Page 54 of Rules for Ruin

“It isn’t only his placement at the table. It’s what’s been happening while I’ve been in Hampshire.”

Effie recalled Miss Compton referencing Lord Mannering and Lord Powell when Effie had come to her dressing room. Something about Effie entertaining the two gentlemen in Miss Compton’s absence. Then, Effie had presumed the comment to be cattiness. Now, she recognized it as jealousy.

“Do you deny that he’s called on you here?” Miss Compton asked with building impatience. “And more than once?”

“Cordial visits made during Lady Belwood’s receiving hours,” Effie said dismissively. “There have been many such calls since I arrived in London.”

“Doubtless there have been. And doubtless someone will have told you that Lord Mannering and I have had a secret understanding for nearly a year.”

Effie resisted remarking that it couldn’t be very secret if everyone knew about it. “Indeed, they have not,” she said instead. “And even if they had, it wouldn’t have changed my behavior.”

The color in Miss Compton’s cheeks darkened. “So, you admit it.”

“That I’ve met the gentleman? Yes. It doesn’t follow that I have designs on the poor man.”

“Then where did you go during the musicale? Where did he go?”

“Perhaps he went to play billiards?” Effie suggested. “Or to smoke a cigar? Or perhaps he was availing himself of the necessary?”

Miss Compton flushed scarlet. It was the height of indelicacy to mention anything even remotely related to the privy.

Effie gave her a faint look of sympathy. There was no point in baiting the girl. And no sport in it, either. Miss Compton may have wealth and power, but in this moment, she was wholly at the mercy of her own emotions. It didn’t serve Effie’s aims to prolong her misery.

“I can think of a dozen reasons he might have left the drawing room, and none of them have anything to do with me searching for my hairpin,” Effie said. “Indeed, if I were a betting sort, I’d wager he was in the library with Mr. Royce and Lord Haverford, discussing their charitable endeavors.”

“Mr. Royce?” Miss Compton was incredulous. “That strange man my father invited? The one with the pale dead eyes?”

A twinge of indignation took Effie unaware. She had thought the same about Gabriel’s eyes on first meeting him. His gaze had been so cold, glassy, and distant—almost cruel in its detachment. But she didn’t like to hear anyone else describing him so, particularly this spoiled young lady. Not now that Effie knew him better. And not after what had happened between them on the terrace.

Effie had been up half the night replaying the kiss they’d shared.

And not only the kiss.

She had relived the way he’d rescued her, too, both cursing her helplessness and puzzling over his gentleness. The way he’d braced her with his body on the wisteria. The strength of his arms. The fierce burr of his voice in her ear as he’d returned her safely to solid ground.

She hadn’t seen him after they parted in the garden. He’d never returned to the musicale. He’d simply gone, leaving behind his ominous promise: “I’ll find you again.”

Even now, it made her knees quiver to think of it. Her knees, for heaven’s sake!

“Is that man involved in a charitable scheme with Lord Haverford?” Miss Compton asked.

“I believe he is,” Effie said. “Is Lord Mannering a charitable fellow? You know him far better than I.”

“He concerns himself with charitable matters, naturally.”

“There you are, then.”

A frown creased Miss Compton’s brow. “I suppose you might be right.”

Mary silently entered carrying the tea tray. It held a silver tea service, a set of painted porcelain cups and saucers, and a plate containing what appeared to be a small seedcake. She brought it to them.

Effie smiled again. “Thank you, Mary,” she said. “You may put it down here.”

“Yes, miss.”

“I hadn’t intended to linger,” Miss Compton said after the maid departed.

“Nonsense,” Effie replied. “You must tell me all about your understanding with Lord Mannering.” She reached for the silver teapot to pour out their tea. “Do you know, I suspected he had a prior attachment. On the few occasions I met him, he had a faraway look in his eyes, as though he was thinking of someone else.”