Chapter Fourteen
P urity couldn't clear the haze of stupefaction from her brain. What had occurred simply could not have happened. Not to her! A ridiculous thought, but it was the only one that kept circling.
She did not kiss a man while letting her bottom be squeezed like a ripe peach. She did not have a tryst next to a massive statue with a giant phallus. And she most certainly did not get caught sliding down the front of the Fox at a gala. It was inconceivable!
Thus, while her mind tried to make sense of the unthinkable, she remained silent, even when she and Foxford reached the picnic area and found it nearly deserted.
"Everyone has gone to the conservatory, my lady, to wait while the carriages are brought around," explained one of the staff, clearing plates into a basket.
Turning, they headed up the bank away from the river. Finally yanking her arm out of his grasp, Purity directed her gaze straight ahead. She could not look at him, although from the side of her eye, she saw Foxford sending her curious glances. If they made eye contact, she would turn to salt like Lot's wife and then melt into nothingness in the rain.
She wished he wouldn't speak, but quietly he said, "You had best perk up a bit before we see Lord and Lady Diamond."
Foolishly, he imagined she would be able to hide her ruin from those who knew her best.
Upon cresting the hill, they found other stragglers who had not yet made it under cover, and they joined the last of the guests to find shelter in the duke's spacious conservatory where he grew an array of exotic plants, as well as fruit trees.
Her family was easy to spot gathered around an orange tree. While her oldest sister had left with her husband, for they were nowhere to be seen, her younger sisters were mischievously touching the ripe fruit while her father gave them a stern eye.
"Do not pluck anything," he warned as Purity approached.
She made the mistake of looking directly at her mother. At once, Purity felt as though the countess read every moment of her disgrace. Almost imperceptibly, her mother's expression changed. As it did, the blood drained from Purity's head, as well.
"You missed all the excitement," Bri declared.
If she had any more excitement, Purity thought she would combust, but her sister jabbered on.
"The news spread as we were leaving the picnic area. A couple has been caught in a compromising situation."
Sweet Mary! At that moment, Purity wished she could faint, dropping like a handkerchief the way some women did. She'd seen it happen in rooms that were too warm, both at balls and at the theatre, and in the hot sun of a summer day. Yet she'd never seen one simply escape her disgrace by falling into unconsciousness.
All her family were staring at her and at Foxford, who stood grimly by her side. Too close in fact. The shame of her own sister bringing up the dreadful loss of her reputation and the ruin of her family name was crushing.
"Hush, Bri," her mother said, still gazing only at Purity. "We don't gossip, not about that poor country girl."
Miss Moffett! Purity briefly squeezed her eyes closed, with guilty relief and with regret surging through her. She had known better, and yet, she hadn't saved either of them from ignominy.
When she opened her eyes again, her mother was closer, reaching out her hand.
"Another megrim?" the countess asked, her gaze darting to the baron and seeming to judge and condemn him all at once.
Offering Purity her arm, her mother led her away. She heard her father bid Foxford good day and his stilted reply. And then she hurried through the rain to their awaiting carriage without a backward glance.
Despite Purity being certain her mother knew the truth, Caroline Diamond remained her gracious and loving self. In the carriage, she didn't bombard her with questions. Instead, she allowed Purity the dignity of huddling in the corner, staring unseeingly out the window into the gray light of the rain showers that were already beginning to let up.
And while her younger sisters chattered about the day and her father put his head back and closed his eyes, her mother offered her comfort without even knowing precisely what the issue was. She'd taken the seat next to Purity, where normally Bri or Ray would sit, and calmly grasped her daughter's hand between both of hers, holding it lightly upon her skirt.
When her mother did that, Purity could almost believe everything was going to be fine. She would know in the morning whether the baron would do the honorable thing and make true what he'd told the awful prying couple by the fountain.
It would mean telling her parents something ahead of time, perhaps only that Foxford had asked for her hand and that she'd said yes. They didn't need to know any of the details, only that the upstanding Lord and Lady Diamond were going to have a licentious libertine as a son-in-law.
That thought nearly made her tears flow. But Purity didn't allow herself the self-pitying spectacle. Not until she reached the sanctuary of her bedchamber. Upon reaching their home, she excused herself, claiming the headache her mother had suggested.
"I'll send you up some tea. If you don't feel well enough to come down for supper, I'll send you up a tray then, too," her mother said, still not asking for an explanation. Although she added firmly, "We'll talk in the morning."
Purity nodded and disappeared, glad her mother was being understanding, and equally grateful she didn't have to face her father until she was ready. Not that he was a harsh man or even particularly judgmental, but she loved him beyond anything and didn't relish the look of disappointment she would inevitably see upon his face.
After accepting a tea tray and sending her maid away for the evening, Purity sat on the end of her bed and considered her culpability in the afternoon's events and how the past weeks had led her to her current predicament.
If she hadn't been so affected by Foxford's magnetism, she wouldn't have let him kiss her once, never mind all the other times. If he'd been a troll of a man without a sense of humor, no wit, nor an ounce of sense, and no devastating smile, she could have tutored him in the graces and social manners and never been in the smallest whit of danger or trouble.
Instead, she was in a barrel full of suds.
All because she liked him . More than that, her heart swelled when they were together. She was excited each time he was near and anticipated every meeting with gladness. She didn't have to be a soothsayer to know she had developed a tendre for the man.
Then she recalled the night of a late-July country party at her family's Derbyshire estate, two years earlier. To entertain their guests, her mother had invited a fortune-teller. Purity had long since put it out of her mind, but now, she considered what the woman had told her.
"Your heart will be much affected. You will be surprised. But don't let your rigid notions blind you."
Was she rigid? Her heart was definitely affected, and she was surprised by who was affecting it. Those were both true. But as for being blind to something, she didn't know what.
She ought to be grateful he had done the honorable thing by declaring them engaged. And she was. In fact, she ought to think of him as a man of honor since he hadn't betrayed her. He could as easily have left her with her shredded reputation on the grounds of Syon Park.
Regardless, it was impossible to put a renowned rake in the same class of honorable gentleman as her father, brother, or even her sister's husband.
Her eyes welled with tears. If she allowed her affection for Foxford to continue, if she opened her heart to him entirely and acknowledged the sentiment to be love, then she would be vulnerable. It was all too easy to imagine him taking up with a mistress after their marriage, and she would be devastated.
Purity had never thought she would have to worry about her husband's fidelity because her choice was always going to be a safe one.
Foxford wasn't safe! He was decidedly dangerous.
Finally, the tears spilled over. She'd been playing with fire, as they said, swimming out of her depth in an ocean with a shark as her companion. This behavior and the consequences were all usual and quite normal for him.
Wiping her face, she let the tea the maid brought in grow cold, despite a twinge of guilt at wasting it. Was she ever going to feel good again?
After undressing down to her shift, she brushed out her hair before plaiting it. Then she performed her evening ritual of washing her face and brushing her teeth before climbing into bed despite the early hour.
Lying on her back, she stared at the canopy above her. It was a pretty room she'd had since childhood. If she became the Baroness Foxford, what would her new room be like?
Turning on her side, she wondered what the man who would become her husband was doing at that moment. Mostly likely, he had gone from Syon Park to his club. And then what?
Having seen the fiery passion in his eyes when they'd been locked in an embrace, Purity could picture him slaking his lust on some woman of pleasure later that night.
She shuddered. Her mind was going down dark paths, and she needed to rein in the despondent thoughts. Tomorrow, hopefully, everything would seem less dire.
Matthew was too worked up to go home. Thus, he did what any right-thinking man would do when needing the company of his supportive peers. He went to his club.
After the doorman gave him entrance, he found a seat in the Boodle's reading room where soon he was brought a glass of soothingly expensive brandy.
And then he contemplated the events and, more importantly, the results of the day. He could hardly credit that, after all the dalliances he'd enjoyed, he had finally been caught unawares because of how blind his passion for Purity made him. Hearing nothing apart from her breathing and his own heartbeat, he'd allowed the Varleys to sneak upon them.
If only it had been Quinn who had come upon them.
Quinn! For the first time, he recalled the young Miss Brilliance's words about a couple caught. Lady Diamond had mentioned a country girl. Had the blasted Varleys been rooting out men and women right and left?
Knowing his friend, unless Quinn had fled London, he would arrive at any moment. Indeed, after a mere five-minute wait, Quinn showed his face. Strangely, he didn't look any worse for his experience and wore his usual affable smile.
"Well met," Quinn said. "Brandy," he requested from the server, and then he settled into a comfortable leather chair. "Enjoyable gala, was it not, except for the rain? That and you abandoning me at Syon so I had to make my own way home."
Matthew had entirely forgotten about that, too.
"My apologies. I had a situation on my hands that distracted me, but I believe you did, too."
"A situation?" Quinn asked. Then his frown cleared. "Oh, you mean the inconvenient discovery of myself and Miss Moffett having a proper smack." He shrugged. "It happens, as I am sure you know."
Matthew was taken aback by his friend's aplomb. "Who came upon you? Was it Varley and his lady?"
"Varley? No. It was a couple who were also alone together. We all surprised one another. Unfortunately, they made it back to tattle before we could, throwing us under the carriage wheel while they danced a merry jig."
"And what has come of it?" Matthew asked him. Not an engagement or Quinn wouldn't be so devil-may-care.
"Nothing has come of it, as I will not allow anything to." For the first time, his friend's tone was sharp. "Miss Moffett came with me of her own free will and enjoyed a little pully hawly. She should be grateful her skirt was down by the time we were discovered."
Matthew felt a slim shard of disgust. Grateful! He couldn't imagine dishonoring Purity in such a fashion. A kiss was one thing. But it had been broad daylight with very little cover.
"You knew she was a country girl, did you not?" Matthew asked, unable to stay a tone of disapproval.
Quinn sighed. "Country or Town, a muff is a tuzzy-muzzy is a quim all the same. Even if she'd been back in Derwentwater, if I recall from where she hails correctly, she could not have been unaware of the perils of taking a little delight."
"You won't ask for her hand, then?" Matthew already knew the answer.
Quinn laughed for a few moments, then answered, "No." He sipped his brandy. "I barely know the chit, but what I did realize rather quickly was that she was not suited to be my future viscountess. Eventually I will get around to choosing, but not because of sampling wares at a picnic."
Matthew fell silent. He didn't like the way his friend put it, but he supposed if he'd been caught with anyone besides Purity, he would feel the same way.
"Imagine putting the parson's noose around your neck," Quinn continued, "because of a single flourish in the bushes. I would rather step my foot in a rat-catcher's trap and chew my own leg off."
Matthew chuckled, glad he was not of a similar mind. In fact, he was looking forward, albeit nervously, to meeting with Lord Diamond in the morning.
"I intend to marry Lady Purity," he said steadily, wanting to say it aloud.
"What?" Quinn roared, but he spoke with mirth. "That's wonderful. A damn fine match. I didn't think you had it in you to win that particular lady."
Matthew declined to mention being discovered or how that was influencing the timing of his proposal.
"We have come to know and admire one another."
"Then I regret any remark I made about her being a Mrs. Princum-Prancum. Firstly, I would never disparage my good friend's wife, and secondly, if you are set on marrying her, then she must be a rum mort and no mistake."
"She is." Matthew was glad to know Quinn was genuinely pleased. His friend even raised his glass to toast Lady Purity's health. And then he went further.
"I propose we have supper at—"
"Not Dolly's Chop House," Matthew interrupted. "The food is all right, but you only go for the waitresses."
"And what's wrong with that?" his friend demanded.
Matthew stared him down
"As you like," Quinn said at last. "A finer meal to celebrate the end of the Bachelor Baron. The Café de l'Europe, perhaps? Or the Albion? I'll round up a few others. Franklin, for one, and Pearson and Dyer. Yes?"
Matthew nodded. "I look forward to it."