Chapter Eight
Despite his notoriously rakish ways, Laurence had never before found himself in a position like this. And what was more ridiculous was that, unlike with other dalliances, nothing had happened. He had merely tried to comfort the distraught girl—but clearly that had been a mistake.
He should have known to leave well enough alone.
Perhaps the grief had softened his heart, for he was no fool; he didn’t need to be told how being discovered with his arm around an eligible young lady in a dark corner would look.
And discovered by the Duchess of Tewkesbury, no less—who was as well known for gossiping as Laurence was for womanizing.
“I can assure you, Your Grace,” Laurence began, standing up to address the old lady, “you are mistaken. Miss Carrington was upset, and I was just offering to escort her back to her brother.”
The duchess tutted. “A likely story. Do not think I am unaware of your reputation, Lord Walsham.”
Laurence gritted his teeth and tried very hard not to look as irritated as he felt.
He had tried to be kind, but instead was being accused of inappropriate behavior.
It did not really seem fair. And he hadn’t so much as kissed the young woman.
Perhaps, for a moment, he had considered it…
but then his sensibility had returned, and he had not followed through with such a desire.
Miss Carrington stood. She had managed to stop crying, and she faced the duchess with a surprising amount of bravery.
“Your Grace,” she said, finally seeming to find her tongue, “Lord Walsham’s words are true. I was upset because of something my brother said, and I foolishly ran in here. He was merely making sure I was not hurt.”
The duchess narrowed her eyes. “And what exactly were you doing on the dark walk, Lord Walsham, if not pursuing a conquest?”
Laurence sighed and fought the desire to roll his eyes. “If you must know,” he said, eying the ladies behind the duchess and wondering if his words would shock them, “I was avoiding a lady with whom I have an…acquaintance. One I did not wish to see.”
The duchess laughed. “Oh yes, the dark walk is well known as a place to hide from amorous encounters, rather than seek them out,” she said with a hearty dose of sarcasm.
“I’m afraid we find ourselves in a bit of a situation here.
As you must be aware, Lord Walsham, your presence with this girl—with your arm around her, your clothes upon her—has utterly ruined her reputation. ”
Laurence closed his eyes momentarily as Miss Carrington gasped beside him. This entire thing was ridiculous: the idea that he had ruined the girl simply by checking whether she was all right. Very well, it was not the best location for such activity, but that did not mean…
“What is the meaning of this?” a male voice said, joining the group in the clearing. Laurence rather expected it to be Carrington, but although he was there too, it was not his voice that had spoken.
“Baron Brett. Mr. Carrington. I’m afraid we have a situation here,” the Duchess of Tewkesbury said, clearly delighting in being involved in such drama.
Did she not care that she was ruining this girl’s reputation, her chances at a decent marriage?
Or was she entirely intent on ensuring that this encounter ended in a very good marriage indeed…
Even though he knew he needed to find a wife, the thought still sent a shiver down his spine. He had spent a long time avoiding getting shackled, and he had not thought that he would somehow find himself trapped into being so, with very little say in the matter or choice in the bride.
“I can see that,” Baron Brett said, anger filling his face. Laurence wondered who he was and what connection he had to the Carringtons. Perhaps he was some uncle? He certainly looked of an age to be.
“Oliver, I can promise—” Miss Carrington began.
“Be quiet, you silly girl,” Mr. Carrington said, and Laurence found his dislike for the man growing. “What have you done? You’ve ruined everything, and why? To spite me?”
Miss Carrington shook her head furiously. “No, I have not, I promise—”
“I see no other option,” the duchess said, a small smile playing upon her lips. “She is ruined. You will have to marry her, Walsham. And quickly.”
“No!”
The protest did not come from Miss Carrington, as he might have expected, or from her brother—but from Baron Brett, whose face was clearly red, even in moonlight.
“This is not to be borne, Carrington. We had an agreement—you cannot just…”
“You can still marry her,” Mr. Carrington said, and it became apparent to Laurence why Miss Carrington had run away, why she had been so upset.
“Things don’t have to change. We’ll hurry things along. I can pay for a special license—”
Baron Brett sneered. “With what money? And besides, she is not worth the same now. She is ruined, as the duchess said. Why on earth would I pay the same for spoiled goods as I would have done for a chaste bride?”
Laurence turned to look at Miss Carrington—partly to see her reaction and partly to stop himself from punching the obnoxious baron.
It seemed that she had not known the full extent of the situation, for her features were frozen in a look of horror, and then her eyes darted between her brother and the man who was clearly expecting to marry her as a form of payment.
Carrington cleared his throat. “The girl must marry, yes, but there is no need for anyone to know of—”
And he could not say exactly why he did it, but Laurence found himself saying, “I have ruined her. I will marry her.”