me.” Noel lifted one eyebrow, the picture of hauteur.
Lord Pickhill tugged at his lapels and chuckled. “It was well done of you. Very comical.”
“Amusing,” Baron Mentmore said, and added his own laughter.
Lady Farris said nothing, but Jess struggled to meet her incisive gaze. Did the countess accept Noel’s explanation?
Everyone else did. There was laughter and nods all around and murmurs that His Grace had pulled off a remarkable prank.
Noel’s chuckle was dry as autumn leaves. “With that, I bid you all good night.”
The crowd parted as he strode out of the ballroom. Jess stared at his retreating back. She felt so many things, shock and gratitude and sorrow all combining into one tempest within her.
“Miss McGale, please explain,” Lady Catherton said tightly. “Are you in His Grace’s employ or mine?”
Jess did not heed her employer—likely, former employer—as she raced after Noel, clinging to a thread of hope. She could explain, and he might understand.
She caught up with him on the landing. Still wearing his smirk, he said, “Well done, Miss McGale. Everyone was fooled. I bid you good night—and goodbye.”
His eyes were wintry, and as she looked into them, she saw that there was no hope. He was lost to her.
She had expected this, but that didn’t make the pain any less. She struggled to remain standing, her hand clutching the stair railing for support. “Goodbye, Your Grace.”
And then he was gone, his footsteps resounding in the corridor, speedy and clipped as he quickly walked away from her.
She stared at the space he’d occupied for a long, terrible moment. Behind her, she heard the chatter, the excitement over the duke’s jest, with cheerful music from the orchestra beneath it all. Surely the papers would declare the earl’s gathering a rousing success, and people would talk about it, boasting if they had been there to witness it all, or else bemoaning the fact that they had not been in attendance.
All of this came to her as if she stared through a spyglass at some distant shore, far, far from her.
She walked heavily down the stairs, into a world absent of Noel.
Chapter 26
Jess stepped out of the servants’ entrance, carrying her battered satchel. She had to leave behind the extensive lady’s wardrobe, but those garments had never been hers in the first place. She was back to being Jess McGale again, with Jess McGale’s minimal belongings.
It would be a long walk to the coaching yard, carrying this bag. She hefted it onto her shoulder to redistribute the weight.
Sorrow weighed heaviest. She’d carry Noel’s sadness and sense of betrayal all the years ahead. What came next, she’d no idea. Though Noel had saved her from utter public humiliation, there’d be no rescuing McGale & McGale. Their investors would surely withdraw their capital.
It would all be gone soon. Everything. She’d lost him—for what?
She blinked hard, pushing back tears. In the past, she’d been able to salvage some semblance of hope, some slender lifeline to cling to. Misfortune had befallen her many times, and many times, she’d pressed onward, determined to persevere. If not for her own sake, for the sake of her family.
Not this time. There was nothing to clutch tightly, no faint prospect that she might somehow recover things. It was a new world and she’d no idea how to survive in it.
First, she needed to return home. With any luck, there’d be a mail coach heading toward Wiltshire tonight.
She took a step and her foot connected with a stone. It careened across the yard and knocked against the stable wall.
“Bloody bad luck, getting sacked,” Lynch said as he emerged from the stables. His coat was gone and his waistcoat undone, and he held a book.
“I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
He waved off her comment. “No one but me and the horses, and we don’t mind a bit of to-do now and again.” Lynch’s mouth curved into a sardonic half smile. “Whenever us working folk try to step out of the box they’ve made for us, we get beaten back.”
“Foolish of me to attempt it.” She couldn’t keep the edge of bitterness from her voice.
Lynch stepped closer. “We’ve got to try, otherwise everything stays the same. The gentry get what they want, and we’re left in the muck. Bunch of blackguards, the lot of ’em.”
“Not all of them are bad,” she said automatically. “Some try to do good with the power they’re given.” She dashed a knuckle across her eyes in a vain attempt to stem her tears.