Miss Nothing (Unexpected Heirs)

Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

K eynsham took her elbow and guided her toward a door that opened into a corridor. “Why on earth were you carrying a tray? Why did you not wait for me? Who has imposed upon you in this way?”

She couldn’t think straight. Faces seemed to surround her—faces wearing expressions of curiosity, amusement, concern, or disgust. He hurried her down the corridor and stopped abruptly. “I cannot take you to the retiring room. Mrs. Fairleigh will be there.”

He looked around, opened another door, and ushered her into a room. “You will have privacy here.” He pulled out a chair. “Please, sit down. I will tell my grandmother that we require a lady’s maid to help you restore your appearance. Good God! You should be receiving at least as much attention and help as that blasted….” He stopped, shook his head, and strode out of the room, leaving her alone.

She sat down slowly. She didn’t feel like herself. She’d seen the prince regent in person—not ten feet away from her. But she’d also run up and down the back stairs of a grand London house like a servant. Or… not like a servant. As a servant.

What on earth had she been thinking? She’d been allowing herself to find Mr. Keynsham… well, attractive. But she didn’t belong in this world at all.

She no longer knew where she did belong. From the moment that her father had told her that she was to marry, her world had been turned upside down. And when she’d fled, she’d left behind certainty, safety, and even her name.

Miss Ryder? Hah . She might as well call herself Miss Disaster—or Miss Nobody. She knew nothing—not even the price of a stagecoach fare. She’d been so unwary that she’d been pickpocketed. Mr. Keynsham’s bravery had been all that saved her from those street thugs—and now she’d managed to ruin his grandmother’s ball.

Perhaps Wilkes was the best that she could hope for after all. Tears began to spill from her eyes.

“Miss Ryder.” Keynsham was back. His hazel blue eyes were intent and concerned as he held a candle up. “Here. Ice, wrapped in clean muslin. Every so often I take a blow to the face. It is by far the best thing for a bruise.” He saw the tears on her cheeks. “Take my handkerchief.” He looked away tactfully as she struggled to stop crying.

“A… a bruise?” She blew her nose and swallowed hard.

“I do not think that you will bruise. There may be a red mark for a few hours.”

“I—I am sorry,” she choked out.“It is all my fault. When they told me to carry trays upstairs, I did not know how to explain that… it just seemed easier… And… and now I have ruined everything!”

“Miss Ryder.” He knelt beside her chair, trying to get her to look at him. “This is not your fault. No one ought to have treated you this way.”

She wished that he weren’t seeing her like this—in her ice-cream stained gown, her cheek stinging, her lips wobbling, her nose running and hair escaping down her neck.

But when she looked up, what she saw in his eyes wasn’t disgust. It was, instead, an unmistakable warmth… mixed with a tenderness so unexpected that for a moment she felt as though she couldn’t quite breathe.

“Miss Ryder. I have—well, this may sound odd, and I do not wish to speak presumptuously, but….”

Two maids bustled in with a basin of steaming water. He stopped himself. He rose. “Keep holding that ice to your face.”

The moment the door closed the maids began helping her remove her gown. One whisked it away to be sponged and brushed. The other moved a screen so that she could wash in private.

She rinsed away the grime of traveling, the East London gutter, and traces of melted cream ice. Afterwards, she sat in her chemise while the maid brushed out her hair—a luxury that she hadn’t experienced since her father had let most of the servants go. But even that comforting touch didn’t seem to restore her confidence.

The uproar in the rest of the house was subsiding. The ball seemed to be ending. One maid pinned her hair up. The other came back with her gown—a little damp in places, but pressed and miraculously free of traces of ice cream.

She dressed. But the hollow feeling in her chest was growing. She’d run away, yes. But running away and staying away were two very different things. She’d been foolish to imagine that she was capable of the latter. She hadn’t the first idea how to survive on her own.