is hosting a ball this weekend, and she is his particular guest.”
“Jolly good for them,” Nicholas said darkly, drumming his fingers together. The woman — Miss Thatcher — couldn’t hold a torch to Elizabeth, who’d been as rare a beauty as she’d been in spirit. But if Miss Thatcher really was at Preston’s, at his particular invite, then something about her must have attracted him.
Nicholas told himself he didn’t care. Soon enough, no female from here to London would have anything to do with Preston. Once his fortune was gone, he’d lost everything, and had to return to doctoring — Nicholas intended to see to it that the man was barred from that profession as well — Preston would hold no attraction for Miss Thatcher or any other woman.
But for all of Nicholas’s efforts to see Preston brought down, the time was simply not coming fast enough. “I see not what this has to do with me.” Nicholas looked at his papers again, searching for the document he’d been reading.
“It has a great deal to do with you, I’m afraid,” Mrs. James said. “The story about Miss Thatcher being in your bed has traveled beyond our gates, and Mr. Preston’s whole household knows of it. Only Miss Thatcher does not, as she’s been shut up in her room at Mr. Preston’s, recovering from illness since she arrived yesterday morning.”
“Preston believes that the woman he invited to his ball spent the night in my bed?” Nicholas’s mouth curved into a near grin. The situation was almost amusing. Almost.There could never be anything truly amusing about Preston. Thoughts of him always circled back to Elizabeth’s death and Preston’s part in it.“For certain he won’t want the girl now.”
He supposed he could feel satisfied in that, at least. Preston didn’t deserve to find another woman or any sort of happiness, not when he’d been given perfection in Elizabeth and had allowed her to die.
“But he does want her yet,” Mr. Kingsley said.
Mrs. James nodded. “That was word at the market this morning was, though all the staff and guests, and even Mr. Preston, know what happened.”
“What exactly did happen?” Nicholas asked. He’d been tired that night, but he was rather certain that his recollection of the events had him and Miss Thatcher in the same proximity of blankets for less than half a minute, during which time he had done nothing to her.
“Oh, it’s dreadful.” Mrs. James brought a hand to her mouth, as if she couldn’t bear to say more. “They say that Miss Thatcher was — was —”
“Taken advantage of by you,” Kingsley supplied.
“There’s even a torn nightgown been passed around the servant’s quarters for all to see,” Mrs. James said.
“Ridiculous.” Nicholas stood abruptly. An absurd accusation. “I did nothing to her nightgown . ”But even as he said it, he remembered reaching for the woman, remembered the feel of cloth in his hand and the sound of tearing fabric. “How on earth did it end up at the servants’ quarters?”
“Her maid brought it down and asked about thread for mending it,” Mrs. James said.
“Is the woman daft?” Nicholas exclaimed. She’d seemed sane enough during their brief encounter that awful night — the night that seemed to be getting worse by the minute.
“I don’t understand it either,” Mrs. James said. “Miss Thatcher’s maid came to see me as soon as Miss Thatcher was settled again. She wanted a guarantee that word of the incident would not get out, lest Miss Thatcher’s reputation be ruined.”
“Her footman came to see me as well,” Kingsley said, his face grim. “Mrs. James and I both assured them that the word of the evening would not go beyond our doorstep.”
Nicholas ran a hand through his hair and began pacing behind his desk. “So Miss Thatcher’s reputation is in shreds, and I am the accused. And truly, Preston doesn’t care?”
“So it would seem,” Kingsley said.
“Mrs. Telford says he’s taken
Sharon Kleve, Jennifer Conner, Danica Winters, Casey Dawes