“Though,” the viscount said thoughtfully, “there is one person who might wield such power. Delilah Weston, the Dowager Duchess of Carlisle.”
“But, is that not—” Cassandra sputtered.
“Lord Hampton’s grandmother,” the viscount said. “Even if she cannot lend assistance, I am determined she understand what her grandson has wrought upon this family. If I know Delilah, that stupid young man will pay a heavy price.”
Cassandra could not say she was against causing Lord Hampton and his friends any little amount of trouble, but most importantly, the idea had turned her father away from thoughts of a duel.
She must keep that imperative at the forefront of her efforts. She could not allow her father to slip back into the idea of a duel. She must dwell on that, and not on the knowledge that she had daydreamed of Lord Hampton, unaware that he’d been her undoing. She felt her heart slowly turn to stone against him, bathed in hardening rage.
*
Hampton sat inhis library, sharpening a quill and pondering what to do next. He’d told everybody he’d come into contact with that the gentlemen of the pact had been the authors of the lies spread about Miss Knightsbridge. He’d sought to convince that none of what had been said was true and the lady was entirely innocent.
He could not be certain what effect it had, but for the most part he’d not been believed.
He and his friends admitted to being the worst sort of scoundrels and only kept getting congratulated on their chivalry for attempting to defend the lady!
He really was not certain what to do now, though he thought he ought to go to Surrey and attempt an interview with the viscount. He would own what he did, what attempts had been made to rectify it, and then offer his hand to Miss Knightsbridge.
He could not guess how he would be received, but if the gentleman was of a practical turn of mind, he might see the marriage as a solution.
Wouldsheforgive him, though? Even if he managed to get past the father, would his daughter accept him?
He did not know, but over the days he’d become more and more determined to win her over. In truth, over the days, he’d realized that there would be no other for Edwin Weston.
She no doubt knew by now that they’d owned their crime, but could she find a way to look past it? Then, even if she could, did she even like him a little? She did not even wish to become a duchess, she’d said so the first night they’d met.
It felt a steep mountain to climb, but climb it he would.
Dreyfus softly knocked on the door and opened it. “The dowager duchess to see you, my lord.”
Edwin dropped his quill. His grandmother? Here?
Before he could gather his wits, the dowager stormed the room. “You reprobate! You absolute reprobate!”
“Duchess,” he said.
“Silence!”
*
The next hourof Lord Hampton’s life was filled with the sort of vitriol and condemnations that one would expect from a judge to a murderer.
The dowager, as it turned out, was a particular friend of Miss Knightsbridge’s father. They had kept up a correspondence for going on twenty-five years. The viscount had recently apprised her of Miss Knightsbridge’s misfortune and who was to blame for it.
Edwin attempted to speak once or twice, but it was all for naught.
His grandmother would hear of no excuse, no explanation, no justification. He must bear the full weight of the crime on his shoulders and he should carry it with him all of his days. Once a soul had been stained in such a manner, it could not be washed clean again.
Finally, Edwin stood and yelled, “I’ll marry her!”
The dowager paused in her diatribe. “What did you say?”
“I’ll marry her, if she’ll have me,” Edwin said. “That is the only reparation that I can think of.”
The dowager examined him with a critical eye. “I see. So, heaped upon what you have done already, you would propose to lock the poor girl into a loveless marriage in order to assuage your conscience.”
Edwin did not answer, though he was certain his face flamed red.
