Page 40 of The Good Fortune of Miss Robbins

Again, I nodded. I swallowed hard and managed to say, “Thank you for inviting me. You have been very good to me. Inordinately so.”

“These kinds of parties are often the impetus of marriage proposals. Do you think any of my guests have attached themselves to each other? Do you think any marriage proposals might come from a fortnight together?”

“I don’t know.”

I’d seen the way Miss Rose Rutledge looked at him, her smirk, and the way her mother would get that self-satisfied, catlike expression when her gaze shifted from Lord Brookhaven to her daughter. Was he trying to tell me that he planned to ask Rose Rutledge to marry him?

I saw myself as he must see me—as Mr. Merritt and Lord Markeley saw me. I was not in the same social realm as Lord Brookhaven or Rose Rutledge. I was not someone who was able to attend fashionable parties, and the only reason I had appropriate clothing for Lord Brookhaven’s house party, appropriate for mingling with his guests, was because his aunt had provided it for me, which in itself was a bit improper.

I could ruin his reputation even if there was no marriage proposal, if Miss Rutledge or some of the other guests spread the news around London and within fashionable society that Lord Brookhaven’saunt had had clothing made for his governess, and that the earl had invited her to his house party so that she might socialize with him and his peers.

I felt sick.

“You should not have invited me.” The words burst forth from my mouth. I couldn’t take them back, so I went on. “People will talk. They will say bad things about you. I’m not in your social class, and I should not have been invited.”

A little sob escaped, and I pressed my hand over my mouth. I kept my back to him as I wiped furiously at the tears running down my face.

How mortifying! What was wrong with me? I shouldn’t have said anything. I should have kept quiet.

It was all I could do to keep from sobbing aloud.

“Please do not distress yourself.” Lord Brookhaven’s tone was agitated. “I’m sorry if you felt compromised by ... did anyone say anything untoward?”

I shook my head, feeling utterly miserable. Stupid, stupid girl. I never should have said anything.

“Was that what Merritt and Markeley were saying to you? I will teach them to—”

“No!” This was getting worse and worse. “They didn’t say anything untoward. They have been ... very kind to me.”Until last night.“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have attended. It wasn’t right or proper for me to accept ... your invitation or Lady Derringer’s gifts.” I no longer even tried to stop the tears, but I concentrated on keeping my voice steady.

“Miss Robbins.” He’d moved closer until he was bending down, his face a few feet from mine. “There was nothing improper.”

“I know, but people will talk. They will say—”

“They will not. And even if they do, they will be wrong. I don’t care what people say. Do you think I care about that?” He sounded angry now. There was an edge in his tone, his expression tight, his eyes wide.

He took a deep breath. He blinked slowly, and when he spokeagain, his voice was low and even. “Gossips will say what they will, but my reputation will not be easily tarnished. Men have that privilege in society, but I realize ... Forgive me, Miss Robbins.”

By the end of his speech, he sounded deflated. Defeated.

I wanted to tell him there was nothing to forgive, that I didn’t consider him to have done anything wrong, but I knew my voice wouldn’t hold out.

After a minute of silence, in which I was able to compose myself, I said, “I think perhaps I should find a position elsewhere.”

“No. No, that is precisely what you must not do. It will cause the gossipmongers to talk more. And although I care nothing for my sake, I am thinking of you, of your reputation, Miss Robbins.”

“My reputation is of no consequence.” After all, I was not a member of fashionable society. It hardly mattered what they said about me. I was nobody, a poor, lowly orphan who would simply go back to Mrs. Southey’s School for Young Ladies. Where I belonged. The only place I belonged.

He was quiet for so long, my thoughts wandered to Samuel and Annabelle. Perhaps it would have been better if I left his employ and went back to Mrs. Southey’s, but I could not leave Samuel and Annabelle. My heart wrenched at the thought. I couldn’t abandon them.

“It will not be necessary for you to find another position.” He enunciated each word carefully, as though he was trying to keep control of his voice. “In fact, I want you to stay—I ask you to stay—to continue Samuel and Annabelle’s education.”

“Very well. I will stay, for the children.”

“Forgive me, Miss Robbins.” His voice sounded even, passionless. “I suppose I didn’t think it through, the outcome of ... you joining us. I ... Forgive me for causing you distress or embarrassment.”

We stood silently staring out into the garden, listening to the twitter of birds that sounded so happy that anyone listening would never have known that there was a young woman standing there who was absolutely wretched and mortified, who could only berateherself for ever thinking that an earl might ask her to marry him, for thinking that a governess should feel welcome at an earl’s house party . . . for falling in love.

When I’d berated myself to the point of driving out any strong emotions, I was able to say, “There is nothing to forgive. I am sorry if I’ve caused you trouble or lessened anyone’s enjoyment of the party.”