“B-but he didn’t suspect, P-Pel? You’re sure he d-didn’t suspect?” she cried anxiously.
“Lord, no! How should he?” said the Viscount. He glanced at the clock. “I’d best get hold of Pom, and as for you, you go home, Horry.”
Arrived once more in Grosvenor Square, Horatia discarded her hat and her gloves and went in search of Rule. She found him in the library, reading the Morning Chronicle. He rose at her entrance and held out his hand. “Well, my love? You’re up betimes.”
Horatia put her hand in his. “It was such a f-fine morning,” she explained. “And I am to d-drive in the park with M-mama.”
“I see,” he said. He lifted her fingers to his lips. “Is not today the twenty-eighth, Horry?”
“Yes. Yes, it is,” she replied.
“Then will you come with me to the ball at Almack’s rooms?” suggested Rule.
Consternation spread over her face. “Oh—oh, how d-de-lightful that would be!” she said. “Only I c-can’t! I’ve promised to go to Vauxhall with P-Pel.”
“I have always found,” remarked his lordship pensively, “that most of one’s engagements were only made to be broken.”
“I can’t break this one,” Horatia said with real regret.