“Honestly, Mr. Moss, everything I have told you is the utmost, complete truth.”
He said nothing, and she could see his Adam’s apple bob in his throat as he swallowed. “If you say so, my dear, then I must believe you. And now, can you explain how your arm came to be bandaged, in what looks like a skillfully wrapped splint, if you only broke your wrist a few hours hence?”
“Of course. You see, Lord Withinghall saw that I was in pain every time the carriage hit any little bump in the road, so he had Pugh stop the carriage, and he bandaged it for me, so the bone would stay still and I would not be in so much pain.”
“You’re saying Lord Withinghall, the viscount, splinted your arm?”
“Well, I know it sounds rather incredible, but it is true, I assure you. He remembered as a boy how he had broken his own arm falling from a tree, and he splinted my arm just as he’d observed the surgeon splint his as a child.”
“My dear.” Something about Mr. Moss’s smile, patronizing and mollifying at the same time, put her on her guard. “I advise you to accept Lord Withinghall’s proposal as soon as it is offered, for I can assure you, there can hardly be another girl in this county, and few, indeed, in the entire country of England, who would not be quite happy and gratified at becoming Lord Withinghall’s own viscountess. And the story you have told me will become so contorted and confused that you and Lord Withinghall will not be able to save your reputations without marriage.”
“And what makes you think he shall propose marriage to me?” Leorah knew her tone was angry, defensive, and otherwise not permissible in addressing her own rector. But how dare he assume that she would be forced to marry Lord Withinghall? Lord Withinghall! Of all people, he was the very last man she would ever accept as a husband! It would be prison! Misery! Intolerable! To marry someone so rigid, so rule abiding, so . . . so . . .
“He must ask you to marry him, for he has compromised your reputation most dreadfully by being alone with you, in a lying-down position, and at night. And unless you can swear Mr. Pinegar to secrecy, as well as the surgeon and the servants who will be privy to it, I’m afraid you have no choice.”
Leorah’s face began to sting and her breath to quicken.
“No, no, you are mistaken entirely, Mr. Moss. Indeed, you are. No one will think . . . anything at all. After all, who could think that I and Lord Withinghall . . . You said you believed me!”
“I do believe you, my dear, but you must admit, it all sounds very suspicious and far-fetched and easily misunderstood—”
“But that is unfair! How can you believe me in one breath and say it’s suspicious in the next?”
“Because I have known you all your life, Miss Langdon, and your brothers and mother as well, but those who will hear the story who are not well acquainted with you, who will perhaps hear an exaggerated version of the story, retold and rehashed as it may be, will find it very hard to believe that there was not some impropriety involved. And to tell the truth, none of that even matters. The story behind it makes no difference. The fact remains that you and he were alone together for hours.”
Even as the rector spoke, Leorah knew it was true. After all, there were so many people who thrived on gossip, and any scandal was bound to cause wagging tongues to fan the evil imaginings of some.
“I hate to say it, my dear, but you must also think of Lord Withinghall’s reputation and his political career and how it would suffer from scandal.”
Lord Withinghall’s political career, indeed! His political cronies would be horrified, no doubt.
“He has enemies who will make the most of this.” There was worry in Mr. Moss’s voice.
He was sadly mistaken if he thought she would be made to feel sorry enough for Lord Withinghall and his political career to marry him! Preposterous.
Leorah sat in silence, holding her injured arm in her lap. She wouldn’t encourage Mr. Moss to share his opinion by giving her own. God, I just want to be home! To send someone to fetch her horse and a surgeon to tend to Lord Withinghall. And she wanted her mother to reassure her that this would not turn into a scandal. But under no circumstances, not even these, would she be induced to marry the cold, cantankerous viscount.
Edward lay against his folded-up coat in the overturned carriage, praying his leg would not be permanently damaged, and praying that Miss Langdon would return quickly with the surgeon and a carriage home.
He eyed Mr. Pinegar as the man set the second lantern down, sat, and stretched his legs in the inverted carriage. There was something about his expression. Was he gloating over this misfortune? Edward’s heart sank into the pit of his stomach. Pinegar intended to use this incident, if at all possible, to ruin Edward’s reputation and to further his own political ambitions.
“What rotten luck, having this accident. I had no idea you and Miss Langdon were so well acquainted.”
“We are not well acquainted. I am well acquainted with her brother Nicholas Langdon. She needed transportation, and, as any gentleman would, I offered her that transportation, the short distance to her home.”
“As I said, it is rotten luck about the accident. Now you will have to marry the girl, and, I daresay, her dowry isn’t as fine as some.”
“Sir, you are out of line and very much mistaken, I assure you.” Edward pretended a calm coolness, even as his blood began to boil in his veins. But he had known the insinuations would come. He would have to prepare himself to face them.
“Forgive me if I have offended you, my lord.” But the little weasel didn’t look sorry at all. “I assumed you would want to marry her to prevent a scandal.”
“There is no scandal. She is an innocent girl, and I am just as innocent.” He wanted to defend himself further, but anything he could think to say, any facts he could think to offer, only seemed likely to incriminate rather than exonerate. They had been alone together for a few hours. That fact was enough to create a scandal, and he knew it.
“Be that as it may, Mr. Moss and I saw you and the girl in a very compromising . . . ahem . . . position.”
“Miss Langdon tripped and fell.” He could have added, “As it was very dark,” but that, again, seemed likely to incriminate rather than exonerate.
“You must admit,” said Pinegar, a broad smile on his face as he appeared to struggle not to laugh outright, “it looked quite damning to see her lying on top of you—”
“You forget yourself, Mr. Pinegar. There was unequivocally no impropriety at all.”