Gail Whitiker - Revenge In Regency Society

‘Actually, I don’t. We each have our own ways of involving ourselves in other people’s lives, Sir Barrington,’ Lady Annabelle said. ‘I tend to think the best and assume people innocent until proven guilty, whereas you believe the exact opposite.’

‘Not at all. I simply strive to uncover the truth,’ Barrington said. ‘That is why people come to me. And experience has taught me that if the truth is not immediately discernible, it will come out in the end.’

‘Then at least you and I are able to part knowing that the truth of this matter has already been established,’ she replied. ‘Goodbye, Sir Barrington.’

Barrington inclined his head, but said nothing as she left the room. He stood by his desk until he heard the sound of the front door close before letting his head fall back and breathing a long, deep sigh.

So, the lovely Anna thought the matter closed. Wrong. Peregrine Rand was guilty. The fact he had chosen not to confess his sin meant absolutely nothing. In his heart, he knew what he’d done and, if Peregrine was as noble as Lady Annabelle made him out to be, guilt would eat away at him until he had no choice but to make a clean breast of it. Either way, the young man was doomed to failure.

As it seemed was he, Barrington reflected, when it came to securing the good opinion of the lovely Lady Annabelle Durst. If it turned out that his accusations were correct and Rand was guilty of having an affair with Lady Yew, she would resent him for having proven her wrong. On the other hand, if Rand was telling the truth, she would resent him for having doubted his integrity in the first place. In short, they had reached a stalemate. And contrary to what either of them might wish to believe, in a situation like this, there was simply no way one or the other of them was going to win.

Anna finally caught up with Peregrine later that afternoon. She had been resting in her room, nursing the megrim she’d had for the better part of the day, when she heard the heavy thump of footsteps in the hall and realised he was finally home. Pushing the lavender eye pads aside, she quickly got up and went to the door. ‘Peregrine!’

He clearly wasn’t in the mood for conversation. Dressed in boots, hacking jacket and breeches, he didn’t stop when she hailed him and was almost at the bottom of the stairs before she finally caught up with him. ‘Peregrine, wait! I need to talk to you.’

‘I haven’t time.’ His voice was unusually brusque. ‘I’m going riding with friends and I’m already late.’

‘Then you’ll just have to be a few minutes later,’ Anna said, putting her hand on his arm and turning him around. ‘Where were you last night? I was worried about you.’

‘You had no reason to be. I simply went out.’

‘But not until after you spoke to Papa. Why did you leave again? And why didn’t you come home?’

He flicked the hard leather crop against the top of his boot. ‘I lost track of time. When I realised how late it was, I decided it was best I just stay out.’

‘Why? Because of something Papa said?’

Peregrine was a good-looking young man with a shock of thick, black hair, deep brown eyes and a wide, generous mouth. A mouth that suddenly narrowed in anger. ‘I don’t care to talk about it.’

‘But you don’t have a choice, Peregrine. There’s a rumour going around town that you are having an affair with Lady Yew,’ Anna said, needing him to understand the gravity of the situation. ‘I know it isn’t true, but you can’t simply pretend the rumour doesn’t exist.’

‘As a matter of fact, I can. I told your father as much when he questioned me about it last night and I certainly don’t intend to stand here and justify my behaviour to you!’

Stung by the vehemence of his reply, Anna said, ‘I’m not asking for justification. I just told you I don’t believe what people are saying. But a meeting is being held this afternoon between Lord Yew and the man he asked to investigate his wife’s infidelity and your name is going to come up—’

‘Damn it, Anna, did I not just say that I don’t want to talk about it?’

‘But you must! Your reputation as a gentleman is at stake, don’t you understand?’

‘What I understand is that a man’s private business is not his own,’ he snapped. ‘Do you know why I jumped at the chance to come to London? Because I was tired of having to listen to my father’s sanctimonious preaching. Of being told what I could and could not do. I thought that by coming here, I would finally be able to lead my own life. Yet now I find that every move I make is watched and criticised by people I don’t know, and that even you and your father have no qualms about intruding into something that is none of your business.’

‘None of our business?’ Anna repeated in astonishment. ‘How can you say that? You are my father’s godson. We care about you.’

He had the grace to look embarrassed. ‘I’m not saying you don’t.’

‘Then why are you being so defensive? I know you didn’t have an affair with Lady Yew,’ Anna said. ‘For one thing, she’s already married. For another, she must be at least fifteen years older than you.’

‘Since when did either of those things matter to the fine, upstanding members of society?’ Peregrine shot back. ‘Half of London seems to be involved with people other than their wives or husbands. Why should Susan and I be any different?’

‘Susan?’ Anna interrupted, shocked. ‘You call her Susan?’

‘Yes.’ He raised his chin in defiance. ‘What else would one call a good friend?’

‘Given that she happens to be someone else’s wife, I would have thought Lady Yew the more appropriate form of address,’ Anna said, concern lending an edge to her voice.

‘You’re being stuffy, Anna. I didn’t do anything wrong,’ Peregrine said. ‘She gave me leave to speak to her in such a manner.’

‘Really? And what else did she give you leave to do?’

The tips of Peregrine’s ears flamed red. ‘Nothing.’ But when he refused to meet her eyes and began fidgeting with his crop, Anna knew he was lying to her—and she felt the foundations of her world tremble.

So, it was all a lie. Peregrine was involved with Lady Yew. Worse, he was in love with her. He’d given himself away when he’d spoken her name. His mouth had quivered and his eyes had softened, the way a person’s always did when they referred to the man or the woman they cared about deeply.

And she, stupidly, had believed him. She had defended him to both her father and to Sir Barrington Parker, a man she had charged with making a false accusation, when all the while it was Peregrine who had been telling lies.

Needing to regain a measure of calm, Anna turned her back on him, clenching her fists at her side. ‘Since you obviously did not see fit to inform my father of the truth last night, I will have it now,’ she said, fighting to keep her voice steady. ‘Are you having an affair with the Marchioness of Yew?’

‘Anna, please!’

‘Don’t Anna me! I want the truth, Peregrine. People’s reputations are at stake here. Mine included.’