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We both listen to nothing.
He nudges me to follow him through the trellis.
“You were out, behind the maze, because of criminals?” I finally ask. Not to rescue me.
“Yes,” he admits. “We should be safe. I’ve posted guards.”
Guards, at Bentwood?
We walk quickly, nearly making it to the back of the house before Lady Trilby and Sir Donald step out of the shadows.
“What ho! Who have we here?” Sir Donald bellows loud enough to reach the far side of the grounds.
“Why, it’s Lady Katherine. Oh, my, her dress is undone!” Lady Trilby shrills.
My mouth opens but words fail. What were they doing there?
I struggle to hold my senses, as well as my gown, together. Bentwood would never abandon me to the wolves, but he deserves better than to be ensnared by my error.
Chin up, looking down my nose, I attempt to salvage him.
“My ribbon broke. Lord Bentwood was looking for trespassers and…”
“Truly ruined.”
He holds up the bedraggled silk, owning it.
He will not make this easy. Startled by his nudge, I look up into a smile I know too well. CeCe’s signal for me to go along with whatever she said. I don’t smile back in agreement.
“Not to worry.” Lady Trilby hurries over, catching me off guard when she grabs my arm and tugs me further from the shadows. “We can have that all to rights before you have to make any announcements.”
Bentwood is safe. Montague has won by default.
“Of course, of course.” Thankfully, Sir Donald steps between Charlie and me. No one needs to know the Earl was involved. “All’s well that ends well, eh?”
My fate determined by a slip of ribbon. Ruined and married to Montague. Betting books will be slammed shut.
Bentwood shifts around Trilby.
“I see we will have to bring the announcement forward,” he says, freezing them both.
“Wait, you know of it?” Sir Donald asks.
“It is my affair to know about,” Bentwood claims.
“Oh, no,” Sir Donald gushes. “No need for that, Bentwood. Montague is here, ready to step up to the matter. Happy to do so. No doubt involved in the tearing of the ribbon.”
He chuckles.
“I don’t think so.”
Bentwood’s voice is frost.
I knew he’d grown aristocratic over the years, but had never been exposed to it before now.
“It doesn’t matter a whiff who might want to step up to the matter. Never has. Arrangements were made long before this evening, and reason for tonight’s festivities. As for the ribbon…” He looks at it with faux despair, before smiling at me with such tender teasing I could cry. “I was present when the ribbon was torn.”
Oh, bother, bother, bother. How to extricate him without slaying his reputation?
