“Copper-colored, really,” Viola said.
“Well? Has he?”
“We do not know yet,” Viola said. “But I fear I have made it impossible.”
“I do not see where any of this is going,” the earl said. “What is the mix-up or mistake in all of this?”
Darden, no doubt seeing that it would take Viola all day long to actually communicate the facts, said, “Viola put about a story to see if Baderston would stick by her. It was all very innocent, but you know what happens to stories when they travel round.”
“People can be terrible gossips,” Miss Mayton said, shaking her head sadly.
“Out with it, Darden,” the earl said. “The whole thing.”
Viola shuddered.
Darden nodded and cleared his throat. “The story put about was that, long ago, a red-haired tinker’s boy asked Viola to elope to Gretna Green and she was flattered, but declined. Somehow, the story that travels round now is that Viola actuallywentto Gretna Green and then changed her mind and returned to her father’s house.”
There. It was said. The whole horrible thing was said.
Viola gripped the sides of her chair. She had never seen her father appear so grave. She had never before feared that she had disappointed him. Shamed him, even.
“Well,” the earl said slowly, “that is a tale indeed. And you think it’s known widely?”
“Widely enough for Viola to have received notices from a few matrons that her invitations are rescinded,” Darden said.
The earl was silent for what seemed an age. Thoughts raced through Viola’s mind—she would be sent home in disgrace, she would become a spinster or be forced to marry some local man who did not care what was said about her. She’d held onto a shred of hope that Lord Baderston could be counted on, but that hope had fled upon seeing her own father’s reaction to the news.
How could Lord Baderston stand up against it when all of society believed she’d run off with a tinker? His mother’s dislike was one thing, she might be managed. But all of society believing such a shameful thing about Viola? It was impossible that he should go forward with any ideas he might have had. Loyalty was one thing, but absolute shame and disgrace were another. Who would wish to be loyal to a lady who was capable of such a thing?
Lord Baderston would consider it such a betrayal that he’d not been told of it directly from her, even though there was nothing to tell!
“Viola,” the earl said, “what you have done in starting this gossip is akin to setting alight a pile of brush in a dry wood. You meant it as a small thing, but it speedily burned out of control.”
He sighed and continued. “As anybody might have guessed it would. It was not wise to do it, but I believe you are paying an unjust price for what was really only girlish foolishness.”
Girlish and foolish. Yes, that is what she had been. Really, she’d probably been worse than that, but her father was always very kind in his assessment of things.
“Miss Mayton,” the earl said, “though I know it seems the girls are all grown, I am afraid you’ll need to enact some closer supervision.”
Viola stared at her father wide-eyed; her aunt fanned herself. Darden quietly snorted.
“I suppose you’ll wish me to pack my things and return home,” Viola said.
For one, she thought it likely she would be sent home and would wish to know her fate at once. For another, she would not care for her father to spend any amount of time wondering about her aunt’s role in this disaster.
“Return home? Quite the opposite,” the earl said. “Running away would only serve as a confirmation in people’s minds. This must be faced down.”
“That’s what I thought, Father,” Darden said. “I can assure you that the YBC is prepared to back Viola vigorously. I will call on Rosalind too. With the duke behind us, we cannot fail to make some inroads into the idea that the story is not true.”
“Yes,” the earl said, “do all of that. The duke can rally some powerful people, not the least of which are the queen and Lady Hightower. I will speak to my friends who are in Town. Meanwhile, we are meant to go to the theater this evening and we will go, heads held high.”
“Oh, Papa, I am so sorry that I have brought this much trouble to you,” Viola said.
“Do not destroy yourself over it, my dear. If every person ever talked about by thetonfell into despair, London would not be half so crowded. I will be interested to see what your copper-haired fellow makes of things.”
Viola brushed a tear from her eye. “I am afraid this might be too much for anybody. Even Lord Baderston. And it is all my own fault—has any woman managed to ruin her own happiness so stupidly?”
“Well, it seems I’ve done it a few times,” Miss Mayton said sympathetically. “Remember poor Gregorio? My Italian count dealt himself a deadly blow because I arrived minutes too late. I did very stupidly linger over my breakfast that morning. One less piece of toast might have made all the difference! Alas, one never really knows how things will turn out.”
