Chapter 18 #3
“Right. Yes, of course.” Verbena picked up her skirts.
What mattered now was preserving étienne’s reputation.
Good lord, if he’d actually been so foolish as to make an assignation— “Penny, did you happen to overhear who the supposed second man in the cloakroom was?” She had a notion it had been Miles, though perhaps étienne’s lustful urges had guided him to some other man last night.
A single romp in the woods could have been sufficient, she supposed, for those two.
Penny shook her head. “Whoever he was, miss, the whisperers either don’t know or don’t care.”
Verbena gave Penny a nod of thanks and rushed back toward the manor.
The dogcart was pulling into the driveway when she at last made her way to the front of the house.
étienne was at the reins. Miles was laid out in the cart with a stark white bandage on his arm.
He raised his good arm at Verbena’s approach.
“Miss Montrose, hello there!” His speech sounded somewhat slurred, as if the doctor had given him a draft that dulled his senses. “A lovely day, isn’t it?”
“Mr. McDonald, I am glad to hear you’re well,” she called to him. Then, practically pulling étienne down to the ground, she whispered, “I need to speak with you.”
“My dear, you have no shoes,” étienne said.
“Never mind that,” Verbena said, and tugged him bodily into the nearby rose garden, leaving a very confused Miles to navigate a one-armed dismount on his own.
étienne twisted to watch him do so as he was frog-marched away. “Let me at least help him,” he said.
“Miles will be fine. You, on the other hand…” Verbena manhandled étienne behind a tall shrub cut into the shape of an overlarge corgi pup. It was quiet here, no one else about. Verbena lowered her voice anyway. “People are saying you were in the cloakroom last night.”
étienne frowned. “Oh?”
“With a man,” Verbena added.
That made étienne’s eyes go wide and round. “As in—?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“But that is ludicrous! I did nothing of the kind,” étienne cried. “I spent the entire bonfire night in the company of Mr. McDonald.”
“Yes, that is what I am afraid of.”
“Hold your tongue. All we did was talk!” He thought for a moment. “Excepting the few times Miles excused himself. Once or twice he left with that man, the writer—Forsyth. But he returned directly. I did not meet anyone in a cloak closet!”
“I believe you, I do,” Verbena said. The man seemed genuinely offended by the accusation in a way she didn’t think could be faked. “But it doesn’t matter what I believe. It doesn’t matter what is true. The only thing that matters is how others perceive you.”
“Apparently I am perceived as a filthy little sodomite who will dally with a man when given the slightest chance.” A beat. “It is normally true, but it was not last night!” he wailed.
Verbena glanced around the garden. “You mustn’t shout so. The other guests here at Plas Tan tend toward the…artistic, yes? They have come to visit the ladies, who are themselves quite unusual and beloved for it. Perhaps this gossip is harmless.”
Even as she said it, she did not trust in her words. Verbena had never met a harmless piece of gossip in her life. All scandal could be fashioned into a blade. It was only a matter of who wielded it.
Watching étienne’s face crumple into despair, she knew he shared this view.
“And what happens when word reaches London?” he asked.
“You know it will. These artists, their tongues have not stopped wagging since we arrived. They may not wish me ill for my penchants, but once the rumor leaves this circle of like-minded society, it will be over for me.” His breathing became rapid and labored. “My brothers, our shop—my very neck!”
Verbena shushed him, taking him by the shoulders to give him a shake. “Keep your head. Think of everything Lord Byron has done and been accused of doing. He has survived, has he not?”
“I am not Lord Byron!” étienne cried. “I do not have his title or his pretty words to shield me. I do not even have English blood, for god’s sake! I will be ruined.” He put his face in his hands and began to weep.
For the second time in the hour, Verbena found herself in the unenviable position of attempting to comfort a man in the throes of high emotion. At least with étienne, she had no qualms in embracing him, and so she did.
“It’s all right,” she said, petting his curls.
“It will be all right.” What sort of monster was she, that she had been so distracted by her own troubles when this tragedy was playing out at her doorstep?
What right had she to dream of a life with Flora at her side when there were more pressing matters?
She had made a promise to her friend; she had placed him in this position and made him more vulnerable to scrutiny.
It was her duty to see him safely through.
Verbena supposed if she was ever going to learn to be selfless, it was now.
“We are out of time,” she murmured into étienne’s soft hair. “I had hoped for more, but we cannot linger.”
étienne lifted his wet face from her breast, where he had dampened the fabric of her dress. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying—” Verbena closed her eyes and listened to the sound of the sea in the distance, forever heaving and moving. In and out, given and taken, calling to her. She would have to learn to ignore it. “I’m saying,” she said quietly, “that we must announce our engagement today.”
“Today!” étienne squawked.
“Today,” she confirmed. “And we must marry with all due haste.” She sighed. “As unfashionable though it may be.”