Chapter Seven
The sound of sobbing caught Laurence’s attention, for it was very different from the giggles, amorous sounds, and hushed whispers that filled the dark walk.
He walked toward the sound, unable to help himself—wanting to be of assistance if someone was hurt.
The only light came from the moon, which, thankfully, had appeared from behind the clouds, and as he entered the clearing, he spotted the source of the sobbing.
It was a redheaded woman, her head in her hands, shoulders shaking as she cried.
He cleared his throat, not wanting to startle her, but she jumped anyway.
Even in the moonlight, he could see the anguish on her face, and he found he recognized her: she was Carrington’s sister, the pretty young woman he had danced with months before.
He was rather surprised that he remembered that.
He danced with a lot of women, and they did not all remain firmly in his memory.
“Is all well?” he asked, even though it clearly was not.
She sniffed and shivered a little, and he immediately shrugged off his jacket and handed it to her. “The night is getting chilly—you don’t want to fall ill.”
She reached out and took the coat, slipping it around her shoulders. It nearly drowned her petite frame, but at least she would not be so cold.
“Can you tell me what’s happened? It cannot be as bad as all this, surely…”
He was pleased to see that her clothes showed no sign of any struggle with some disreputable man, but he had no idea as to the cause of her anguish.
She gave him a sad smile. “No, I’m sure it cannot be that bad. I’ll be all right in a minute, Mr.—Lord Walsham. Thank you.”
So it seemed she remembered him too—and also knew of his change in status, and therefore, the death of his father.
He took a seat beside her on the stone bench, wincing as the cold of the stone chilled his skin even through his coat. “This isn’t a good place to be hiding, you know.”
From so close, he saw her cheeks flushed red and wondered what she had seen that had sent her running through the dark walk to this sanctuary.
“I just had to get away from… from them. Just while I figured out what to do…”
Laurence frowned. “Get away from whom? And what is it you need to sort out?”
Anastasia was very grateful for the viscount’s jacket, but she did not wish to explain herself to anyone.
She could not talk about Baron Brett and the proposed marriage between them without feeling as though she might be sick—and she certainly did not wish for that to happen in front of this handsome viscount whom she had danced with once, many months earlier.
She knew she shouldn’t be here, let alone alone with a gentleman—but with her only other option being to return to the main gardens and face her brother, she thought possible ruin seemed less terrifying.
“I can escort you back to the dance floor, if you wish. Your brother must be—”
At the mention of Oliver, she could not control herself and let out a sob.
“Has your brother done something, Miss Carrington?” he asked, and Anastasia did not know what to say.
“Perhaps I could speak with him on your behalf, if you would just tell me—”
Anastasia shook her head. “I don’t think he’d listen. Not to me, not to you… His head is so filled with thoughts of debts and gambling and the life he thinks he should be leading… I just don’t see—” Her voice cracked.
It was ever so hard to admit the truth: that she could not see any way out of marrying the baron unless she intended to become a penniless outcast. She did not know if she could survive that. She had no other family to rely on…only Oliver. And he clearly did not care.
The tears began to flow down her cheeks once more, and she buried her head in her hands, hoping that the viscount would find the situation awkward and leave rather than press her for more details.
He seemed a very pleasant man, although apparently he had a wicked reputation, but she could not confide in him. She could not confide in anyone.
She was surprised by the feeling of a strong arm around her shoulders, and when she looked up, she found the viscount was looking down at her with pity in his eyes.
The warmth from his body seeped through the jacket, and she leaned into it, despite knowing it was wrong.
She could not remember the last time anyone had comforted her, the last time anyone had held her…
She took a deep, shuddering breath, and just for a moment, lay her head against his shoulder and soaked up the feeling that somebody cared about her.
“My, my, what do we have here?” a matronly voice called out, and Anastasia jumped away from the viscount, his jacket falling from her shoulders as she did so.
But it was too late.
Standing in a gap in the shrubbery was the imposing figure of the Duchess of Tewkesbury, with three ladies behind her, gasping behind their fans.
“I—this—it—” No sensible words would come out of her mouth. “Your Grace,” she managed to say in a pleading voice. “I—”
“You are alone in the arms of a gentleman in the dark walk, Miss Carrington. My, when your brother said he could not find you, I never expected…”