In the doorway, he paused, listening to the deep sound of Miss Worthington’s even breathing. A light drizzle tapped at the window, and the room was quite dark, with no moonlight or starlight creeping in.
Robert allowed a moment for his eyes to adjust and then stepped inside.
They’d been putting the other items back in less obvious places, but for the sake of convenience, he decided to simply slip everything into the armoire. The drawer opened with a rattle, and he paused, wincing at how loud the sound was in the near-silent room.
He waited until he heard Miss Worthington’s deep breaths and then shoved the gloves and handkerchief under some clothes before easing the drawer shut.
He stepped back, ready to leave, when a startled exclamation nearly made his breath stop.
He turned just in time to see Miss Worthington—or rather, Miss Worthington’s shadowy outline—fling a vase at him.
The glass hit the wall with a heavy thud, missing his head by a mere inch or two.
“Stop,” he whispered frantically. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
There was a beat of silence. “Mr. Townsend?”
“That’s correct,” he said stupidly.
She stepped toward him gingerly. “What is the meaning of this? What are you doing in my bedchamber?”
She took another step, and then faltered. “Oh, dear,” she said, voice faint. “I moved too quickly…my head is spinning.”
And then she simply…collapsed.
Robert reached forward, grabbing her awkwardly before she hit the ground. He heard a tear, and his hand came away with a handful of fabric, though he managed to hold her up with one arm around her waist.
She came back to her senses after a second or two, pushing herself upright against him.
And that was when Robert heard the sound of footsteps and then a flare of light as someone entered the room with a candle.
“What in God’s name is going on here?” a voice barked.
It was Mr. Worthington, who, in a rare display, lapsed into stunned silence.
When Robert was a child, there’d been a large pond near his parents’ house, with a tree whose branches overhung the water. After spending days working up his courage—and investigating the pond to make sure it was deep enough and there were no obstacles he might hit (he’d been inclined to worry even at a tender age)—he’d leaped from the branch, falling at least fifteen feet into the water below. It was the strangest sensation—his stomach dropped so quickly it felt like it had fallen right out of his body, and then cold, numbing water had closed in over his head.
This felt exactly liked that moment. Except there was no thrill in it, only a sick churning.
He took in the scene the other man was viewing. Miss Worthington, who was dressed only in a chemise—whose chemise had, in fact, torn at the shoulder and slipped down to reveal her breast—was clutched tightly in his arms…in a bedchamber…in the middle of the night.
This couldn’t have looked worse unless they’d actually been in bed together.
“Wait,” Robert said, as numbness wore away and panic flooded his chest. “This isn’t what you think.”
More footsteps. Mrs. Worthington. And then Miss Hale. Georgina. Mr. Hale. Trickling in one by one.
He could picture it with startling clarity—Mr. Worthington must have woken from the thud of the vase against the shared wall of the two bedchambers, and then everyone sleeping nearby had heard his angry shouting.
He wondered—but no—Ian was closer to the servants’ quarters, and this castle was expansive. He probably wouldn’t have heard anything.
He didn’t know why that seemed important. It wasn’t as though he’d actually transgressed with Miss Worthington.
But it looked like he had.
Suddenly, he remembered talking to Mr. Hale about confidence—it doesn’t matter if you believe it if everyone else does. That rule cut both ways.
He realized his arms were still around Miss Worthington. She was unsteady on her injured ankle, so he led her to the bed, where she sat down, clutching at her tattered chemise.
“This isn’t…we weren’t…” But he faltered. What reason could he possibly give to be in Miss Worthington’s bedchamber? The truth wasn’t much better than what everyone assumed.
Miss Hale giggled, the sound loud and abrupt.
It seemed to snap Mr. Worthington from his shocked silence. “Don’t take me for a fool, Townsend.”
“Father,” Miss Worthington said, “he’s telling the truth…we weren’t—”
“You would lie to me, too?” he asked.
“I’m not lying!”
“Be silent,” Worthington said harshly, and his daughter flinched. “You will do the right thing.” It was strange—the phrase he directed at Robert lilted toward the end, but it didn’t exactly sound like a question.
The right thing?
He meant—
Robert felt his skin grow cold. No, he couldn’t. No. Not when…
“Surely that isn’t necessary,” he began. “I doubt you would choose me for a son-in-law, and if no one speaks of this—”
“I can’t say that I like you, exactly,” Worthington admitted, voice strained. “But you are the brother of an earl. You are his heir, are you not?”
“Until he has children of his own.”
“Your financial situation? Is it secure?”
Robert swallowed. It was. Even without the income from Constable Whitley, which was no small sum, he had a decent settlement from his brother. “That is beside the point.”
“The point being that you have ruined my daughter? How long has this been going on? How long have you both—” He broke off, clenching his fist.
Mrs. Worthington moved to stand by her daughter, touching her shoulder gently. “I think it is best if we discuss this after we’ve all had time to calm down.” She looked at her husband pointedly.
Mr. Worthington stalked from the room, and Robert heard his bedchamber door slam shut not long after. Mr. Hale drifted out, too, looking dazed and a bit sick.
Miss Hale left, her face flushed as though she’d never experienced anything so exciting in all her tender years.
“Robert,” Georgina said softly.
He straightened, took one last glance at Miss Worthington, who was silently leaning against her mother, and followed his sister into the hallway, closing the door behind them. He’d barely made it more than ten steps before he faltered. His back hit the wall, hands pressed to his face.
“I don’t know how to undo this, George,” he said.
He would have to marry her. It didn’t matter if she was actually ruined or not—everyone in her family believed she was. Honor demanded that he marry her.
“Why were you there in the first place?” Georgina asked. “Were you putting the gloves back?”
He nodded miserably. He’d done this himself. He’d been too impatient. He should have waited. Or at least thought of a better plan first.
He just…he’d wanted everything settled. He’d wanted to be competent, for once. He’d wanted to take charge like Theo would have if he were here and have everything the same for his brother as it had been when he’d left. And most of all, he’d wanted to get back to Ian, problem solved, so they could start thinking about their future. Start discussing what shape it might take.
Instead, he’d ruined everything.
“Nothing has been decided yet,” Georgina said. “And you didn’t actually ruin her, Robert. We’ll think of something.”
She touched his shoulder, and he was comforted by the confidence in her voice. A little.
They parted ways. Robert hoped Georgina was right; he hoped there was a way to resolve this without marriage. But all he could think about as he returned to his bedchamber was how he would face Ian in the morning.
Chapter Eighteen
The first thing Robert heard when he stumbled downstairs late the next morning, head foggy from troubled sleep, praying that the night before was only a dream, was the sound of an argument in the drawing room.
When he drew closer, he realized it was the Hales.
“Why on earth would you do such a thing, Catherine?”
“It was too exciting not to mention. And you assume that our darling cousin is not perfectly content, being ruined by the brother of an earl. I daresay it’s a better match than she would have made otherwise. Maybe she planned it.”