“That you are engaged.”
Roswell reared back slightly. “How did you find out?”
“Was it to be a secret, then?”
“No,” he replied, “but I only just asked Miss Bentley to marry me.”
Townsend smiled. “Apparently, Lord Worthington is at White’s, and he is quite inebriated,” he explained. “He has been shouting at anyone who will listen that you have stolen his fiancée right from under him.”
“He is saying that?”
“That, and more.”
Roswell frowned. “I do not like him saying such disparaging things about Miss Bentley.”
“I imagine not, since she is your fiancée now.”
“That she is.”
Townsend looked at him curiously. “I must admit that I find it rather surprising, considering the timing of it all.”
“Why is that?”
“It wasn’t long ago that you couldn’t abide Miss Bentley, and now you’ve offered for her.”
“I’m afraid a lot has changed for me.”
“Clearly,” Townsend agreed.
“If you question my affection towards Miss Bentley—” Roswell started.
Townsend stopped him. “I am doing no such thing,” he said. “I can see a change in your demeanor, and I find myself happy for you.”
“You do?”
Placing a hand on his shoulder, Townsend said, “I am glad that you found Miss Bentley, I truly am.”
“Thank you for that.”
“Have you had a chance to tell her about what happened that night?”
He stiffened. “I have not.”
“Don’t you think you should?”
“I suppose I must.”
Townsend dropped his hand. “I think it would be for the best.”
“You are right, but I must admit I am dreading that conversation.”
Before Townsend could reply, Cosgrove approached, his hands out wide. “You are engaged?!”
“I am,” Roswell replied.
Cosgrove chuckled. “I didn’t think you would be the first one of us to fall prey to the parson’s mousetrap.”
“I am as surprised as you are,” Roswell replied. “May I ask how you found out about the engagement?”
