Chapter 7

"You're very quiet this morning, Sister," Patrick observed during breakfast. "Are you well?"

The siblings were alone at the breakfast table as usual. Their father normally ate his breakfast in bed before being assisted or wheeled into the drawing room or conservatory later in the morning, depending on the weather.

"Quite well, thank you," Dorothy replied with a nod, taking a slice of fruitcake that she did not really want, to go with the now lukewarm cup of coffee she had been nursing for the last twenty minutes. "I must be a little tired after last night's dinner."

"I thought it rather a quiet and sober affair myself," Patrick said with a shrug. "Everyone had gone home by midnight, and you left us before eleven. I slept like a log."

No one had seen Dorothy rush back and let herself in via the still-unlocked side-door in the garden after her encounter with the Duke of Dawford. Family members and guests had been in the drawing room, while most of the servants were busy in the kitchen or scullery, or serving port and cheese to the gentlemen in the drawing room.

It had been the work of a second to grab a wrap from the hallway, return briefly to the drawing room, and sweetly wish everyone goodnight. Dorothy sighed as she reflected on the evening and more broadly on the consequences of Patrick's machinations.

"I must say that I did not enjoy being the only woman present last night. That in itself was exhausting. I do wish you would arrange these things differently in the future. Perhaps you might invite Lord Lensbury's mother and sisters next time? He spoke well of them, and I would like to make some friends among the women in the neighborhood."

"Yes, Lensbury did seem very taken with you, didn't he?" Patrick observed as he munched on his buttered toast, missing the point of Dorothy's intervention entirely, as he so often did. "You did well to arrange the Sunday outing for us. It's a pity that the Duke of Dawford seemed so out of sorts, but I expect he simply has his mind on higher things than women…"

Now Dorothy snorted. Patrick had absolutely no idea how far from the truth such a stupid statement was. In his foolish hero worship of the Duke of Dawford, her brother imagined him to be a high-minded and superior human being, excused from normal expectations and standards.

She knew the man better. The Duke was a rude and deliberately ungracious man of little civility. As for having his mind on higher things than women…

You want me too, don't you?

Those words and then his lips, his tongue, his strong arms around her, and his heart beating against hers…

Dorothy put down her coffee cup on its saucer with a clatter as she sought to maintain her composure in the face of such powerful recollections.

"You do say some ridiculous things, Brother. The Duke of Dawford is a thoroughly uncouth man who behaved very badly last night, and still you defend him."

Indeed, despite the obvious snubs he had received from the Duke, Patrick seemed loath to condemn in any way the man whose achievements he so admired and wished to emulate.

"Come now, Dorothy, you speak too strongly, surely. Dawford simply isn't a sociable chap like Lensbury. He probably has a great deal on his mind and we were all too trivial for him last night. Did you know that the government actually asked him for his personal advice on funding railway construction?"

"Railways?!" Dorothy laughed bitterly. "I didn't know, and I don't care. Through his behavior last night, he insulted you, he insulted our father, and he insulted me."

"I'm sure he didn't." Patrick shook his head again and helped himself to more eggs and bacon. "I certainly never heard him say anything insulting to you."

"Through his behavior, Patrick, through his actions, he… insulted all of us."

You play with fire, young woman!

Dorothy rubbed her wrist where the Duke's hand had seized her before their fingers had somehow found their way together and clasped in that longing preliminary embrace. There was no mark on her skin, but she still felt his touch.

"He was brusque, maybe, but these great men often are. There is no need to exaggerate the extent of his behavior. I heard that he once…"

As Patrick told yet another story about their neighbor, Dorothy's mind wandered. For the hundredth time since waking, she found herself back in the Duke of Dawford's arms in the golden lamplight, being kissed as though he could never get enough of her lips.

The worst part of the memory was how much she had enjoyed it and how eagerly she had pulled him to her, overcome by the excitement of his embrace. Until last night, she'd had no idea that a kiss could feel like that, somewhere between drowning and flying, between desperation and exhilaration.

Then, of course, had come the horror of that woman's voice and the realization that they had been seen. While grateful that the Duke had at least tried to conceal her behind him, she had a real fear that she might have been recognized and that scandal would befall her family at any moment.

Worse than that, when such scandal reached Patrick's ears, he would likely use it to force her into marriage with that ill-mannered nobleman. She would have no possible escape.

"Dorothy? Are you listening? I said we should go for a walk and blow some of the cobwebs from your head. We can promenade in Hyde Park at eleven o'clock. In fact, we should do something of the sort every day, now that people are returning for the Season. It's important to see and be seen."

She realized that her brother had been talking to her about walking to Hyde Park for some minutes, but she had been too preoccupied to notice.

"I really don't feel like walking today," she finally replied. "I would like to catch up on my correspondence."

In her head, she once again heard the sound of the woman's voice speaking from the carriage last night, "Disgraceful!"

How awful it would be to hear that voice again in the park. Or worse still, to be recognized and pointed at as the young lady who kissed the Duke of Dawford on a public road late at night!

Traveling along their small street at half past ten meant the woman in the carriage was likely a local. Anyone going further afield would have taken the main roads. The risk was real, but Patrick must not know of it.

"Nonsense. You can do that later. Morning or afternoon generally makes no difference for personal letters, only matters of business."

"I really would prefer to stay in today."

"For the sake of your health, Dorothy, I must insist. It is not good to stay too long indoors, and you will feel greatly refreshed afterward, I promise."

Unable to tell Patrick anything of the real reason she feared to go out and face the world this morning, Dorothy acquiesced and went to her room to don a suitable walking dress.

"I do wish you'd worn something more flattering," Patrick said in a low voice as they reached the entrance to the park. "No one wears veiled hats on a sunny day in May, and that earthy color really does not become you. I'm sure that must be your oldest walking suit."

"I told you I was tired, Patrick. You should have let me rest instead of dragging me out here," Dorothy answered crossly. "No wonder I've made poor dressing choices. Anyway, the veil makes the sunlight easier on my eyes."

Her older brother laughed and patted her arm.

"Ah, I see. Your attire is only my punishment for imposing my will on yours. What capricious creatures women are! Never mind, I believe you will turn heads, no matter what you wear."

Dorothy rolled her eyes at Patrick but then realized that the gesture was entirely wasted beneath the light veil.

He kept up a steady drone of conversation as they walked along one of the smaller pedestrian paths, pointing out notable figures and occasionally tipping his hat to people he knew. Thankfully, no one stopped to talk to them today. It was taking all of Dorothy's energy to keep up a calm facade, and she did not think she would have much left for trivial conversation.

Something changed when they reached one of the park's main thoroughfares, where horse riders, open-top buggies and carriages were passing down the center of the wide path as well as groups of other promenaders on foot at its sides, all making the most of the sunshine.

Dorothy had the sense that one carriage had deliberately slowed down as it passed them, the two forty-something women occupying it deep in conversation but still managing to throw a few rather censorious glances in her direction.

"Good morning, Miss Cooper," Patrick called out to one of the ladies with a small bow of his head, but he received no greeting in return.

Dorothy continued walking steadily, her hand on Patrick's arm as she glanced at the crest on the coach. Had she seen it before? It had been dark last night, and she could not really recall anything about the carriage except that it contained at least one middle-aged woman with a voice she would never forget.

She strained her ears to see if she heard it now but could not detect any voice but Patrick's over the general chatter and clatter of hooves and wheels around her.

"I don't think Miss Cooper heard me," Patrick said. "Her niece is married to one of Father's old friends. You might remember Mr. Taverner, the Viscount Herrington's younger brother? I could have sworn she looked in our direction… but never mind. Now, what was I saying about the Earl of Hinderton?"

Dorothy watched the carriage travel a little way ahead on the path and pause there so its occupants could speak briefly with another group riding in the opposite direction in an open-top carriage.

When the second coach approached, Dorothy received another disapproving glance from yet another older woman. The young man and woman beside her, perhaps her children, glanced at Dorothy and Patrick with something like pity, and Dorothy swallowed nervously.

She told herself this was sheer paranoia. Could rumors really travel so fast? It seemed absurd, but within such a small area, perhaps they could. The further they walked now, the more people seemed to be staring at her and even whispering to one another.

Imagination or not, it really felt like those two women in the first carriage were stopping and spreading rumors directly ahead of her passing. She wanted to turn around and run back home, but with Patrick there, it was impossible.

"Well, you certainly are turning heads today," Patrick observed with a small laugh after a few more minutes of walking. "Although it seems to be largely ladies rather than gentlemen this morning… I'm no expert on ladies' fashions, but I really do think you should get rid of that old walking suit and abandon veiled hats for the rest of this season."

"As you say," Dorothy answered noncommittally.

If even Patrick had noticed something was going on, it must be real. Under her veil, her cheeks were burning. What was she going to do? What would happen to her?

Her whole family could be ostracized because of that one kiss under the lamplight with a man she didn't even like. Patrick would go mad if the ton ever decided to cut them out because of her behavior. He was setting such store by this Season and putting so much money and effort into her in order to further his own ambitions.

Still, why worry about that when her brother would never let it happen? Marrying her off to the Duke of Dawford would solve that problem perfectly for him, and there seemed no way out if that door was opened. Given his own position, the Duke would not refuse her, and she could not refuse him.

"Dorothy? Dorothy?" Patrick's voice broke through her panicked reckoning. "I was just offering to take you to Madame Roget's and have you measured for a new walking outfit today. Perhaps she might even have something off the shelf you could put on to walk home. You really are attracting attention today, and not the right kind."

"Whatever you want, Patrick," Dorothy answered distractedly. "I'd rather just go home. We could cut across to the main road and take a carriage from there if you're really worried that my clothes are making a public display of us."

"I don't understand what is wrong with you today, Dorothy," he said, unnerved by all the staring and disgruntled by her lack of engagement.

For a moment, they stood still in confrontation with one another until they were interrupted by the approach of two elderly ladies in elegant but old-fashioned summer dresses.

"A word of advice, my dear," one of the women said, not unkindly, a firm hand on Dorothy's arm as she bent to whisper in her ear. "It will take more than a veil to be able to show yourself in public today. Go home and see if you can ride out the storm. This is the advice of a woman who has been here before you."

Beneath her veil, Dorothy turned chalk white, the blood draining from her face. The two silver-haired ladies drew back and continued their walk arm in arm, without further conversation, and Patrick looked angrily at her.

"What on earth was that about? Who were those busybodies?" he demanded.

"I've never met them before. But you were right. I'm not fit to be seen out here today. Take me home."

"I can't believe that you're twenty years old and you still need someone to oversee your dressing! It's ridiculous, Dorothy."

At that moment, two young bucks on horseback rode past, and one of them actually made kissing noises and lewd gestures in Dorothy's direction.

"Lucky old Dawford!" The other laughed. "Wish I was in his place."

"How dare you!" Patrick spluttered as they rode away.

He looked around for the outraged sympathy he might expect from onlookers at this kind of insult to his sister, but others on the path were instead openly tittering and murmuring to one another.

"Please just take me home, Patrick," Dorothy begged him. "It will only get worse if we continue."

"What is all this about? You know, don't you? What in God's name have you done?"

"Not here, Patrick. Let's go home."

Furiously, he offered her his arm once more and marched her out of the park like a disobedient child. There would be hell to pay when they got home, and Dorothy hoped she would have enough currency to cover the bill.

What had been the old lady's advice? Go home and ride out the storm…