"Yet you seem to have heard, without listening. It was not I but Lord Hyatt who chose Olivia's outfit for the painting."
At this juncture, Mrs. Traemore's eyes fell on the sketch of Laura. "I see Lord Hyatt did not have you don a servant's gown for your painting.”
"It is not a painting, merely a little sketch that he did in the garden."
A nasty smile settled on Hettie's lips. "You are welcome to your rake. Livvie would not have him if he crawled on his hands and knees."
"I shouldn't think that very likely, Mrs. Traemore.”
"Nor do I, for it seems he is still in love with the Devereau hussy, if gossip is to be believed. Mrs. Campbell tells me she saw him creeping into her room last night in his stocking feet, after all decent folks had gone to bed."
Laura's face blanched. "I don't believe it," she said in a small voice.
"He has conned you properly, greenhead. Mrs. Campbell not only saw him go in, she kept an eye on the door, for she got her room changed around the corner when Lady Devereau moved in. She watched for ten minutes, and he did not come out."
"Did she also put her ear to the door?" Laura asked, hiding her grief with sarcasm.
"She did, but they were whispering. She did hear the bed springs groan, however."
"That is disgusting," Laura said, and she turned her back to her caller.
Hettie felt she had done her duty and had quite enjoyed it. Talking Laura down from the boughs could wait for another time, for of course Laura must remain in London with Olivia. With her bad back, she could not be expected to jaunter about town till all hours of the morning. "We will be leaving for church at nine o'clock," she said. "Best get downstairs and have some breakfast."
Laura heard, but she was unable to answer. She just stood, with her back to her caller, until the door was closed. She felt as if a mule had kicked her in the stomach. Everything inside her hurt, but she shed no tears. She had always known Hyatt for a rakehell. Why should she be surprised? He had probably had to claim his intentions were honorable a dozen times this season alone, as he was really not at all discreet about where and when he embraced a lady.
Lady Devereau's prophetic words came back to haunt her. "Here today, gone tomorrow-with only a painting and a ruined reputation for a memory." She strode to the bureau, snatched up the sketch, and tore it in a dozen pieces, then threw it in the wastebasket. She didn't want any physical reminders of this unholy interlude. Her memories alone would be quite enough.
After she had destroyed the sketch, she sat on the edge of the bed, regretting her hasty deed. Another whole day to be got in before they could return to London, and thence home to Whitchurch.
Her second Season had been a greater disaster than her first. It would require all her breeding to carry on, but she'd be damned if she meant to let Lord Hyatt and his mistress destroy her reputation.
Ten minutes later, she opened the door and went down to the morning parlor. A fair crowd had gathered, but she noticed from the doorway that Hyatt was not there and was thankful. When Talman rose to draw her chair, she smiled politely. She took her plate to the sideboard and put a small amount of food on it, determined to force herself to eat something. She complimented Talman on his rout and discussed roses with Lady Meaford.
Soon the baroness and her chaperones joined the table. As soon as she decently could, Laura rose and took her leave.
"I shall meet you outside in forty minutes for church, Mama," she said.
Olivia grabbed Laura's skirt as she turned to flee. "He is in the garden waiting for you," she whispered, and smiled encouragingly.
Laura went directly upstairs. Let him wait! What could Hyatt possibly have to say to her? If he meant to continue the flirtation, he would charm her into acquiescence. If he was tired of it, he would laugh it off. How is my fiancee this morning? Or am I being previous to call you my fiancee? No doubt you are too wise to accept my offer. She could almost see the wary light in his eye as he backed off from her.
Her hostess had left a book of poetry by the bedside to beguile a restless guest to slumber. Gray's Elegy in a Country Churchyard just suited her somber mood. At the appointed hour, she put on her bonnet and went belowstairs. She hardly felt the jarring of her heart when Hyatt was seen loitering below.
He looked up the stairs as she descended, and smiled. "Does that bonnet mean you are going to church? I thought we might have a ride this morning."
She gave him a chilly smile. "I always attend church on Sunday, Lord Hyatt, but I shan't attempt to coerce you into anything so respectable. By all means you must have your ride."
"I usually do my worshipping out-of-doors. Trees were made before cathedrals. Will you ride with me this afternoon?"
"I have made other plans," she said, and whisked past him to join a group of ladies bent on going to church.
Hyatt stood looking after her, with a frown puckering his brow. Now what the devil was bothering Laura? He could understand if she had ripped up at him after the set-to with Marie Devereau last night, but she had taken that in her stride. There should be no more trouble with Marie. He had promised to give her the damned portrait, to be rid of her. He had done it as much to please Laura as for any other reason, since she had asked rather pointedly why he wished to keep it. That had certainly sounded like jealousy. A lady was not jealous about a gent she didn't care for.
She had not joined him in the garden, and he knew she had received his message, because the baroness nipped out after her breakfast and told him so. It was beginning to look like a concerted effort to avoid him. Damn, if she meant to refuse his offer, she might at least have the common courtesy to tell him so, instead of leaving him in limbo. He expected more propriety from Miss Harwood. But in the contrary way of human nature, the worse she behaved, the better he was coming to love her.
During the church service, Laura racked her brain to think what she could do that afternoon to avoid Lord Hyatt. When the minister announced that he was giving a guided tour of the church that afternoon, she decided to attend it. A church was sure to be safe from that reprobate, Lord Hyatt.
She mentioned her plan to her mother on the way home. "Why would you want to do that, dear?" her mother asked in perplexity. "The whole point of it is to show the parishioners how the church is falling apart. He is going to take up a collection to make the repairs afterward." Laura had missed that part. "It is not a shilling he will expect either, but a couple of guineas."
"It is a lovely old church. I shall subscribe one guinea," Laura said. It was a bargain price to keep her at distance from Hyatt. When she announced her plan at luncheon, three other ladies decided they would join her.
"We can go in my carriage," Lady Meaford said.
Laura breathed a sigh of relief. She and three other ladies would fill up the carriage, in case Hyatt planned to join them. From the stiff face he was wearing, this did not seem likely.
He did not approach her after lunch. Some of the youngsters were having a game of croquet, and when Lady Meaford's carriage swept through the park, Laura recognized Hyatt's gleaming blond head and broad shoulders. Lady Devereau, she assumed, had been served her breakfast in bed and left. Laura did not see her that day, and none of the other guests mentioned her.
Laura took two memories of the church tour home with her. One was of Reverend Burnes prodding the perishing rock with his cane. A fine white powder had sifted down when he knocked it, reminding her of confectioner's sugar being sifted on to a cake. It was surprisingly white. The other was of standing a hundred yards back from the church to see the condition of the lead roof. She had worried that it would be dangerous for men to have to hang on to its steep inclination to replace the aging lead.