To Roxana’s surprise, the woman continued to stare directly at her, even through her, her face as cold as flint. It was the rudest look Roxana had ever received in her life. The woman went on staring for a long moment before she looked pointedly away.
Alarm made Roxana’s heart pound. Had that woman just cut her?
It must have been a mistake—perhaps she was simply absent-minded, or she suffered from poor eyesight. Roxana had never even met the lady. Certainly she had no reason to insult her.
But Roxana wasn’t the only one who’d noticed. “Did that woman just cut you?” Miss Hill said beside her, a note of breathless scandal in her voice.
“No, I’m sure it was nothing like th—”
“CUT her?” Mrs. Truitt said in her usual stentorian tone. “Why should anyone CUT Miss Langley?”
Heads turned in their direction. It took all Roxana’s nerve to stand her ground, feigning unconcern.
“I’m quite sure she cut you,” Miss Hill said. “Who is that dreadful woman?”
“It must have been a mistake, Miss Hill.” Roxana’s voice held an edge of pleading. “She’s a friend of the Sherbournes. Do think nothing of it.”
“Eh? Don’t talk so quietly,” Mrs. Truitt said, literally deaf to her entreaties. “What’s going on? I want to know why anyone would CUT Miss Langley.”
Neighbors were staring at them with open curiosity now. Fanny, apparently unaware of what had just happened, met Roxana’s eyes with an expression of confusion. Across the churchyard Ayersley was speaking with his secretary, but he looked over with a vigilant air.
“No one would cut her,” Roxana’s mother said firmly and loudly, as much for the benefit of the others in the churchyard as for Mrs. Truitt. “But it’s time we were on our way home, don’t you agree, Roxana? It may start to rain again, and you know how easily you catch the grippe.”
So saying, she took Roxana firmly by the elbow and marched her through the neighbors in the churchyard toward their carriage.
“What does cut mean?” Harry asked as he trailed after them, his voice as clear as a bell.
“It doesn’t mean anything, Harry,” his mother snapped.
“It must mean something. What did Roxana do?”
Lady Langley spun around and grabbed him by the hand. “Nothing. Come along now.”
When they reached their carriage, Roxana’s mother practically shoved her inside, shooing Harry in behind her. She stepped in after them, wearing a face as grim as death as she settled herself on the squabs.
Ayersley appeared at the carriage door. “May I be of any assistance, ladies?”
Roxana couldn’t look at him. It was just too humiliating—first the kiss with George in the church, then throwing herself on the earl’s neck at his ball, and now making a spectacle of herself in the churchyard. If he’d thought her frivolous and provincial before, what must he think of her now?
“Thank you, Ayersley, but I’m taking Roxana home. We don’t like the look of the weather.” Lady Langley called out an order to their groom and the carriage jolted into motion, the earl stepping back from the door with a pensive look as they rolled away.
Roxana’s mother was silent for the minute or two it took them to travel well clear of the churchyard. When she turned to Roxana, her face was pinched with worry. “What was that about?”
Roxana shook her head, wishing it would all go away. “I don’t know.”
“Why would that woman cut you? Who is she?”
“A friend of Mrs. Sherbourne’s—Mrs. Penn, I believe. I’ve never even met her.”
Her mother frowned.
“I knew I shouldn’t have come to church.” Being jilted had been bad enough, but now she had become the object of public scrutiny and snubs as well. “That woman must think I left George with no choice but to break off the engagement.”
Her mother’s fair brows drew together. “Why should she think that? George and his family are saying you ended it.”
“Then she thinks me a jilt.”
Lady Langley sat back, shaking her head. “None of our neighbors seemed especially disapproving. Why should a stranger care so much why you called off your engagement?”
A ray of hope pierced Roxana’s gloom. “Perhaps we’re mistaken, assuming her reasons had anything to do with George. I warned Captain Sherbourne at the earl’s ball that Miss Penn might be forming an attachment to him. Do you think perhaps her mother resents me for it?”
Lady Langley nodded slowly. “That could be.”
“Or perhaps it’s all just a case of mistaken identity, or a complete misunderstanding.” Please let it be one of those things. Roxana all but shuddered at the memory of every face in the churchyard turned in her direction. Had she really once believed that gossip and notoriety conferred an exciting air of glamour? There had been nothing glamorous about being cut, or having her neighbors give her openly appraising looks.
Her mother peered out the carriage window with a frown. “I hope I did the right thing, hurrying you away. I would have preferred to laugh the incident off, but Miss Hill is the most dreadful scandalmonger, and Mrs. Truitt was only making matters worse.”
By the time they reached home, Roxana had succeeded in talking herself out of the worst of her fears. It was entirely possible Miss Penn’s mother had been angry with her for coming between her daughter and Captain Sherbourne. The captain had probably spent the day before avoiding Miss Penn, and the mother and daughter considered it Roxana’s doing—which, in all fairness, it was.
Still, that moment on the church steps had been ghastly, like one of those frightful dreams in which one parades out in public without so much as a stitch of clothing on. And, just as in such dreams, Roxana had been embarrassed and ashamed without fully understanding how she could have landed in such a fix. No wonder her mother always said, A girl who loses her good name has nothing left to lose.
Roxana spent the afternoon reading adventure stories to Harry. She did not have the mettle to face a quieter occupation, like writing letters or sewing. The stillness would have afforded too much opportunity to worry.
At five o’clock, just as she emerged from the nursery to change for dinner, a knock sounded on the front door. Roxana drew back out of sight, peering through the stair rail to the front hall below. She hoped it might be Fanny, or perhaps even Mrs. Penn herself, come to apologize for the unpleasantness.
It was the Earl of Ayersley, dressed not in riding clothes, but still in his Sunday best. What would bring him to Riddlefield so close to dinnertime? Had he come to bid them farewell before setting out for London?
“I’m sorry to disturb you,” he told her mother as she greeted him in the front hall. “Is Miss Langley at home?”
“Yes, I’ll go and get—”
“Not just yet, please, Lady Langley. I wonder if I might have a private word with you first?”
“Of course, if you’d like.”
They disappeared into the drawing room, and Roxana could hear no more. After several minutes her mother reemerged, clearly to come and fetch her. For some reason she could not identify, rather than simply acknowledging she had seen the earl, Roxana pretended to be coming from the nursery again, and expressed surprise when her mother told her he was waiting in the drawing room to see her.
* * *
When Miss Langley entered, Alex was standing in the middle of the room, watching impatiently for her arrival. He’d thought he couldn’t be any more nervous, but the sight of her sent his heart thudding. She’d changed into a plain cotton morning gown, her flaxen hair pulled back in a loose chignon, but the simplicity of her dress only threw her beauty into sharper relief.
“Have you come to say goodbye, then, Ayersley?” she asked, her usually cheerful voice sounding oddly forlorn.
Holding his hat in both hands, Alex fidgeted with it as he faced her. “Actually, I’ve changed my plans again. I may be staying for some weeks.”
She seated herself on the sofa, gesturing for him to take the cha
ir across from her. “I hope you haven’t had bad news. Your mother isn’t ailing, is she?”
“No, my mother is well.”
“Oh, good. I was worried something might have happened to her.”
“No.” He set his hat on the table beside him and swallowed. “To be honest, Miss Langley, I’m staying because of you.”
The polite smile died on her lips. “Because of me? Why?”
He hesitated. There was no easy way to say what he’d come to say. “I think you had better prepare yourself for a shock. It’s all a mistake, of course, but unfortunately that does not help matters.”
She studied his face, and he suspected her expression of growing unease only mirrored his own. “What is it?”
“It seems,” Alex said, drawing a deep, steadying breath, “that I have compromised you.”
Her forehead wrinkled in confusion. “That you have—”
“Compromised you,” he repeated more firmly. “And I’ve come to make things right.”
The room fell quiet. She seemed unsure how to reply, or even whether a reply was expected.
“I’m not sure what you mean,” she said at last. “How have you compromised me, Ayersley?”
“In my l-library, during the ball.” Good God, this was going worse than he’d imagined. He was already starting to stammer. “I kissed you.”
She let out her breath, as if a knot tightening inside her had suddenly given way. “Oh, that. Forget it, please. You kissed me because—well, because we’d both had too much champagne, and I was behaving so foolishly myself. Believe me, I’m even more eager to forget the whole episode than you are.”
Alex gulped. “But I—”
“I’m twenty-three, Ayersley, not some girl fresh from the schoolroom. I don’t consider myself compromised by a mere kiss, however ill-considered.”
“No. You don’t understand. I’m going about this all wrong, as I knew I would. You must hear me out. It’s not just that kiss that has compromised you.”
“What, then?”
He looked her directly in the eye. “I’m afraid, Miss Langley, that you and I are the victims of some very ugly gossip.”
Chapter Seven
And while thou livest, dear Kate, take a fellow of plain and uncoined constancy; for he perforce must do thee right, because he hath not the gift to woo in other places: for these fellows of infinite tongue, that can rhyme themselves into ladies’ favours, they do always reason themselves out again.
—William Shakespeare
Roxana had always considered the Earl of Ayersley the most understated of gentlemen. He always dressed neatly and correctly, and in the most buttoned-up fashion. He spoke carefully, and usually only after some reflection. He went out of his way not to give offense. And he had never been one to heed gossip, much less to spread it.
Little wonder, then, that his pronouncement seized her attention. “What gossip?”
Ayersley looked down at his boots. “About you and me. Oliver—that is, Mr. Dean, my secretary—asked a few discreet questions following that stir in the churchyard. He heard a most disturbing rumor.”
“Yes? What is it?”
Ayersley glanced up. “He spoke to a young lady. You may remember her from the ball—a Miss Penn? She came with the Sherbournes.”
Roxana nodded. “Her mother was behind the unpleasantness this morning.”
“Perhaps Miss Penn didn’t realize Oliver was in my employ, or perhaps he simply has a knack for inviting confidences. She told him that during the ball, her mother was much affected by the heat. Dr. Massey and his wife were good enough to take Mrs. Penn out into the garden while most of the other guests were eating supper, and Miss Penn waited for them on a bench inside.”
Roxana had a sudden horrible premonition of what he was about to say. Miss Penn had been in the corridor when she’d emerged from the library that night. She had stared at Roxana—a girl slipping out of a secluded room, ducking her head to hide her face.
“She told him we had been alone together in my library for half an hour, with the door closed,” Ayersley went on. “And while her mother and the Masseys were in the garden—”
The premonition turned into an even more terrible realization. The library windows looked out on the garden. Roxana could remember checking her reflection in the glass, righting her hair and her gown after Ayersley kissed her. That same glass that mirrored the library interior must have afforded anyone in the garden a perfect view of the candlelit room and all that had passed between them.
A horrendous weight was pressing on Roxana’s chest, squeezing off her breath. So that was why Mrs. Penn had cut her today.
“Apparently her mother and the Masseys saw us alone together,” Ayersley said, voicing her worst fears. “We were—they were out there when—they saw you under me on the library table.”
The squeezing in her chest was growing stronger. It was spreading higher too. A distant roaring sounded in her ears. “No.” Beyond that one word, she couldn’t get a single syllable out.
“Miss Penn is telling everyone that we—that our—” Ayersley looked down at the carpet. “She believes that is why Major Wyatt broke off your engagement.”
Roxana opened her mouth to speak. Nothing came out. She tried again. “But George is telling everyone it was my idea to call off the wedding.”
“Unfortunately, you pointed Major Wyatt out to Miss Penn earlier that same evening—proudly, according to Miss Penn—and mentioned your marriage plans. She maintains you couldn’t possibly have changed your mind that quickly.”
Yes, there was a very definite roaring in her ears. Whether it stemmed from anger or panic, Roxana couldn’t tell.
“Oh no.” She sprang to her feet and walked off several paces. “But when we were in your library, that wasn’t what it looked like. I admit it was wrong, but we didn’t really—”
“I know.” Poor Ayersley had likewise risen to his feet. Too polite to remain seated when she was not, he was compelled to stand there looking miserable, like a disgraced schoolboy called out on the headmaster’s carpet.
Roxana paced the floor. “This is beyond anything. I’m jilted by George, and Miss Penn has it that you and I are to blame? And if her mother and Dr. and Mrs. Massey saw us…clearly they must think…”
Ayersley raised remorseful eyes to hers. “Do you see now how I’ve compromised you? This has the makings of a full-blown scandal.”
“Oh no.” It was all she could seem to say. George had broken off their engagement, and rumor had her carrying on a secret, illicit affair beneath his very nose. Beneath the whole county’s very nose, in fact. Everyone she knew had attended the earl’s ball.
She was ruined. What did it matter that she had gone to Ayersley’s library merely to pull together her shattered nerves? What did it matter that they’d both been caught up in a tearful scene, and nothing of lasting import had happened? No one would believe them. It was precisely the sort of rumor that spread like wildfire. It was the kind of rumor she’d repeated herself, and with great enthusiasm. They were doomed.
“Please don’t look so distressed,” Ayersley said softly.
“I can’t help it. I don’t know what to do.”
He came to her side, took her arm and led her back to her seat. When she’d sat down again, he took his place opposite her. “You may not know what to do,” he said, leaning forward. “But I do.”
She stared at him.
“Marry me.”
Silence stretched between them, though it was an imperfect silence. Somewhere in the farthest reaches of the house, a great distance away, Harry was calling out as part of some childish game. Birds sang to one another in the park outside the window. When George had proposed to her years before, Roxana had been deafened by the thudding of her heart, but in the long interval following Ayersley’s offer she heard Harry, and the songbirds, and even Ayersley’s own expectant breathing.
“Marry you?” she managed at last.
“Yes. We’ve known eac
h other for years. Riddlefield was almost a second home to me when I was a boy. I think we would rub along very well together.”
Roxana stared, taking in his solemn expression. He had offered to marry her once when they were children, simply so she wouldn’t cry. He was doing the same thing again. Proper, dutiful Ayersley. How ludicrously noble.
She reached across to set her hand on his. “You don’t have to do this. It’s most kind of you, but I would never ask you to make such a sacrifice.”
“It’s not kindness, nor sacrifice either. I’ve landed you in an appalling fix. Please let me help you.”
“Ayersley,” she chided softly. “Don’t be foolish.”
He flushed and dropped his gaze to where her hand rested on his. “Does my offer seem so foolish to you, then?”
“You know what I mean. It’s one thing to worry on my behalf over rumors, but—marriage?”
He met her eyes without looking away. “I believe we would not regret it.”
This was bizarre. It couldn’t be happening. They had grown up as neighbors. Ayersley was the most mild-mannered gentleman she had ever met. How could they be embroiled in scandal together? How could he be proposing marriage?
Good heavens, Ayersley didn’t even like her very much. He thought her silly. At the ball, he’d all but dragged his feet as his mother maneuvered them into dancing together. That kiss had been a momentary aberration, a champagne-fueled impulse all the more necessary to dismiss because it had been so very unlike him.
Roxana shook her head. “No. Better to simply brazen it out. Marriage isn’t something to be rushed into only to put down a few spiteful rumors. Neither of us would be happy, tied down to a mere expedience.”
He dropped down on one knee in front of her. His face looked so earnest and so worried, peering into hers, the action appeared to be one of reflex rather than the customary stance of a man proposing. “It might not be a love match, but I wouldn’t call it a mere expedience, either. I assume you want children. I need an heir. Couldn’t you be happy, with children of your own?”
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