Page 56 of The Marriage Wager

Constance realized suddenly that they were in an even worse position than she had realized. She and Dominic were teetering on the edge of scandal. They could not help that it had rained, of course, nor that they had had to take shelter. But there was no getting around the fact that they had spent at least two hours alone together, half of that shut up in the privacy of a cottage.

It would not have been as bad, in all likelihood, if Calandra and Margaret and the others had remained at the place where they had left them. For one thing, they would not have been alone together quite as long. But more than that, they would have been able to ride with them back to the summer house, and if Calandra, Margaret and the two men had not revealed that Dominic and Constance had left the group, they could have kept that fact hidden altogether. That was, of course, a big if, but given that Margaret was her cousin and therefore had a vested interest in protecting their good name, and that Calandra was a nice person and a friend to Francesca and Dominic, Constance thought it would have been a likely possibility.

As it was now, there was no hiding the fact that they had been alone.

What little hope she might have kept that a storm of scandal might not erupt was squelched when she saw Muriel marching down the steps toward them, her face coldly furious.

“Bloody hell,” Dominic muttered under his breath as he swung down from his saddle. He did not glance at Muriel as he moved around to help Constance down from her horse.

After a moment Muriel, unable to contain herself, asked shrilly, “Where have you been?”

Dominic stepped forward, putting himself between Constance and Muriel. His eyebrows lifted in an expression of aristocratic hauteur. “The storm caught us by surprise, I fear.”

“Yes, I can see,” Muriel retorted, looking expressively at Constance.

Constance flushed, one hand going instinctively to her hair. She was very aware of everyone’s eyes on her. She was also aware of the unfortunate state of her garments—muddied and damp——and of the untidy mess of her hair. She was even hatless, since the wind had blown her hat clean off her head.

“I am sure that you were worried about Constance and me,” Dominic went on, looking levelly at Muriel. “I apologize.”

“Yes, we were afraid that something dreadful might have happened to you,” Francesca said quickly, hurrying down the steps to join them. “I am so glad you are both all right.” She reached out and hugged Constance. “Poor dear, you must have had a terrible time.”

Constance’s eyes filled with tears of gratitude. Francesca was clearly wrapping the mantle of her approval around Constance. If such a one as Lady Haughston found nothing wrong with what had happened, if she still clearly liked Constance, then who were the others to talk?

“We were quite drenched,” Dominic agreed. “But we were lucky enough to find shelter from the worst of it.”

“Shelter?” Muriel repeated, looking puzzled, but then a flash of understanding crossed her face, and her eyes sparked fire. “That cottage? On the way to the promontory? You were alone together in that cottage?”

“Muriel, hush,” Francesca murmured.

But Muriel was beyond stopping now, apparently. A smile of wicked triumph lit her face. She whirled toward Constance, declaring in ringing tones, “You were with Lord Leighton alone in a cottage for hours! Your reputation, Miss Woodley, is in ruins.”

Constance stiffened. Behind Muriel she heard the low murmurs of the other guests. Her first instinct was to bark back that nothing had happened in that cottage, but, of course, that would not be the truth. If she said it, would everyone see the lie in her face?

“Muriel, be quiet,” Francesca snapped. “They were caught in a thunderstorm. What would you have had them do? Stand out in the rain the whole time?”

“A woman who was careful of her good name would not have ventured up there alone with a man,” Muriel sneered. “And they were gone rather longer than the storm, were they not? Who knows what might have happened in all that time?”

Constance was aware of everyone’s eyes upon her. She flushed with embarrassment. Muriel was obviously intent upon Constance’s public humiliation.

She looked straight at Constance, her eyes glittering maliciously, her voice gleeful as she went on. “Your name is besmirched now. Your reputation is in rags. No one would think of mar—”

“Lady Muriel!” Dominic’s voice lashed out, hard and cold, stopping even Muriel in the midst of her rant. “I am sure that if you but think over the matter, you will realize that there is no harm whatsoever to Miss Woodley’s reputation just because she took shelter from a storm with the man to whom she is betrothed.”

A shocked hush fell over the crowd. Francesca and Constance both turned to gape at Dominic. Muriel simply stared at him, the blood draining from her face as she realized what she had just done.

“No, Dominic…” she breathed, her voice barely audible.

He gazed at her calmly, his eyebrows faintly raised, then turned toward Constance. “Sorry, my dear, to announce it so informally. But, as you must realize, I could not allow anyone to get the wrong idea.”

He swung back toward the guests assembled behind Muriel, his hard gaze sweeping over them. Their faces ranged in expression from shock to avid curiosity, but at Dominic’s steely stare, they all quickly settled into the sort of courteously blank face that was the cornerstone of polite British behavior.

It was Calandra who broke the frozen moment, saying, “What delightful news! Francesca, you sly thing, you did not let the slightest indication slip.”

“I could not,” Francesca replied easily. “I was sworn to secrecy.”

“Congratulations, Dominic,” Calandra went on, coming down the steps to join them. “And, Constance, I am delighted that you will be living close to us in the future. The neighborhood is already brighter.”

She took Constance’s shoulders and leaned in to lay her cheek against Constance’s, murmuring, “Are you all right?”