misjudged him. They’re mainly an untrustworthy lot, that family.”
“He’s talkative,” Ashmont said. “But he’s harmless.”
So Miss Pomfret had told her sister. That was a kindness she needn’t have offered. She might have driven Morris away with a word or a look, but she hadn’t. True, she and her sister had taken very great advantage of the poor fellow, but ladies could be ruthless at these charity affairs. According to one dashing widow Ashmont had known, the competition was brutal. Fighting cocks could learn something from them, she’d said.
“I should rate him higher than that,” Blackwood said. “I’m told he made every effort to reconcile you and Ripley, and in other respects did all that was proper. He kept an eye on you afterward. You’re not dead. Ripley isn’t dead. Let’s leave it at that.”
A weight lifted that Ashmont hadn’t realized was there. He and Ripley had made up promptly, but Blackwood had kept away, and Ashmont had missed him more than he’d ever admit.
“Fair enough,” he said.
Blackwood’s dark gaze came back to him. “Now that’s settled, shall we take Morris out for a restorative beverage or two?”
“He does seem in need of a bracer.”
“Not but what you could use some restoring yourself,” Blackwood said. “You appear a trifle peaked. Not surprising, considering you spent fully ten minutes, perhaps more, conversing with Miss Pomfret. Does your brain hurt? I debated coming to your rescue early on, and in the end deemed it best you learn by experience.”
“Didn’t need rescuing,” Ashmont said. “In fact, it was just getting interesting when you had to lumber in.”
“No doubt you thought so. The trouble is, Lady Bartham swooping down in dragon mode wasn’t all I saw. Miss Pomfret clearly wished to be rid of you. But I know there’s no getting rid of you until you’re good and ready. Detecting no signs of your being good and ready, and knowing she’d soon progress to drastic measures likely to be more injurious to herself than to you, I thought I’d gain myself a credit or two by hastening your departure.”
“Credit!” Ashmont said. “She gives you points?”
Blackwood looked at him. “I meant credit with Alice, for saving her friend from herself. Or you. Or both. What did you think I meant?”
“Nothing,” Ashmont said.
“I see,” Blackwood said. After the briefest of pauses, he went on, “Going to Ripley’s gala tomorrow night?”
“Wouldn’t miss it for anything. Might steal the bride.”
“That sounds like fun. But I recommend you do it discreetly. Ripley intends, as you may have already surmised, to establish his duchess’s proper place in Society. Marriage calls for certain sacrifices, and this includes one’s friends. We three, as I hope you realize, are to be on the very strictest good behavior.”
“Certainly. No hard feelings. Wouldn’t hurt Olympia for the world.”
He wouldn’t. She’d saved his life. She’d been kind to him. And he had not behaved well on what was to have been their wedding day.
“Indeed.” Another small pause. Then, “His Royal Highness the Duke of Sussex is coming, I heard—dying of curiosity, no doubt, like everybody else. Especially with you there, the abandoned bridegroom. Everybody not invited is furious, as you can imagine. It’s the talk of the town.”
The party grew less appealing. Ashmont would have to do exactly the right thing at every moment. He’d be under scrutiny. No lapses allowed that might reflect ill on Olympia. At a party overburdened with respectable people.
But he had fences to mend, and he owed Olympia this much.
And maybe Miss Pomfret would be there.
“Alice going?” he said.
“Yes. My duchess is back from wherever she’s been. She means to accompany her aunt, Lady Charles Ancaster—infinitely preferable to accompanying me.” He studied one of the church pillars, as though trying to decipher a message there. “Miss Pomfret has been invited, to please Alice. However, even if Lord deGriffith allowed it, which is out of the question, Miss Pomfret would certainly decline.”
Morris had said that she’d stopped going to parties and such years ago.
Ashmont couldn’t blame her. He’d rather decline, too. But honor demanded he attend and make amends as best he could. “Too bad,” he said. “I was hoping to get to know her better.”
“A glutton for punishment, I see.”
“She isn’t boring,” Ashmont said.
“That’s one way of putting it,” Blackwood said. “Let’s collect Morris, shall we, before he wanders into trouble. In that stupefied state, he makes a prime target for pickpockets.”
It was good to be Medusa. It spared one’s having to suffer fools, gladly or otherwise, usually. It spared Cassandra a