“And who is to be the lucky lady?”
He kept a firm grip on Miss Smythe’s head. They would all know in due course, but he would be damned if they would see shame in her eyes.
“You may read the announcement soon enough,” he said.
His comment was met with a mocking snigger. “We shall believe it, sir, when we see you standing at the altar in St. George’s.”
Anger flared. His contempt for their hypocritical opinions could not be repressed.
“Then you should all hope that the lady does marry me,” he said with a wealth of loathing. “A gentleman suffering from a broken heart can be rather foolish and unpredictable. I know enough about the licentious habits of many gentlemen to see shame brought down on the most respectable families.” He considered the identities of the ladies before him. “I am certain you would not wish me to regale tales of your husband’s exploits, Lady Hadden.”
Their shocked gasps and sudden frantic hand gestures were evidence he had made his point.
“Then … then we wish you luck in your endeavour, Mr. Chandler,” Lady Hadden said, ushering the women at her side like a hen gathering her chicks. “And remember, a good marriage requires nothing more than a good man.”
“I shall bear that in mind the next time I am in the company of your husband.”
Without another word the matrons turned their backs and sauntered away from the secluded area.
Matthew waited for a moment. He ran his hand along Miss Smythe’s bare shoulder. “They are gone,” he whispered, pleased to feel her shiver at his touch.
She gazed up at him wi
th a look of wonder. “You certainly knew how to put them in their place.”
“The only way to beat the gossips is to play them at their own game.”
She stepped away, stared at him for the longest time. “What do we do now?”
With a quick shake of the head, he dismissed all salacious thoughts. “I presume you are here with a relation.” He was aware that her parents were dead.
She nodded. “I was to attend with my aunt but she has been struck down with a fever. I came with my friend, Miss Hamilton, and my uncle is here, though I believe someone convinced him to play a hand of cards and I have not seen him since.”
Cards?
A strange sense of foreboding took hold.
He scoured his mind in a bid to recall her uncle’s name. “You live with your mother’s sister, I understand.” He made it his business to keep abreast of all the gossip.
“Yes, they are very good to—” she broke off on a sob. “Oh, they will be so disappointed. How could I have been so foolish?”
He touched her upper arm. “It is fair to say that once Lady Morford puts her mind to something she does not care who she hurts in the process.”
Miss Smythe shook her head and gave a weary sigh. “I know I am far from the catch of the Season. I know you offered marriage purely to save Lord Morford. It was a very honourable thing to do.”
Honourable? Damn! No one had ever associated such a word with his name. “As your betrothed, may I give you some advice?”
Her eyes brightened. “Certainly.”
“People can be cruel. They will spread all sorts of vicious rumours about you.” No doubt she would hear some distressing things about him, too. “You must rise above it. Do not intimate that your looks or character are inadequate. Tell yourself that any man would be privileged to call you his wife. Believe that you are a diamond in a pond full of pebbles.”
Dainty fingers fluttered to her chest as her breathing quickened. A smile touched the corners of her mouth, though he had no notion what she was thinking.
“Now,” he continued, desperate to fill the silence. “I shall find someone to bribe so we may leave here with the minimal of fuss. I shall inform your uncle of our intentions though I cannot recall his name.”
“Lord Callan.”
Bloody hell!