Rationally, of course, Bethany knew that the latter would be far preferable for her own family but… seeing him forced to marry such an unpleasant lady would have been intolerable.
“You mustn’t dally.” The maid pulled the coverlet down, exposing Bethany to the cold. And the air was indeed cold that morning as spring had barely arrived and the fire in the hearth had long since gone out. “Lord Chaswick is already waiting in the library.”
“What an ungodly hour for a visit.” Bethany twisted on the mattress and buried her head in her pillow. She had never been a morning person, what with her tendencies to count and tidy things rather than sleep.
Emily tugged at the pillow then, making staying in bed even less comfortable than rising and getting dressed. “If you don’t mind my opinion, the blighter ought to have been waiting on the step at sunup. All of us belowstairs are just hopeful a wedding can turn this scandal around. It’ll have to be a quick one though.”
Bethany couldn’t fault her maid in the least, or any of the servants, for speculating. They, too, would be affected by her humiliation. Servants took on the shame the same as their employers. “I will say this, when you go after something, you certainly don’t do it halfway.”
“Oh, but I didn’t go after him, Emily. It was an accident—a terrible mistake. And I’m sorry if all of you are suffering for my stupidity. If I could turn back the clock and do it again, I would change everything.”
But would she?
She would still go outside to save him, but she would announce her identity while maintaining a good deal of distance.
If only turning back the clock was an option.
Emily had Bethany dressed in a pretty canary muslin and her hair in a tidy coiffure in just under thirty minutes. She appropriated additional care, having brushed her slippers and switched out Bethany’s pelisse three times, leaving no doubt as to the importance of the occasion for all of them.
Bethany hated that others could suffer because of her poor decision.
Walking through the corridor toward the stairs, Bethany stopped seven times in order to straighten artwork on the wall. Stepping back, she studied them from a distance and was about to adjust them again just as her mother appeared and grasped her by the wrist.
“Enough of that. He’s waiting in the library.”
Her mother looked as unruffled as ever, with her salt and pepper hair pinned atop her head adorned with two purple feathers that matched her gown. Bethany could almost imagine nothing exceptional had occurred if she hadn’t also noticed the pinched look around her mother’s mouth.
Bethany drooped as her mother dragged her down the stairs. The leveling of the paintings was going to have to wait.
W-a-i-t-i-n-g. Seven letters. L-i-b-r-a-r-y. Seven letters. It was a good sign, wasn’t it? The number seven harbored good things. It was supposed to, anyhow.
Their butler, Mr. Bradley, stood at attention at the bottom of the stairs. Even he didn’t appear unaffected. “Good morning, Lady Bethany.” Sympathy showed from behind his spectacles when he swiftly moved across the foyer to open the door to the library.
A shove at her back and Bethany nearly stumbled inside.
“I’ll leave you two alone.” Bethany turned just in time to send her mother a scowl.
“But—”
“I will be waiting directly outside.” Her mother backed away, leaving a hushed silence after the door clicked shut.
Her mother’s sense of propriety seemed a tad out of place this morning but what did Bethany know? Not as much as she’d always assumed, apparently. After all, it was she who’d gotten herself ruined.
She turned back into the room and stared down at the carpet. She could not look at him. She could not.
Oh, but this was mortifying!
“Lady Bethany.” He’d called her plain old Bethany for years now and there was no mistaking the distress in his voice. “I am so very, very sorry. I never would have done it if I’d known it was you.”
For some reason, this stung.
Of course, he would not have. He hadn’t even wanted to dance with her.
“I thought you were someone else. I am so very, very sorry,” he repeated his apology.
The tortured tone of his voice had her glancing up.
She smothered a gasp at the sight of his poor left eye. Swollen scarlet and purple flesh prevented him from opening it properly, and a cut sliced through his top lip on the same side.
Although dressed to the nines and freshly shaved, he looked as though he’d gotten less sleep than she had. Dark circles etched beneath his one good eye, which seemed red and irritated. A hint of green tinted his normal lovely complexion.
Bethany kept herself from sighing when a lock of his beautiful hair fell forward to casually brush the side of his face.
This was a different Chase than she knew. Looking pained, chagrined, and… disgusted.
With her? No. He was disgusted with himself.
“I’m so sorry. It was a horrid thing to do,” Chase echoed his apology. He is sorry.
S-o-r-r-y. Five letters. He’d have had no reason whatsoever to be sorry if she’d not gone outside. Would he have regretted his behavior quite so vehemently if he’d been caught spanking Rachel Somerset rather than her?
“It was vile,” Bethany said.
Anger from the memory of his not-so-gentle handling of her pierced through some of the sympathy she was experiencing on his behalf.
“I know.” He stepped forward and dropped to his knee, taking one of her hands in his. It was a scenario she’d dreamt of but… not like this.
Never like this.
Staring down at his hair reminded her of the moment he’d retrieved her mother’s belongings the night before. Had that only been last night? The endearing moment felt like a lifetime ago.
“I am despicable,” he replied. “Depraved.”
She couldn’t help but agree, and she hated to imagine him doing the same to the lush and beautiful widow.
“Do you… do that sort of thing normally?” She withdrew her hand from his and hugged her arms in front of her. Straightening her spine, she stared down with as much disapproval as she could muster.
He tilted his head back so as to meet her gaze, and she couldn’t help but note that the red around his eyes made his irises appear an even brighter blue. Drat the man. Why did he have to be so insufferably dashing?
“Do I do what sort of…? Ah…”He grimaced as he comprehended what she was asking. “Only recently. But on my honor, Bethany, I swear to never, ever, not in a thousand years, touch you like that again. God.” He brushed a hand through his hair, causing the stray lock to stick for less than a second and then fall forward again. “If I’d had half a clue…”
And drat again! Why did his promise leave her feeling disappointed?
“Why?”
“Why?” He seemed confused.
“Why would you promise me this?”
“Because you’re a lady, that’s why. And you’re blasted Westerley’s sister.”
“But why would you do it to anyone?”
His gaze shifted to the corner of the room. “Because it… That isn’t important.” He flashed his eyes back toward her. “What does matter is that we marry.” He reached for her hand again, pinning his mesmerizing eyes on her. “And we must do so as soon as possible—today even. Legalities are already ironed out. Please, Bethany. Allow me to fix this.” He frowned. Dropping her hand, he dug into one of his pockets, pulled out a folded piece of paper, and revealed… a special license.