“Yes, v-very. P-perhaps he was doing it for a w-wager,” suggested Horatia, mindful of Sir Roland’s words.
“I believe he was.” Across the table the Earl’s eyes met hers. “Pelham and his friend Pommeroy were also of the party. I fear I was not the victim they expected.”
“W-weren’t you? No, of c-course you weren’t! I mean—d-don’t you think it is t-time we started for the p-play, sir?”
Rule got up. “Certainly, my dear.” He picked up her taffeta cloak and put it round her shoulders. “May I be permitted to venture a suggestion?” he said gently.
She glanced nervously at him. “Why, y-yes, sir! What is it?”
“You should not wear rubies with that particular shade of satin, my dear. The pearl set would better become it.”
There was an awful silence; Horatia’s throat felt parched suddenly; her heart was thumping violently. “It—it is too l-late to change them n-now!” she managed to say.
“Very well,” Rule said, and opened the door for her to pass out.
All the way to Drury Lane, Horatia kept up a flow of conversation. What she found to talk about she could never afterwards remember, but talk she did, until the coach drew up at the theatre, and she was safe from a tête-à-tête for three hours.
Coming home there was of course the play to be discussed, and the acting, and Lady Louisa’s new gown, and these topics left no room for more dangerous ones. Pleading fatigue, Horatia went early to bed, and lay for a long time wondering what Pelham had done, and what she should do if Pelham had failed.