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Nora winced. She moved closer to the countess and spoke softly, “I’m afraid I took a wrong turn when I left the retiring room and ran into Lord Haywood.”
Lady Satterfield’s expression deepened to a frown. “I see. Did anything happen?” She also kept her voice low.
Oh no, did Lady Satterfield think Nora would’ve repeated the same mistake again?
The countess’s face softened. “Notthat, dear. I meant, did he make any untoward advances?”
“Only verbally. I instructed him never to speak to me again.”
Lady Satterfield laughed, which put Nora at ease. “Well done. I wish I could’ve seen it.” She linked her arm through Nora’s, and they left the house. “On that note, did anyone see you?”
“Not with him, but I ran into Lady Abercrombie on my way back. If she saw Lord Haywood…” Nora couldn’t bring herself to verbalize her fear.
Lady Satterfield patted Nora’s forearm. “Do not worry yourself about it. She saw nothing. Anything she says will be innuendo.”
“But that’s enough to ruin someone, isn’t it?”
“It can be…damaging, but I’ll ensure that it isn’t.”
Nora sent her a disbelieving look as they walked back down to the grass. “How will you manage that miracle?”
The countess smiled. “Leave that to me, my dear. One doesn’t spend three decades amongst the ton without learning how to survive and how to protect those we care about.”
Nora’s heart swelled. For a brief moment, it almost felt as though she had a mother again. And that sentiment was enough to drive away the disquiet Haywood had left her with.
For now.
Titus stalked into his office, intent on the whisky decanter. He was glad for the abbreviated session in the House of Lords tonight. He loosened his cravat as he arrived at the sideboard. As he poured his whisky, he worked to shove the evening’s business from his mind—he was weary of discussing the Luddites.
Instead, he preferred to focus on the pleasant afternoon he’d spent at Brexham Hall. He’d enjoyed his brief walk with Nora more than he ought to admit.
He wished he’d skipped the infernal meeting and stayed to take her out in one of the boats. Instead, she’d likely gone with Dawson, a gentleman Titus didn’t even know but longed to remove from her presence.
Really? He wanted to deny her the very thing she was trying to gain? She wanted a husband. She deserved a husband. Or at least happiness. And if a husband would afford that, then that was what she deserved.
“Your Grace?” Abbott, the butler who’d overseen this town house in Titus’s father’s time, stood at the threshold. “There is a letter from Lady Satterfield on your desk. It arrived while you were out.”
Titus took a drink of whisky as he went and located the note from his stepmother. He set the glass down to open the paper. Immediately, a cold sweat dappled the back of his neck.
Kendal,
I am concerned that a rumor that has started about Miss Lockhart will spread. She was seen leaving a private rendezvous with Lord Haywood this afternoon. It was a chance meeting and one that no one witnessed, but the woman who saw her immediately afterward—that detestable Lady Abercrombie—seems intent on disparaging Nora. I’m going to do my best to quash any gossip, and would appreciate any help you can offer.
Lady S
Rage heated his blood and sent tremors through his hands. He crumpled the paper and dropped it on his desk. “Abbott,” he barked.
“Yes, Your Grace?”
“Have my coach brought back around—I’m going to the club.” He meant to find Haywood and ensure the knave never again came within fifty paces of Nora.
“Yes, Your Grace.” Abbot didn’t question the sudden change of Titus’s evening plans, which was a bit surprising. Titus didn’t remember the last time he’d done anything spontaneously.
But this was necessary. He picked up his whisky and tossed it down his throat in its entirety. The liquor warmed his belly, stoking the anger that the lecherous Haywood had provoked.
A scant twenty minutes later, Titus strode into Brooks’s and immediately walked into the subscription room, where a good number of London’s gentlemen would be gambling and drinking. He scanned the tables for Haywood and located him seated near the corner, playing whist.
He strode to his former crony with purpose, aware that dozens of pairs of eyes followed him. When he arrived at the table, the occupants looked up at him in concert, but he noted this from the periphery of his vision—his primary focus was on the reprobate who’d dared insult Miss Lockhart a second time. “Stand up, Haywood.” He kept his voice low and didn’t give a whit that it carried a dark menace. In fact, helikedthat.
