Page 57 of The Marriage Wager

Constance nodded, saying, “Thank you.”

It was a trifle difficult to speak past the lump in her throat. Bless Calandra and Francesca for their aplomb and kind natures. They had eased the awkward situation and, perhaps, even lent some air of truth to Dominic’s words.

“Dominic, don’t be a fool!” Muriel snapped, her voice strained.

Francesca turned to her, her smile grim. “I am sure you are as surprised as everyone else, Muriel, at this good news.”

She walked over to Muriel, gripping her arm and turning her aside. In a low voice underlaid with iron, Francesca told her, “Pray, do not make yourself look any more foolish than you already have. You have managed with your maneuvering to bring about the last thing you really wanted. I suggest that you close your mouth before you do any more damage to yourself or your family.”

Francesca’s smile never wavered as she looked meaningfully into Muriel’s eyes. Muriel jerked her arm away, her face etched with anger. She shot a look of pure venom at Constance, then turned on her heel and strode over to her horse. She jerked its reins from the hand of the astonished groom who was holding it. He recovered quickly enough to give her a leg up into the saddle, and Muriel thundered off without a backward glance.

“I suppose it is time we all went back to the house,” Francesca said calmly, turning toward the other guests, as if Muriel’s behavior was perfectly ordinary.

“You must ride with me, Constance,” Calandra said. “I want to hear all about the wedding plans.”

Francesca and Calandra flanked Constance the entire ride home. Despite Calandra’s words, they did not in fact speak about the supposed wedding or engagement. In fact, beyond an inquiry or two into whether Constance felt chilled in her damp clothes, the two women said very little.

Constance was immensely grateful. As she was sure Calandra had intended, no other prying person could quiz her about the scene that had just transpired as long as Calandra and Francesca rode on either side of her. And at this moment, Constance did not think she could talk to anyone, even Francesca.

Earlier she had been floating in a dreamy state of love, muzzily refusing to think about reality. But the scene with Muriel had awakened her with a vengeance. Constance could not believe how foolish she had been. She had known that the amount of time she and Dominic had spent together would just skirt the edge of scandal. But she had not stopped to think it through clearly. She had not thought about how much her ragged looks would intensify everyone’s suspicions. And she had assumed that their friends would smooth over any intimations of scandal; it had never occurred to her that someone like Muriel would do her very best to make the situation look the worst it possibly could.

Constance knew that she should have been more careful, though she was not sure exactly what she could have done. But she should at least have been better prepared to deal with Muriel Rutherford’s attack. Because she had not, Dominic had moved in swiftly to save her reputation. And that was what made her feel the worst.

The embarrassment of everyone’s stares and whispers would have been bad enough, but the social humiliation was nothing compared to the guilt she felt over Dominic’s announcement of their engagement. She did not fool herself into thinking that he had said what he did because he actually wanted to marry her. No, he had simply acted as any gentleman should. Seeing that Muriel would make certain that Constance’s reputation was shattered, he had said the only thing that could save it—that they were engaged.

Having said so, he could not back out of it now. A gentleman could not honorably break off an engagement, especially in a case such as this, where the jilted bride’s honor was under such a shadow. He was committed to it now and would have to marry her.

Constance glanced over at Dominic, riding a few feet on the other side of his sister. His face was grim, his jaw set. It was clear that he was furious. Looking at him, Constance felt perilously close to tears. Less than an hour ago he had gazed at her with desire—even, she had thought, with love. Now, she was certain, his only feeling toward her was anger.

An even worse thought came to her: what if Dominic assumed that she had maneuvered him into such a situation, hoping for exactly the result that had come about? She had heard rumors about women who had done exactly that, placing themselves in a compromising position with a man so that he would be forced to marry them. She did not think she could bear it if Dominic held such a low opinion of her.

When they reached the house, the grooms hurried out to take their horses. Dominic came to Constance’s side to help her down. When he set her down on the ground, she looked up into his face anxiously, but she could read nothing there.

“I am sorry. I must take my leave,” he told her quietly. “I have certain business that I must attend to.”

Unease rippled through her. She feared that this “business” must be something to do with his declaration that they were engaged.

“Dominic, no…” she said in a low voice, charged with emotion, and reached out toward him.

“Francesca will stay with you,” he said, glancing over at his sister, who had come up beside them.

“Of course,” Francesca promised.

“Good.” He took Constance’s hand, bowing over it. “We will talk later.”

Then he was gone, striding away toward the house.

Constance looked after him in consternation, then turned toward Francesca in agitation. “I did not mean this! I did not wish for anything like this to happen! Oh, this is such a terrible mess. What are we to do?”

Francesca calmly linked her arm through Constance’s and smiled, saying quietly, “Why, nothing, my dear. Just keep your back straight, and your face pleasant and composed. You must not let anyone guess that Dominic said anything less than the truth.”

Constance wanted to protest, but she knew that the other woman was right. They could not stand about discussing the matter in public. She had to put a good face on it until she and Francesca could get away from everyone else.

So she smiled back and went with Francesca. As they walked toward the house, the other riders turned toward them. Some offered her their best wishes on her engagement. A few tried to ask questions. But Francesca neatly evaded any prolonged conversation, laughingly telling them that she must get her future sister-in-law out of her wet clothes before she caught cold. And Calandra, she noticed gratefully, took the Norton sisters, who were obviously abrim with excitement and curiosity, off with her, chattering away about the storm, her own tiredness after such an adventure and anything else that came into her head.

Francesca whisked Constance into the house and up the stairs. Constance was glad to see no sign of Muriel anywhere. They went into Constance’s bedchamber, closing the door behind them. Francesca released Constance finally, going over to the bellpull and tugging.

“Francesca, please believe me,” Constance told her earnestly. “I never imagined that such a thing would happen.”