Page 21 of Caught By the Ruthless Duke
“Your sister,” their mother said, her voice taking on a shrill quality, “has apparently absconded from Agatha’s and has beenwandering about the countryside for three days in a dress that looks like it belongs to a governess.”
“I was not wandering?—”
“Then where were you?” Lord Bardwell’s voice rose despite his wife’s earlier admonishment. “A lady does not require three days to travel from Lincolnshire to London! You should have arrived two days ago at the latest!”
Cressida kept her spine straight, her chin lifted. “I was delayed by the storm. I took shelter somewhere safe.”
“Somewhere safe?” Lady Bardwell pressed her fingers to her temples. “That is not an answer! Where? Whose house? An inn? Please tell me you at least had the sense to stay at a coaching inn with proper chaperonage?—”
“I was perfectly safe, Mama.”
“You cannot possibly guarantee that.” Her mother crossed to her, hands fluttering like agitated birds. “Two days! Two days unaccounted for! If anyone saw you, if there was even a whisper… Oh heavens, if Agatha discovers you’ve run away?—”
“She will have discovered it by now,” Peter pointed out, settling into a chair with the detached interest of someone watching a theatrical performance. “Servants talk, and word travels fast. I’d wager Aunt Agatha has already dispatched a scathing letter.”
“No doubt she will have,” Cressida observed. “Considering that she sets me to scutwork and household chores with the servants every morning.”
Lady Bardwell made a sound like a wounded animal. Cressida knew better than to believe that it was because of her revelation.
“This is catastrophic,” Lord Bardwell pronounced, his face now an alarming shade of crimson. “We sent you to Agatha’s to avoid scandal, and now you’ve caused one infinitely worse! Running away, disappearing for days—do you have any idea what this will do to our family’s reputation?”
“Our reputation?” Cressida heard the bitterness creep into her voice. “Not my safety? Not whether I was harmed or in danger?”
“Don’t be dramatic.” Her mother’s dismissal was automatic. “You’re standing here unharmed, which means you were clearly not in any real danger. But the scandal, if anyone suspects you were unchaperoned for two entire days?—”
Cressida’s fingernails dug into her palms. “No one knows.”
“You cannot guarantee that!” Lady Bardwell’s voice had risen to a pitch that suggested genuine distress, though Cressida suspected it had more to do with social ruin than maternal concern. “Servants gossip, neighbors talk, and if word reaches the ton that our daughter was gallivanting about the countryside?—”
Cressida decided she’d heard enough of that.
“I was not gallivanting. I was trying to help Harriet.” That particular admission slipped out before she could stop it.
Lord Bardwell’s eyes narrowed. “Harriet? You mean Miss Barnes? What does she have to do with any of this?”
Cressida pressed her lips together, recognizing her mistake too late.
“You ran away from Agatha’s to interfere in Miss Barnes’s wedding?” Her father’s tone suggested he couldn’t decide whether to be furious or incredulous. “Have you lost your senses entirely?”
“She’s my dearest friend?—”
“Shewasyour friend,” Lady Bardwell corrected sharply. “She is now the Marchioness of Whitebrook, and you would do well to remember that such elevated personages have no use for scandalous spinsters who cause scenes.”
The words struck like a slap, but Cressida had learned long ago not to flinch. “I merely wished to ensure her happiness.”
“Her happiness is no longer your concern.” Lord Bardwell’s pronouncement carried the weight of paternal authority. “Your concern should be salvaging what little remains of your reputation and not bringing further shame upon this family.”
Mary tugged at Cressida’s sleeve, her young face troubled. “But where did you stay during the storm? You must tell them, so they’ll stop worrying.”
“Worrying.” Cressida couldn’t quite keep the irony out of her voice as she fought to keep from rolling her eyes. “Yes, I can see how deeply concerned they are.”
“Don’t be impertinent,” her mother snapped. “We have every right to demand answers. You’ve defied your aunt, abandoned your place, and disappeared for days. The least you can do is tell us where you’ve been, so we can determine how much damage has been done.”
“I told you, somewhere safe. No one saw me, and my reputation is intact.”
Nothing good would come of telling them she’d been with a man unchaperoned, no matter that he was a duke. And they’d turn positively purple in the face if she even so much as revealed just how much that very duke knew what her lips tasted like.
“That,” Peter murmured, “seems rather unlikely, given the circumstances.”
