Oh.

Oh dear.

Well, that was plain—or plain enough.

He coughed uncomfortably into a hand to buy himself some time.

A heavy sigh, and Stan reached across the desk to offer her his handkerchief. It was nondescript: a border, but no monogram, clearly the possession of a man accustomed to distributing them to ohters.

"You were worried, then, that your indescretion may be discovered?"

A part of him felt bitter, though only fleetingly, towards Miss Alardice: her indescretion was quite damning, according to the rules of capital-S Society, but was secret. It was entirely possible she would not be found out. She was plainly living the consequences now, but still. Meanwhile, his sister had been in far less indecent a position than this, and had had to hide out in finishing school until the matter blew over.

"Or perhaps... perhaps concerned that the gentleman—" the word was spoken with clear derision; whatever fault Miss Alardice might have born, her companion's was far greater "—left you with more than a note?" Brown eyes lowered to the debutante's midsection.