Page 31 of Again, Scoundrel

“I don’t know.” Violet looked down at the once-beautiful ball gown she was wearing. “I have ruined my dress.”

“That you have. But I wasn’t referring to your dress.”

“Was I wrong?” Violet asked. “Should I have stepped aside and let Mrs. Jenson call for a surgeon? Or not intervened at all?”

Catherine shrugged. “I cannot say. Sarah is Mrs. Jenson’s daughter, on the one hand. On the other, if you hadn’t been there…” Catherine shook her head. “Miss Jenson was in real danger, was she not?”

“She was. She may still be if they give her too much laudanum and her mother agitates her.”

“That’s all you can know. But that isn’t what I was referring to, either.”

“There isn’t anything else to discuss,” Violet said.

“There may be one other issue.” Catherine looked at Violet, who refused to make eye contact. “Really, cousin. You must stop pretending there is nothing between you and Lord Alistair.”

“There isn’t,” Violet said quietly.

There couldn’t be. She’d asked him for help, for respect, in front of a dozen witnesses, and he’d turned his back to her. There was nothing between them at all but some kind of misplaced chemistry she’d fallen victim to.

Again.

“He ran straight for you,” Catherine said, exasperated. “You really cannot deny that it means something.”

“Only that he mistook the situation. There is nothing between us. I promise you.”

Catherine reached for her hand. “I don’t believe that to be true, Violet. I saw his expression when he reached for you. He looked like a man who would break the world if you needed him to.”

“And yet he opted for the surgeon.”

“He did. It cannot have been easy for him, cried out in public like that by Mrs. Jenson. And the insinuations she made were really quite too much. You understand that don’t you?”

Violet shrugged her shoulder in an imitation of Madame Tremaux. “It doesn’t matter. I’m more worried about any damage done to your reputation this evening than I am about Alistair Crawford. I’m sorry, Catherine.”

Catherine squeezed her hand. “I wouldn’t worry. There will be another scandal tomorrow, and then another the day after that. Tonight will blow over. Let’s get some rest, and tomorrow will be a new day. We can put this evening behind us.”

That we certainly will, Violet thought.

Tomorrow will be a new day. One in which I never see nor speak to Alistair Crawford again.

Alistair left Waverly House as soon as Miss Jenson was safely inside. He was furious with himself and didn’t want to spend the remainder of this disastrous evening playing cards with Pembrooke or being run through the rumor mill by the rest of the beaumonde.

He’d made the only decision he could, with Mrs. Jenson’s insinuations lingering in the air and Miss Jenson’s pale lips an unnatural shade of blue. He’d put an end to the incident, deflected attention away from Violet, and gotten Miss Jenson medical attention. All as soon as possible.

He’d made the right choice.

Didn’t I?

If he’d thrown his weight publicly behind Violet, there would be no end to the gossip. The damage done to her reputation would be catastrophic. He didn’t care about his own reputation, but he wasn’t cad enough to ruin hers. It made a difference whether one was male or female as far as reputations were concerned.

And then there was McGann.

They were supposed to be partners, for Christ’s sake, and Alistair had gone and seduced the woman he was meant to introduce him to. The woman they had both hoped McGann might marry.

He wished for his whisky flask again but wasn’t sorry he’d left it at home. The last thing he should do was drown himself in drink. He needed his wits about him to figure out what came next.

He threaded his way through the crowded drive to retrieve his carriage, feeling like an utter cur. But then he caught sight of Violet and Catherine up ahead, slowly making their own way through the crush.

“Miss Goodwin!” he called out, hurrying his steps.