That wasn't very definite, but if Verity didn't know he supposed there was no way for him to get any more information about it. If he'd been more conniving about this whole thing he might have talked to Miss Farley in the coatroom before they went back to the ballroom, established a mutual plan of attack, gotten their story straight... but she had seemed so obviously miserable, and it had all been his fault, and he hadn't been keen to open up conversation that was as likely to lead to her hurling abuses at him as anything productive.
He probably shouldn't have been surprised that Verity had followed him out of the ballroom. She had always been the most attuned to reputation out of all of them, and never just her own. They hadn't been out of mourning even one month before Verity had found a suggestion of impropriety to berate him over, and then he had been really innocent, not just mostly innocent as he was now. (Or — was he even mostly innocent here? He was very guilty, just not of the things anyone suspected him of).
"I suppose," he said ruefully, "We've reached the part of the conversation where you forbid me to write to her?" This was about as close to a joke as he was capable of making under the circumstances; she'd once told him, when Witch Weekly had speculated about him and Miss Belby based on the strength of nothing but two conversations in a crowded room, that writing was an admission of guilt. Something that clearly wasn't going to matter one way or another now.
He probably shouldn't have been surprised that Verity had followed him out of the ballroom. She had always been the most attuned to reputation out of all of them, and never just her own. They hadn't been out of mourning even one month before Verity had found a suggestion of impropriety to berate him over, and then he had been really innocent, not just mostly innocent as he was now. (Or — was he even mostly innocent here? He was very guilty, just not of the things anyone suspected him of).
"I suppose," he said ruefully, "We've reached the part of the conversation where you forbid me to write to her?" This was about as close to a joke as he was capable of making under the circumstances; she'd once told him, when Witch Weekly had speculated about him and Miss Belby based on the strength of nothing but two conversations in a crowded room, that writing was an admission of guilt. Something that clearly wasn't going to matter one way or another now.
Set by Lady!