Why could she not be more like Bemmy? Why could she not find her own outrage at his scolding? Why could she not brush off the opinions of Baron Sternfellow, the Earl of Frowns?
She did not know why, but she could not.
*
Richard went quietlyinto the library to fetch a very large glass of his uncle’s brandy. He was shocked at what he’d done.
He’d meant to give Miss Upton a grave assessment of her behavior. He’d meant to extract a promise from her that she would work to be a credit to his aunt going forward. He’d not meant, however, to cause the lady to be taken ill and swoon.
What a beast he was! He’d sounded like his father, he was sure he had. That could not continue, he could not turn into his father—that man had been cruel whenever he was in a temper. The things Richard had overheard him say to his mother…but then, his mother was able to give back as hard as she got. Miss Upton was not like that though. She could not hold up against such an onslaught.
He had let his temper rule him, just as his father had always done. He had indulged it, just like his father.
It was precisely what Richard had worked so hard to control. He was meant to be reasonable, measured, and unflappable. His temper, that awful inheritance, had been ordered into a locked box.
As soon as her eyelashes fluttered and she sank to the ground, he knew he’d gone too far.
Why had he done it? After all, Miss Upton’s behavior had not been very good, but it had hardly been criminal.
She was impetuous and he was near certain that had led her to The Ship Inn. It would have been nice if her maid had cautioned her, but that girl had an air of boldness about her he could not quite put his finger on. The maid would have gone along willingly enough. The two of them had likely acted on the spur of the moment, giving little thought to the consequences.
Had Miss Upton been accompanied by the duchess, she would not have escaped her chaperone. But Lady Redfield, well, a toddler just up on its legs could probably outwit that lady.
Richard was certain he’d been white-faced as he’d carried Miss Upton to her bedchamber. She was light in his arms and he had been surprised by it—her presence in the house was so full of upheaval that he’d thought she’d be more substantial. How could one so light create such havoc?
He’d been careful going up the steps, holding her neck steady with one hand and his other arm under her knees. She looked very innocent then, as if she could never do a wrong thing.
He’d left behind the chattering in the drawing room, which appeared to be in Miss Upton’s favor and against society’s wags, with only his aunt hurrying beside him.
Poor Lady Easton had all sorts of speculations on what could have caused Miss Upton to faint—the heat, too much playing of the pianoforte, the pineapple, the endless search the lady had allegedly made for Lady Redfield that afternoon.
She did not guess the real reason though, and Richard did not inform her of it. What was he to say?It appears, Aunt, that I am just as beastly as my father and have now had the pleasure of making a lady collapse.
He must get control of himself.
Now, he walked out of the library with a full tumbler of brandy. He planned to take it to his room, dismiss his valet, and brood out the window with only Edgar for company. At least his dog would still hold a high opinion of him.
As he crossed the hall, he spotted Miss Upton’s maid officiously marching toward the stairs that led to the kitchens. As she passed by him, she muttered, “The poor lady is nearly destroyed, and for what?”
Richard stopped walking, finding himself speechless. He turned and watched the maid storm down the stairs, the words to reprimand her utterly failing to appear in his mind.
Perhaps he should just take the punch. She was right, after all. He had been cruel for what? Further, he had no wish to reprimand the maid’s loyalty to her mistress.
He trudged up the stairs. Even a lady’s maid could see he’d been a beast and was surprisingly unafraid to say so.
He was completely unraveling.
*
Caroline had beenconfined to bed for a full day, though she felt perfectly able to rise. Once she had understood that there was no getting up, she resigned herself to it.
Bemmy was enthusiastic over the confinement and looked upon it as a day off. Her maid had convinced Lady Easton that Miss Upton must be watched all day and who else to do it but Bemmy? Between tea trays filled with assortments of sweets and savories, they played Casino under Bemmy’s unusual directions—it seemed her family regularly changed the rules of card games to suit themselves.
Caroline found her equanimity slowly returning under Bemmy’s cheerful rationality. As her maid had pointed out, no real harm had been done to anybody, except for Lord Bertridge’s black eye, which she felt the Baronet of Bluster richly deserved.
Caroline did not think he deserved it, but she also reminded herself that she was not exactly Moll Cutpurse. She’d done wrong, she’d made stupid mistakes and had been careless of other people, but she’d vowed to correct herself going forward.
There was no getting back into Lord Bertridge’s good graces, but then she supposed she’d never been in them in the first place. He had not liked her right from the outset. She was convinced that his approval had only begun to mean more and more to her simply because it was impossible to get.
