She’d always been outside the inner circle of young ladies who did everything they were supposed to do to maintain their standing with the virtue vultures, as Diana had tagged them. Those were the older ladies who set the standard for young girls’ behavior. While never being given the cut direct by those ladies, they certainly did not view her with warmth or welcome her with open arms.
She checked the small pink and white flowered china clock on her dresser. It grew close to two o’clock. With her stomach in knots, she descended the stairs in search of her lady’s maid, Marguerite, to act as chaperone when Hunt visited. Even though he was an old childhood friend, she did not want any sign of impropriety. She’d given Mrs. Strickland the afternoon off, since Diana did not trust her as she trusted Marguerite, who had been with her since she’d made her come-out four years before.
Plus, Marguerite already knew about the humiliation looming on the horizon. “Marguerite, Lord Huntington will be here momentarily. Please have Cook send in tea once he arrives, then join us in the drawing room so there will be no talk of us being alone together.”
Tea, indeed. What she really needed was a glass of sherry, or even brandy, but it was necessary to keep her faculties if she wasn’t going to make a complete cake of herself.
“Yes, my lady.” The girl curtsied and hurried to the kitchen.
Diana wandered the drawing room, picking up objects, not really seeing them, then placing them back down, trying her best to calm herself. If Hunt refused her plea for help, she had no idea what she would do.
Her head jerked up and her pulse jumped, butterflies taking up residence in her stomach. The echo of a horse riding to the mews behind her house announced the arrival of her guest. Just be calm. State your problem and appeal to his sense of duty and honor, on which he always prided himself.
Within minutes, a knock sounded at the front door. Her butler opened the drawing room door and stood aside to let her guest enter. “His lordship, the Earl of Huntington, has arrived, my lady.”
“Thank you, Briggs.”
She sucked in a breath as she beheld the man she needed to save her from ruin. Tall—indeed much taller than he seemed in the ballroom last night—his presence overwhelmed the space in her drawing room. His thick, light brown hair, known for its inability to be tamed, fell over his broad forehead and teased the back of his cravat.
No tailor needed to pad his chestnut sack jacket, which his broad shoulders filled out nicely. His deep tan trousers below a snug brown and black checked waistcoat outlined well-muscled thighs. A starched white pristine shirt set off his slightly tanned skin.
He’d gone from the gangly youth who had plucked her from trees and tended to her scrapes to a man who knew his place in the world and commanded a good part of it with aplomb and a touch of arrogance.
He offered a slight bow. “My lady.”
She waved to a chair in front of the fireplace. “Won’t you have a seat? I am expecting tea any moment.”
She hated how breathless she sounded but convinced herself her disquiet was due to what she was about to reveal, not from his overwhelming presence. Had he truly been so very masculine prior to her trek to Italy? She attempted to remind herself this was Hunt. Her childhood friend.
And savior.
No sooner were the words out of her mouth than the door opened and Michael, one of her footmen, entered. He carried a tray with her favorite tea things that she and Grandmama had used for years. Alongside the lovely blue and while teapot sat a plate of small sandwiches and another plate of tarts. She gestured to the table between the two chairs, where the footman placed the tray. Her lady’s maid, Marguerite, slipped into the room and took a seat near the door.
With shaky hands, Diana poured the tea, adding cream and sugar as was Hunt’s wont. Once they were settled and initial pleasantries had been exchanged about the offerings on the tea tray, she placed her teacup firmly in the saucer and stiffened her back. “You must be wondering why I asked you to call.”
He nodded, a slight smirk on his lips. “What trouble are you in now, Diana?”
She jumped up, causing him to quickly put his teacup down and stand, the serviette on his lap falling to the floor.
“No, no, sit, please.”
He offered her a bemused smile. “You know I am unable to sit while a lady stands.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake. All right, I’ll sit.” She returned to her chair and then fidgeted so much she annoyed herself. She took a deep breath and smiled. “I learned about your rescue of Miss Manchester last month.”
“Miss Manchester? Rescue? I’m afraid I do not understand.” He picked up the teacup and frowned, obviously feigning ignorance.
“Perhaps you did not see it as a rescue, but I’m sure Miss Manchester felt it was.”
He continued to look perplexed until she wondered if perhaps Marguerite had gotten the story wrong from Miss Manchester’s lady’s maid. Please, God, don’t make it so. She needed Hunt’s help. Desperately. “You seem confused, so perhaps I may refresh your memory?”
He nodded. “Please, do.”
“The information I received was Miss Manchester was present at a house party where you were also a guest.” When he continued to stare at her, she sighed. “Hunt, for heaven’s sake, you are nowhere near your dotage. Did you or did you not attend a house party at the Bedford estate last month?”
“Yes, I did.” He dragged the words out, his eyes narrowing.
“Was Miss Millie Manchester also a guest?” She tried to keep her voice calm, but the entire situation had been unnerving her for a week, and the sooner she could get his promise to help her, the happier she would be.
“I believe she was, along with her brother, Mr. David Manchester.” The caution in his words was telling. A man protecting a woman’s reputation. Perfect. The sort of behavior she desperately wanted to encourage.
“If you are trying to guard the young lady’s name, I admire you for that, but I assure you I know the story of how she left her scarf in a young man’s bedchamber and, at her behest, you retrieved the garment for her before her brother discovered her indiscretion.”
If he’d been surprised at her knowledge of the event, he did not show it. Instead, he viewed her with curiosity. “If you are in possession of that story, it has not come from me. May I ask why you bring it up now, and how that connects to the reason you have requested my presence this afternoon when I would much rather be on the way to my club? Are you missing a scarf, also?”
Once again, she hopped up and Hunt followed, spilling tea on his shiny shoe.
Diana sighed. “We are getting nowhere. Will you escort me to the garden? I think what I have to say would be easier if I am on my feet.” Anything would be easier than the two of them jumping up and down like a couple of court jesters.
He hesitated a moment and glanced at the door as if considering making a dash for it. Eventually, he sighed. “As you wish.”
He extended his arm, and they strolled out the French door, into the garden, Marguerite keeping a respectful distance behind them. The scent of bay rum wafted from him, temporarily distracting her. The muscles under her fingertips flexed as he maneuvered her around the flower beds. Goodness, he was warm. Heat radiated from him in waves.
You are stalling, Diana. Get on with it.