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This debacle was my bad luck, not his. Serves me right, imagining that I can outsmart the devil, but it is worse than unfair to Bentwood. His only fault is a troublesome sister-of-sorts.
I turn my back on everyone, put a hand on his chest, shake my head.
“Quite right, I should have thought of it sooner.”
He starts to remove his jacket. No mean feat with the close fit.
“No!” I stop him. “Just no.”
Before I can back away, he wraps his arm around me, pulls me into his warmth.
“If you will excuse us, we have a torn ribbon to attend to,” he tells the gathering gawkers.
Desperately searching for a way to end this, I stumble when he turns us toward the house.
Sir Donald rushes to stop us.
“No, no, this is not right. Wrong man. Wrong man entirely.”
Bentwood wouldn’t have stopped, but Montague, who must have been following us, picks that moment to step through the trellis from the vegetable garden, blocking our way.
“Me, she’s agreed to marry me,” Montague bites out, jaw tight, eyes narrowed. “Ran away to tease me, is all. You, poor fellow, stepped in at the wrong moment. Our carriage awaits, my love.”
He bows and holds out his hand.
“Delicious! Debased by two and discovered.” Lady Trilby gushes, delighted with my downfall.
Refusing to be cowed, I face her.
“Championed by two for the mere folly of a poorly threaded piece of silk.” There’s only one hope, one way to salvage Bentwood. I had no intention of marrying Montague, but that’s what I will do. “Lord Montague.” I push free of Bentwood and lift my hand to the man I meant to shame.
He steps back, eyes on something behind me. Commotion ripples through the crowd.
My father is an imposing figure. Tall, broad-chested, with an indefinable energy that parts the throng as he strides into this mess. Years spent in diplomacy, he is quick to read a situation. Offering a sharp nod for Charlie, he ignores everyone else, including Montague and me. I hate the way he does that.
“I hadn’t expected you to anticipate the marriage vows, Bentwood,” he says. “Could have waited until after the announcement.”
No one else would see his anger, but he couldn’t hide it from me. I have let him down. Again. He's already dictated which suitors I should encourage. Montague was on the list to shun. Bentwood was on neither. Both of us respect him too much to land him with me.
“Hide and seek.” Charlie smiles ruefully, “Ribbon foiled by foliage.”
Papa is amused. Amused?
“Take her indoors and have her maid mend the dress.”
Charlie nods, and winks at me. I feel like I’ve come into a play halfway through and missed all the clues.
Ready to defy Papa, to save a man I admire above all others, I look for Montague. The coward has slipped from the scene.
As regally as possible with a ruined bodice, I take Bentwood’s offered arm and turn towards the back doors of Bentwood House. The crowd disperses. Busy whispers grow fainter though no less burdensome. Word will spread like red wine spilled on white linen: impossible to remove.
Lost in my machinations, I jump when Charlie asks, “Did you mean to marry him?”
He should know better than to ask, even though I had left the idea open to speculation for the betting.
“It’s not too late,” I tell him. “If only Papa hadn’t become involved.”
“That was my fault,” Charlie admits. “I told him Montague had taken you to the garden.”
