She could barely tolerate the possibility.
As soon as the carriage turned onto the street and she was certain she was no longer visible to Fitzwilliam, she leaned her head out of the window and ignored the rain pelting her. “Chambers, take me to Easton House.”
“Yes, m’lady!”
Settling back against the bench, she removed a handkerchief from her reticule and dabbed at her face. She knew that Fitzwilliam wouldn’t approve. She simply had to ensure that he never found out.
She could do that easily enough with discretion. She stuck her head back out the window. “Chambers, use the mews not the front entrance.”
If he answered, she didn’t hear it because thunder rumbled. She slipped back inside and hoped it had not been a sign of disapproval from on high. No one would look for her at the servants’ entrance. She would meet quickly with Sebastian, explain that she was not responsible for the ugly rumors and if they all just ignored them they would fade away. She needed no more than five minutes. Then she would return home.
Simple enough. While she was there she would explain in person about the return of the necklace and how they must avoid each other. Surely he understood her betrothed’s jealousy for he would no doubt feel the same toward the woman he intended to marry. He’d not tolerate her seeking solitary moments with another man. Nor should he.
Then an awful thought occurred to her. What if he wouldn’t see her? What if her letter and the awful rumors circulating had torn asunder the last threads of their fragile friendship? By the time the carriage drew to a halt, she’d worked herself up into a worrisome lather. If he weren’t angry with her, if he understood, he’d have at least sent her a missive indicating such.
Instead, she’d had only silence from him since having her own message delivered. The footman opened the door and handed her down. Just as he had at Fitzwilliam’s so he had a devil of a time keeping pace with her as she raced up the path. It suddenly seemed imperative that she see Sebastian, that she make things right between them. Yes, her loyalty was to Fitzwilliam but she couldn’t ignore Sebastian.
The rain slashed at her sideways, each frigid drop as painful as she suspected Sebastian’s icy words to her might be. The puddles splashed, soaking her hems. She reached the back door and pounded on it. A footman opened it, and she burst through as though she’d been invited.
The servants’ eyes widened but no one stopped her progress until the butler caught up to her in the foyer. She was a soggy mess and her hair was falling, but she didn’t care. “Please let His Grace know that Lady Mary Wynne-Jones has come to call.”
“I’m sorry, m’lady, but he is not receiving.”
She thrust up her chin and spoke with the full weight of her father’s rank. “He will receive me.”
He gave a slight bow of acquiescence. “I shall let him know you’re here.”
She expected him to go down a hallway. Instead, he started up the stairs. She wondered if Sebastian were readying himself for the Moreland dinner. It seemed rather early and she’d not considered that he would attend. It would be quite awkward unless he understood everything. Her coming here had been a wise decision on her part, essential in fact, to ensuring that she did not anger Fitzwilliam unduly tonight.
She glanced around, caught sight of a mirror, and moved toward it. As soon as her reflection greeted her, she gasped. She was a fright. Her hat was wilted, her hair drooping from the weight of the wet strands. She looked like a cat that someone had attempted to drown.
Sebastian would no doubt laugh just as he had when they were children and she’d tumbled into the river. He’d rescued her then. How fortunate she’d been that he was near, because she hadn’t a clue how to swim. But he’d taught her. While she’d worn nothing except her undergarments. It hadn’t seemed wrong at all. She’d forgotten about that. Now of course it was unconscionable.
At the sound of heavy footsteps, she gazed upward, surprised to discover that it wasn’t Sebastian making his way down. “Lord Tristan.”
He smiled slightly. “Lady Mary.”
“Forgive the formality. It seems pretentious after everything we shared. I was simply caught unawares by your presence. I’m here to speak with Sebastian.”
“Yes, so Thomas informed me. Unfortunately Sebastian is not up to receiving callers.”
“Callers? Or me?” Without waiting for his reply, she started up the stairs.
He caught up with her easily enough, grabbed her arm, and halted her progress. “Mary, wait.”
“I know he’s upset about the gossip, but I must explain.” Wrenching free, she carried on. This time he didn’t try to stop her, but she was aware of the echo of his footsteps following in the wake of hers.
At the top of the stairs, she took the familiar path that had added to her downfall once before, but this time there were no witnesses other than Tristan, who would certainly hold his tongue. She would have her say and leave. No one would be the wiser. The door was open so she simply swept into the room and stumbled to an ungainly stop.
Sebastian was in the bed, breathing heavily, bathed in dampness as though he had been the one running through the rain instead of her. He was wearing a nightshirt, but it was unbuttoned and soaked, plastered to his skin. She took tentative steps forward until she was near enough to press a hand to his brow. Fevered. Worse than fevered. She’d never felt skin so hot. “He’s burning up.”
“His wound is festering. I’ve sent for the physician.”
She caught scent of the rancid odor now. Then she noticed something clasped in his hand, the gold filigree chain dangling onto the bed. Her necklace. Cautiously she touched his fist.
“I’ve not been able to get him to release it,” Tristan said.
It was silly to think that her returning it had caused the decline. “How could this have happened? He visited with us.”
