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“Shall we go somewhere more private?” she asked, motioning to the nearby thicket of trees.
“That won’t be necessary. Miss Bowles, I must apologize, but whatever you have imagined to be between us is purely that—imagined. I hope the two of us can remain friends”—though secretly, he truly did not—“but from this point forward, I think it best if we are not seen alone or pursuing one another, as I should hate to do anything to tarnish your reputation by causing another to believe that we have formed an attachment when we have not.”
He finished, his hands clasped behind his back.
He’d delivered a similar speech to Hannah Radcliffe, though it had been far less delicate, and yet, she’d slapped him soundly across his cheek.
Would Miss Bowles do the same?
He waited, watching her face shift from shock, to hurt, to indignation.
“I do apologize,” he said as she continued her silence.
“You apologize, do you?” she said with a caustic laugh. “Well, I do not accept your apology.”
Oliver’s shoulders tightened. He’d hoped to avoid this, but alas, he’d been confronted by jaded women before. This was nothing he could not handle.
“That is more than understandable, Miss Bowles. Allow me to escort you back to the others so they might—”
“You tricked me,” she interrupted, remaining where she stood. “You used me. You mistreated me. How dare you?”
Oliver pulled back. He had done his fair share of encouraging women to accept his kisses. But Miss Bowles? The most he’d ever done was flirt with her around her parents for a day or two. Winked at her at most. She’d been the one to kiss him. She’d been the one to constantly seek him out after those initial days.
“I’m sorry you feel that way, Miss Bowles, but I assure you, I’ve done nothing to encourage you to believe that I might have feelings of matrimony with you.”
“The winks?” she said, her small nostrils flaring tautly. “The kisses?”
He held up a finger. “No, no, Miss Bowles. That was you, and there was but one kiss.”
Her cheeks turned an even darker shade of red. “You encouraged me.”
“I may have at the beginning, but surely you saw the change.”
He could see the denial on her lips before she paused, then frustration darkened her eyes.
“Is there another woman?” she blurted.
Oliver froze. He hadn’t been expecting that. And honestly, what business of it was hers?
“There is, is there not?” she continued. Her raised voice pulled a few eyes toward them, but he raised a hand to quell her.
“It matters not—”
“Well, it matters to me. Who is it? Have you fallen in love with your cousin?”
Oliver frowned. “She’s like a sister—”
“Miss Sterling? Miss Prescott, that abominable woman? Miss Caldwell? Miss Stroud? Miss Benson? Miss Fuller? Heavens, Lady Dalmeer herself?”
A laugh escaped his lips before he realized she was serious. “Really, Miss Bowles, this will do you no good.”
White air puffed out from her nose like an angry bull before she frowned and stomped away through the snow. “Despicable, ridiculous, trollop of a man,” she muttered as she stormed away.
Relief overcame him. He looked up to the cloud-covered skies and finally allowed his shoulders to fall. From across the way, Millie and Mr. Prescott stood together, giving him a silent applause, which he chuckled at before rejoining the group.
Finally he was free. Free from Miss Bowles and free to think more of Clara—and that was all he wanted.
Twenty-Three
