tone lifting again into its customary drawl. “Besides,” he added, “this opera singer of mine sounds most promising. I do hope she plays the harp. I’ve always imagined it rather thrilling to dine with someone who could produce a dramatic arpeggio mid-supper.”
Hetty gave a soft huff of laughter and looked ahead once more, eyes narrowed on the path with the kind of determination that was often employed in managing unruly sisters. “Then perhaps Ishallmarry you out of spite. You are plainly unfit to be left unsupervised.”
A voice rang out across the Row – bright as a bell, piercingly high-pitched, and unmistakably nosy. It was a voice that Hetty knew could only belong to one possessed of both a keen ear for gossip and an insatiable desire to insert herself into the affairs of others.
“Miss Tolliver! Lord Langley! How perfectly delightful to see you!”
They turned in unison to see Miss Artemisia Pomeroy bearing down upon them, side-saddle atop a gleaming white gelding, the plume in her hat bobbing with every trot. Flanking her on either side came two of her cousins, Miss Lavinia and Miss Dorothea Crumpleton, both bedecked in ribbons and ringlets, and trailing just a touch more languidly as though the entire party bored him terribly, was Lord Marchmont.
“Do not utter a word,” Hetty muttered to Theo from the corner of her mouth, her smile already fixed in place. “I am far too well-bred to murder a duchess’s niece and a viscount.”
“Lord Langley,” Miss Pomeroy cooed as she reined in, “how exceedingly well you are looking. Positively dashing. One sees at once why dear Miss Tolliver has been so thoroughly captivated. And Miss Tolliver, you are quite radiant, my dear. Engagement becomes you most charmingly. You must tell us everything, of course – although, I do confess myself a trifle surprised to find you unchaperoned. How very… unorthodox of you.”
“I should be most delighted to reassure you, Miss Pomeroy,” Hetty said, with a graceful inclination of her head, “that my Mama is seated just there, in the phaeton behind the hedgerow, with the enormous ostrich plume and a lorgnette so powerful she can likely read your thoughts from here.”
Miss Pomeroy’s smile wavered for the briefest instant before rallying with renewed cheer. “How comforting. One does hate to think of young couples left to their own devices. It leads to all manner of… rumours.”
“I do adore a good rumour,” Theo said mildly, adjusting his gloves. “So long as I am cast as the brooding romantic and Miss Tolliver as the unapproachable enchantress. A most flattering arrangement.”
“I shall settle for ‘infamous,’” Hetty offered. “It seems far more enduring.”
Lord Marchmont, silent until now, offered an appreciative smile. “Infamy suits some women far better than roses and lace. Though I imagine you could wear either to devastating effect, Miss Tolliver.”
Hetty’s eyes flicked to his. “How generous of you to say so, my lord.”
