Mrs. Burnes served cake and tea after, and the ladies left their donations in a silver bowl on a side table on their way out. She noticed that Lady Meaford left five guineas, but there were also shillings and crowns and half crowns in the bowl, so she did not feel like a skint.
Tea at the vicarage precluded having to take tea at Castlefield. There remained only dinner and Sunday evening to be got in. They were to leave early Monday morning. Laura was at pains to avoid Hyatt at dinner. This was made easier, as he had not been to the bother of rearranging the seating. She refused to look across the board at him, but she felt that his dark eyes were often turned in her direction.
As no entertainment was planned on a Sunday, Laura went upstairs while the gentlemen took their port, claiming that she had letters to write. Olivia had been pestering her throughout the day to ask whether she had accepted Hyatt. Fearing that she would come again, Laura arranged stationery on the desk and even dated one sheet of Castlefield's embossed letter paper. It would be fun to write home to some of her friends on such prestigious paper.
She owed her cousin Belle Harwood a letter, and desultorily wrote a few lines. Before long her pen fell idle, and she sat, just gazing at the picture of a ship above the desk. A small brass plaque bore the title "Shipwreck." The ship had a great many sails and plunged precariously into waves that threatened to engulf it. Rocks loomed ahead. Change the sea to society and the subject just suited her own situation. She felt she had plunged headlong into a mess that was as doomed as that ship, tossed on a stormy sea.
When she heard a tap on the door, she picked up her pen and called, "Come in." She arranged a bland smile to greet Olivia.
The door opened, and Lord Hyatt's form loomed in the dim light from the hallway.
Chapter Seventeen
Laura leapt up from the desk. "Hyatt! You can't come in here!" she exclaimed.
"Then you come out," he demanded. "I want to speak to you."
His tone brought her anger to the boil. "I have nothing to say to you, sir," she replied, tossing her head.
He took a quick peek up and down the hall to make sure he was unobserved, before striding into her room and slamming the door. "I take leave to disagree, Miss Harwood. When I make a lady an offer of marriage, I expect the courtesy of an answer, one way or the other."
"I see you are eager to reclaim your freedom. In that case, you may consider yourself reprieved. And if I may just make a suggestion, Lord Hyatt, in the future you should be more discreet as to where you embrace a lady, and these nominal offers would not be necessary."
"I did not consider it a nominal offer!"
"In point of fact, you did not offer at all, despite your behavior, so it is unnecessary for me to refuse. You have done what society requires, and saved your somewhat questionable reputation by pretending your intentions were honorable. Now you may go."
He stiffened at her angry words, which accused him of trifling with her at best and even hinted at an attempted seduction. "I don't give a damn what society thinks!" he said angrily.
"You have made that amply clear, sir. I, however, do have some concern for my reputation. My concerns are best served by not seeing you again. Good day."
"Just what, exactly, are you accusing me of?" he demanded, fire in his eyes.
"With regard to myself, I am accusing you of nothing worse than a lack of propriety. What charges your relations with Lady Devereau lay you open to is your concern."
"I am not in the least concerned about Lady Devereau."
"It is perfectly obvious you care for nothing but yourself," she sneered. It occurred to Laura that, barring the fact that Hyatt had his shoes on, she was now in much the same position as that infamous lady. Hyatt had once more come slipping into a lady's room, closing the door behind him. Anyone might pass and hear his voice. She would be ruined.
"There is nothing between Marie Devereau and myself," he stated categorically. "And I have done nothing to jeopardize your reputation either."
"We disagree on what constitutes nothing," she said haughtily. "You forget my lack of a scarlet past. A gentleman's forcing his way into my bedchamber and closing the door is not a mere nothing to me. So perhaps you would be kind enough to leave," she said.
She made to brush past him to open the door. Hyatt reached out and grabbed her wrist, to swing her around facing him. "You are swift to accuse, madam." His dark eyes burned into hers. At this close range, she could even feel his breath on her cheeks. "It seems to me that if anyone was trifling with anyone's affections in this affair, I am not the guilty party."
She wrenched away. "I suspect you are always the guilty party where ladies are concerned, Lord Hyatt."
He swallowed his anger and sorrow and said mildly, "Then I can only wonder that you lowered yourself to indulge me for two whole days. But then your formidable propriety will no doubt save you from the taint of even Lord Hyatt's degeneracy. Good night, Miss Harwood."
He opened the door and flung himself out. It was only by good luck that he was not seen. His temper was too high to consider anything but his anger at first. It was not until he had stepped out into the garden to cool off that the folly of his deed came over him. He had not meant to be so caustic. He had gone fully expecting to clear up whatever small misunderstanding had arisen and to leave an engaged man.
Instead of that, he had caused a flaming row. But damn, she had made a mighty high mountain out of an innocent call at her room. She had accused him of everything but theft. Who the devil did Miss Harwood think she was?
In her room, Laura went on trembling legs and closed the door behind him. Her insides were shaking worse than the ship in the picture. She felt she had been well and thoroughly battered against those rocks and was slowly sinking into the frothing waters of the icy Atlantic. But it was over now. She would not have to talk to Hyatt again. She would never even have to see him again. Tomorrow she and Mama would remove from Charles Street, and she would once again put the turmoil of the London Season behind her. If any whisper of this weekend reached London, it would soon be forgotten. Hyatt, or perhaps Olivia, would institute a new and more interesting scandal for society to gape and gasp over.
To avoid having to talk to anyone-Mama or Hettie or Olivia-Laura undressed and went to bed, where she relived the awful moments when she had confronted Lord Hyatt and turned him off. Every word exchanged was etched sharply in her mind. "I did not consider it a nominal offer!" he had said. But of course he had to say that, to save his handsome face. If he had truly loved her, he would not have crept into Marie Devereau's room in stocking feet. After two hours of tossing and turning, she finally slept.
She awoke the next morning to a leaden sky. Wind moved the branches of the trees in the park, warning of approaching rain. All the guests were in a hurry to leave and resume the pleasures of the London Season. Hyatt had either left before them or remained away from the table. Laura didn't care which, but was only thankful that he had at least enough sensitivity to avoid her.
The remaining guests had to come out and see the Turtle at close hand. They bestowed laughing admiration on its size, conformation, and sturdy construction. The Duke and Duchess of Castlefield came along to wave good-bye. They nudged their eldest son forward with a promise to bring his brothers to call on the baroness very soon. They were so very sorry the twins had not been here this weekend. Olivia accepted the attention as her due and left with a smile on her face.
"You have not forgotten we are attending Mrs. Simpson's rout party this evening, Laura?" She said, as the Turtle bowled comfortably through the park of Castlefield. Three other rigs dawdled impatiently behind, determined to get ahead of it before they hit the open road.