“And so perhaps he deserved a shock,” replied Miss Finch. “How could anyone fail to realize that?”
Teresa wondered if kindness had been part of Lord Macklin’s motive. No. He was kind, but this wasn’t the sort of benevolence he practiced. He’d done it to show her that he meant what he said—he didn’t care a whit about society’s opinion of him. She also wondered how he was feeling this morning in the…aftermath of his outburst? Was he full of regret? She would hate to learn that he was sorry now. She half rose, full of a need to see him.
“The bald fellow, Trask, took it the best,” Tom went on. “After the first shock, he started laughing. With punch running down his bald head and onto his shoulders. The other one, Quigley, looked like he was going to explode. Lord Macklin might want to watch out for him.”
“He has already sent me a fiery protest,” said a deep voice from the courtyard doorway. Teresa turned with all the others to find the earl approaching. She sank back into her chair. “We are exchanging…correspondence, trying to avoid a duel,” he added. “I think we shall succeed if I offer up enough abject apologies. He is a high-court judge. He can hardly put a bullet in me.”
The earl joined them on a chorus of exclamations.
“I wouldn’t be too concerned,” he responded. “It is not exactly a matter of honor to be dowsed with rack punch. Quigley was not…impugned. Though we have not quite settled what it is.” He smiled.
Teresa could see no signs of regret in his face. He sounded much as usual. He looked as urbanely handsome and assured as ever.
“We are all wondering that,” said Miss Deeping. “Have you heard the wild theories racing around the ton?”
“I have not.” Lord Macklin looked merely amused.
Miss Deeping counted them off on her fingers. “One, the most convoluted—that Miss Julia Grandison knows some dark secret about you and threatened to reveal it unless you did as she asked. Two, the strangest—that opera dancers have sent you out to pay off past humiliations. In a demented kind of chivalry. Several men have looked quite concerned about that one. And three, the simplest—that you’ve just gone mad. Of course.”
“Charlotte is making a chart,” said Miss Moran. “With subcolumns for what your dark secret might be and which gentlemen had best watch out for retribution.”
The earl burst out laughing. Teresa listened as if the sound might give her clues. It seemed a carefree laugh.
“Why did you do it?” asked Miss Finch.
“To make a point.”
“What point?” wondered Miss Moran.
Lord Macklin met Teresa’s eyes and held them as he said, “That I am quite willing to be notorious.”
There was no mistaking the message in his gaze. He had done this thing for her, to prove he meant what he’d said. And he had not changed his mind about marriage. Teresa’s pulse sped.
“Why would you want to be that?” asked Poppy. “Won’t it be a great trouble?”
“No. Not the least in the world.”
“But people might snub you,” said Miss Moran.
He turned and looked at her with slightly raised brows. His expression seemed politely inquiring, but Teresa could see the unshakable aplomb behind it. “If they like,” he said, his voice laden with indifference.
“They won’t,” said Tom. “Not his lordship. The gossips will yammer and sniggle, the dog-hearted foot lickers. And then I expect everybody’ll end up admiring him in the end.”
There were murmurs of general agreement. Teresa looked around the group. These individuals of different outlook and degree all thought Tom was right. She hadn’t taken the earl’s quality and history into account. He would not be scorned. He made that impossible.
He was watching her. Not like a cat waiting for a mouse to scurry past. More like a supplicant daring to hope. She felt her face heat with a dizzying mixture of anticipation and amazement and desire. Could it be happiness, trembling in the balance? She saw him recognize…something in her face.
Arthur’s spirits soared. His stubborn love had been swayed by his…heroic deed. He was sure of it. Nearly sure. He had to ask her. He was wild to do so. She was sitting so close to him, and yet an inconvenient crowd away. He must be rid of all these people!
He hadn’t counted on the young ladies being present. He couldn’t command them as he might Tom and his comrades. Well, nothing to do but make a start. “Is there no work to be done here today?” he asked the air. The outer circle of artisans reacted to the voice of authority and began to disperse. But Tom and the young ladies, including Poppy, made no move. He was left within their circle of interested gazes. Arthur searched for words.
But he’d forgotten. He’d thrown off the shackles of propriety. He wasn’t hemmed in by them any longer. Noting that it was deuced difficult to establish new habits, he said, “Will you all please go away and let me talk to Señora Alvarez?”
“Are you finally going to speak?” asked Miss Deeping. “We have been wondering why you were waiting.”
“Charlotte,” said Miss Finch.
“Well, but we…”
“Charlotte,” said Miss Moran.
Miss Deeping held up a hand to forestall them. And then all three young ladies spoke in a practiced chorus. “It’s more complicated than that.”
“What is?” asked Poppy. “Do you practice speaking all together? It’s funny.”
“Let’s get back to it, Poppy,” Tom said to her. He rose and offered his arm. With a giggle, she stood and took it. As they walked out, Tom looked back over his shoulder, grinned at Arthur, and gave him a quick salute with his free hand. Arthur could only smile back.
The three young ladies gathered their things, of which they seemed to have an inordinate number. Then they too departed. At last he and Teresa were alone in the courtyard.
They were not overlooked. There were no windows into the workshop. Arthur found himself thinking that a few windows would be pleasant, for the light, and realized he was putting off hearing his fate. “Well,” he said.
“Do you intend to explain yourself?” Teresa asked.
He was momentarily concerned. Then he saw the gleam in her dark eyes. She wasn’t quite laughing, but she wasn’t cool either. Strong emotion stirred there. “You worried that you would ruin me,” he said. “I did not agree, but you weren’t open to my arguments. So I decided to do it myself, to remove your…anxieties.”
“Remove?” She shook her head. “When I saw you lift that punch bowl, I thought I’d gone mad.”