Occasionally a man will outwit a lady . . .
Advice to Felicity Langley from Nanny Tasha
The creak of the sole remaining hinge on the door into Minerva’s bedchamber brought her awake abruptly. Sitting straight up, she spent a heart-stopping moment trying to make right of the world around her—the sunshine pouring through the thin curtains, and the sounds of a London day in full movement—and the equally vibrant dream she’d been wrenched out of.
Of him. Lord Langley. Kissing her. Yet again. And this time she hadn’t been protesting.
Not that you protested all that much the first time around.
Minerva ignored that wry observation, for it sounded too much like something Aunt Bedelia might say.
“So sorry, my lady,” her maid rushed to say. “I just thought . . . it’s just that you’re usually . . . with it being nearly noon, I feared something might be amiss, even though he said he’d left you happily contented.”
He said? Minerva glanced up and found Agnes’s wide blue eyes scanning her and the bed as if she half expected her mistress to look as ravished as the door. Then the rest of her maid’s explanation stopped ringing about her sleep-tousled thoughts.
. . . he said he’d left you happily contented.
How dare he imply that she . . . that they . . . that they’d . . .
Oh, that lying, good for nothing—
Minerva threw back the covers and jammed her feet into her slippers. “Goodness, Agnes! Whyever did you let me sleep this late?”
The girl settled the tray she carried on the dressing table and said, “His lordship said you needed the rest.”
Minerva, who’d reached for her dressing robe and nearly had it on, stilled. “He did, did he?”
“Oh, aye. So concerned about you. What a fine, thoughtful fellow he is, my lady, iffin you don’t mind me saying. He took great pains to see that Mrs. Hutchinson put your tray together just so.” Never still for a moment, Agnes had gotten right to work setting the bed to rights. She glanced up from fluffing the pillows. “He said you might be a bit peckish . . .” The girl paused and blushed, then finished quickly by adding, “After last night and all.”
After last night . . . As if there had been a “last night.” Which there hadn’t.
But there could have been.
Minerva closed her eyes and counted to ten, reining in her unlikely fancies. She blamed Lucy and Elinor for all this. She wouldn’t have thought once about such things, save for all their talk of late of taking a lover and getting married.
And now . . .
Though it was hard to blame Lucy and Elinor when she knew who the real instigator of these unwanted flights of desire was, and he was downstairs right this moment wreacking havoc on the rest of her life.
“You can take that tray back downstairs,” she instructed her maid. “I am not hungry.”
“Well, he didn’t say that exactly,” Agnes amended. “He said . . . oh, it was rather fancy. Just let me recall it . . .” The girl tapped her fingers to her chin until suddenly her eyes brightened. “Yes, yes, I remember what he said. He told me and Mrs. Hutchinson that you would most likely be famished this morning. Especially after needing to sleep in so late.”
Famished. He hadn’t! Oh, yes, he had put that pink hue of a blush on Agnes’s cheeks.
Why, that blasted rogue had deliberately chosen that word precisely because it wasn’t too far from “ravished”—which is exactly how the story would be retold by the time his little on dit got nosed around.
Good heavens! The man was mad. Confiding such nonsense with the servants. Didn’t he realize that such admissions would go from the attics to the cellar like a flash of Franklin’s electricity? Then it would be over the garden fence and in every house on Brook Street before . . . Minerva closed her eyes and groaned as she stopped herself from saying “noon.”
For it was nearly noon by Agnes’s own account.
Nearly noon?
Oh, yes, he’d known exactly what he was doing. And let her sleep while his madness took root.
Like small pox. Or the Black Plague.
Not for long, she vowed, ignoring the tray of scones, bacon, and coffee that Agnes had brought up. For damn the man, it did look heavenly, especially with the thoughtful touch of a single red rose on one side. And as loath as she was to admit it, she was hungry.
Famished, really. But she would commit herself to Bedlam before she’d ever admit such a thing. For hidden beneath his words was that unerring knowledge that her appetite and needs could not be sated with just a scone.
Minerva tamped down a groan and hastily donned her gown. “Where is he?” she asked, twisting her hair up and stabbing the pins in place herself, rather than wait for Agnes to help.
“Pardon, my lady?”
“Precisely where is Lord Langley?”
“In the morning room, my lady. Having his breakfast. He bid me to tell you that when you were able, to please join him, for he is ever so fond of your company.” Agnes smiled, her bright blue eyes sparkling with happiness for her mistress.
Minerva gaped at her obviously smitten maid. Who would have guessed that plain-spoken, hardworking Agnes harbored a romantic side?
Smitten, indeed! Well, she would see about that. “Agnes, do me a favor and go down and find Thomas-William. Ask him to go over to the duke’s stables and direct Mr. Ceely to send around a wagon. Oh, and a carriage as well,” she added. Minerva wagered her houseguests would be extraordinarily put out to be asked to walk around the corner to their new home, the duke’s residence.
“Are we leaving?” Agnes asked.
“No. But our guests are. All of them.”
The maid’s brow furrowed. “All of them, my lady?” As in, even Lord Langley?
Especially him, Minerva wanted to say. Truly, what was it about the man that had solid and sensible Agnes broaching mutiny, for it was there on the girl’s stricken face. “Yes, everyone.”
Goodness, how could the girl be so infatuated when she’d just met the man?
She had just met him, hadn’t she? Minerva glanced over her shoulder and couldn’t bring herself to ask her own maid if she’d been complicit in hiding Lord Langley in her house.
Meanwhile, Agnes bobbed her head and went to finish her work in the room, folding Minerva’s plain night rail and putting it away, muttering as she went, “I don’t see how you are going to get them out.”
Well, as Minerva saw it, there were two obstacles to this entire plan: the ladies themselves, and Staines, the Duke of Hollindrake’s butler, who had turned them away to begin with. Setting her jaw, Minerva was done with good manners. Besides, she still had Thomas-William’s pistol. If there were any objections, she would have the leverage to force the issue.
Given what she now knew about her visitors, she suspected it wasn’t the first time one of those Continental hussies had been sent packing at the wrong end of a firearm.
As for Staines, she had to imagine that the man would be more than willing to open the door when he found that she’d come armed like a regular rusher. Ignoring the fact that when apprehended, most rushers were hung, Minerva reassured herself that desperate measures were all too necessary.
Besides, she wasn’t there to steal anything, just unload what was wrongly delivered to Brook Street.
Meanwhile, the front doorbell rattled awake and startled her out of her reverie. Glancing at the clock, Minerva couldn’t for the life of her think of who could be calling so early. “Agnes, was I expecting anyone this morning?”
“No, my lady,” Agnes said. “But one of them nannies did send out for some sausages. Mayhap the butcher is delivering them.”
The bell rattled again, and this time it sent a tremor of foreboding down Minerva’s spine. The butcher with sausages? It didn’t make sense.
“Whyever would the fellow bring them to the front door?” she said aloud, more to herself than to Agnes. “No, I do believe someone has come to call.”
Which meant Minerva needed to get downstairs and intercede before someone admitted this unknown and unwelcome guest. No, whoever it was needed to be barred from entering, no matter how rude she had to appear. But what else could she do? It would be a disaster if anyone discovered that Langley had been staying with her.
Just then Agnes sucked in a deep breath. “Oh, the devil take me, my lady. I forgot. Your aunt, Lady Chudley, sent a note over earlier. Said she was going to come ’round.”
Aunt Bedelia? Minerva tried to move, but her limbs suddenly froze in terror. If Aunt Bedelia made it inside, the first place she’d look for her was . . .
The cacophony of screams that erupted from downstairs confirmed two things.
Aunt Bedelia had been shown into the morning room.
And discovered Langley.
“How is it, Minerva, that you are engaged to this man without my knowledge?”
Even Langley had to cringe at the hard cold note in Lady Chudley’s question. He almost felt sorry for Minerva, who had come racing down the stairs in response to her aunt’s screams.
Well, the lady shouldn’t have asked “Who the devil are you?” if she didn’t want to hear the answer. And obviously, given the high-pitched screech that followed, she hadn’t appreciated his reply.
“Lord Langley, madam,” he’d said. “Lady Standon’s betrothed.”
Then Lady Chudley had begun shrieking like her skirts were on fire. And he suspected it wasn’t the sudden betrothal that had the old girl’s stockings in a knot, but the fact that Minerva was engaged to him. The infamous Lord Langley.
There were times when his reputation came in quite handy. Though given the way his ears were ringing, now was probably not one of them.
“Minerva, answer me!” Lady Chudley demanded. “Is this man your betrothed? And if he isn’t, what is he doing at your breakfast table in such a state?”
His state, as it were, was that he’d neglected to wear much more than his breeches and shirt. He’d tossed on his waistcoat, but hadn’t put on a cravat. In good English society, he knew this meant he was “undressed,” but it was demmed more comfortable to have one’s breakfast like this than trussed up like one was going to court.
Enjoying his scandalous state, Langley stretched his legs out and lounged in his chair, meeting Minerva’s outraged countenance with a wink and a grin. “I’m so sorry, darling. If I had known we were entertaining so early, I would have put my jacket on. Not that I could find it this morning.” He paused for only a moment. “Is it still in your bedchamber?” Then he winked at Aunt Bedelia. “Taken off in haste, so easily forgotten . . .”
“Oh, you wretched man. I am not your darling,” Minerva ground out before she turned to her aunt and finished by saying, “and he is not my betrothed.”
“Tsk tsk,” he said, reaching for a scone on the tray. He broke it into three pieces and began to butter one. “I am sure your aunt can keep our secret—that is, if you insist we keep it so.” Langley turned his smile toward Lady Chudley and shrugged. “I don’t know why she thinks we should hide our happiness.”
“Uggggh,” Minerva ground out. “You are the worst sort of bounder. You interloper. You liar!”
“We’ll need to work on your endearments,” he told her. “You’re a touch out of practice. Why not use the one you called me last night before I left you to your contented slumber?”
There was a moment of shocked silence in the morning room, then Lady Chudley sank into a chair, looking like she needed smelling salts. He poured her a cup of tea, for Mrs. Hutchinson liked to brew her pots like an Irishwoman, as dark as coffee and twice as strong. Picking up the sugar tongs, he asked, “One lump or two?”
“Oh, give me that,” Minerva said, coming around the table and snatching the tongs out of his hand. She deftly caught one lump, then another, dropping them into her aunt’s tea with the practiced ease of a lady. “Aunt, are you well?” Her voice was low and full of concern. “You mustn’t pay Lord Langley any heed. I do believe he is completely mad.”
“Mad about you, certainly,” he replied, reaching out and curling his arm around her waist. She shoved his hand aside and stormed off to the other side of the table. Langley leaned back and admired Minerva’s nerve and mettle as she stood at the head of the table looking quite capable of serving him up as the second course.
Meanwhile, Lady Chudley had picked up a teaspoon and begun to stir her tea at a furious rate.
“I know this must come as a bit of shock to you, my lady,” Langley said to the older woman. When she slanted a hot glance at him, he smiled and saw a bit of twinkle in her eye. So she wasn’t as outraged as she appeared. Well, it never hurt to have an ally. “I beg of you to believe that I have your niece’s best intentions at heart.”
They both ignored the indelicate snort that rose from his “betrothed.”
Minerva rushed in to get the upper hand. “Aunt Bedelia, if you must know the truth, this rogue turned up last night—”
“Last week,” he corrected.
“Last night!” Minerva insisted.
“Last week?” Lady Chudley clucked her tongue. “Minerva! That will never do! A widow is allowed some liberties, discreet ones, but this . . . this . . .”
“None of what he says is true,” Minerva insisted, crossing her arms over her chest. “Who are you going to believe, me or him?”
Lady Chudley glanced from one to the other and then went back to stirring her tea. “This is most distressing, niece.”
“I suppose it must be,” Langley said, “discovering so unexpectedly that your niece has fallen under my spell. But truly it is I who has fallen.” He watched Minerva’s brow furrow into an angry line.
“Fallen? I should have pushed you out the window when I had the chance.”
“Really, Minerva, such outrageous talk!” Aunt Bedelia said, adding a tsk tsk.
“Yes, indeed,” Langley agreed. “Let’s stick to the facts: I have been living with your generous and very hospitable niece since Tuesday last.”
Now it was Lady Chudley’s turn to make an indelicate snort. But whether it was over his living arrangements or the notion of her niece being generous and hospitable, he couldn’t tell.
“Is it true that he’s been living here for a sennight?” This question was posed by Lady Chudley to her niece.
“Most decidedly not!” Minerva told her.
Langley leaned forward and smiled at her. “My dearest girl, we have nothing to be ashamed of, though I am certain some would find our affection for each other scandalous—”
“Ruinous, to be more precise,” Lady Chudley added.
“Precisely,” he said, nodding in agreement, “but how can we do otherwise when our passion for each other cannot be denied?” He turned to Lady Chudley. “To answer your question, yes, I have been living here. Contentedly. For a sennight.”
“Oh, good gracious heavens!” the old girl exclaimed. “This is a scandal!”
“What it is, is utter nonsense,” Minerva shot back, before she wagged her finger at him. “You set the matter straight. Immediately.”
He bowed his head slightly. “If you insist.”
“I do.”
Langley glanced up and smiled. “Last night after a delightful tumble into your niece’s bed, I proposed to her and she accepted with a most gratifying kiss.” He grinned triumphantly at Minerva, for there was nothing untruthful about anything he’d just said.
“Oh you bounder!” she said, getting to her feet. “Get out of my house!”
“After last night?” He shook his head and leaned back in his chair. “Never. Besides, I need my jacket back.”
“Minerva Sterling! I should have thought better of you!” Lady Chudley declared. “And this . . . well, this is beyond the pale. I won’t have a niece of mine become one of those widows—dreadful, licentious creatures that everyone gossips about and who are not received. I don’t see how you can do anything other than marry, especially if this man has been living with you for a sennight!” She shuddered and reached for another lump of sugar.
Minerva rounded on Langley. “There is no proof that you’ve been here as you say. It is only your word.”
Her implication was clear. Who would believe him—a known rake and a gentleman considered by most to be guilty of treason?
Then again, she barely knew him, for if she did, she would have known he wasn’t beaten yet. For the first rule George Ellyson had taught him all those years ago was to use the truth to one’s advantage.
And Langley had the truth firmly on his side. “Minerva, my darling girl, I do have proof. A most reliable witness. One who I am sure will be more than happy to corroborate my story. All over town.”
“Who? Mrs. Hutchinson?” Minerva pressed. “Was she sober when you arrived?” She sputtered out a breath. “You expect Society to believe her word over mine?”
“Really, Minerva, we need to work on your diplomacy.” Langley spared a glance at Lady Chudley and shook his head. To his delight, the old girl nodded in agreement.
“She’s always been overly blunt,” Lady Chudley confided.
He grinned back. “Fortunately, I find that one of her more endearing characteristics.”
“You’re the first,” Aunt Bedelia muttered as she tasted her tea, and then dug the tongs into the sugar bowl and selected another large lump to add to it.
“Oh, how dare you!” Minerva sputtered. “How can you find anything about me endearing when you don’t know me?”
“You would be amazed what a man can learn about a woman when he kisses her.”
Minerva’s mouth opened to say something but nothing came out.
Lady Chudley had no such so impediment. “Good heavens, Minerva! You’ve become quite indecent. Kissing strangers!”
“Betrotheds,” Langley corrected, glancing up from his scone. “Hardly strangers.”
“Well, I should hope so,” Lady Chudley declared. “For it is bad enough that you’ve gone and gotten yourself engaged without confiding in your only relative.” She paused for a moment and then her eyes widened. “I blame Lucy Sterling. Cheeky minx, that one. Living with her about probably put all sorts of notions in your head.”
“I’m indecent?” Minerva stammered at her aunt. “Have you not once considered that he is lying?”
“Whyever would I lie about kissing you?” Langley posed, reaching for the plate of scones and offering them to Lady Chudley, who took one and followed Langley’s lead by breaking it into pieces as well. “Actually it was quite enlightening.”
“Ooooh! Ooooh, you—” she stammered.
“You’re a handful as well, aren’t you?” Lady Chudley said to him, but there was none of the condemnation that Lucy Sterling had warranted a few moments earlier. In fact the old girl grinned at him.
“This has gone too far,” Minerva declared, now pacing at the end of the table. “So who is this witness you purport to have who can corroborate your story.”
“Why a lady, of course.”
“Not me,” Minerva said.
Langley winked at Lady Chudley and then grinned at his unwitting betrothed. “My dear, I wouldn’t think to call you that.”
Minerva’s mouth opened again, this time in a wide O. With her shoulders taut with indignation, she looked ready to club him with the salver. “You wouldn’t call me a lady?”
“Well, I must confess we aren’t that well acquainted so I can make the distinction. Rather, what I was trying to say is that I wouldn’t call you as a witness for my defense.”
“How about one for your funeral?” she shot back.
Lady Chudley began to chortle at the sallies flying back and forth across the table. But when Minerva shot her a hot glance, her aunt had the good sense to make it appear as if she was coughing.
“Then who is this witness?” Minerva demanded.
Really, she needed to learn the second lesson of spying. Right after learning how to stay alive, you never asked a question if you didn’t want to hear the answer.
And truly, Minerva did not want to hear this answer. But he told her anyway. “Miss Knolles.”
“Tia.” The name came out like a curse. Minerva had enough sense to realize she’d been outflanked and cornered. She sank into a chair, much as her aunt had earlier.
“So the little imp didn’t say a word?” Lady Chudley asked her niece.
She shook her head. “Not one.”
Langley snorted this time. “Of course she didn’t. She was too busy emptying my pockets every night playing vingt-et-un. If I had known what those Bath schools teach young girls, I would never have sent my Felicity and Thalia to one. I shudder to discover how they’ve turned out.”
“So does most of Society,” he thought he heard Lady Chudley muttering. “Lovely girls,” she amended when she found all eyes on her.
“Aunt Bedelia,” Minerva began, her hand resting on her forehead as if it were pounding with a megrim. “Whatever are you doing here this morning? Doesn’t your cook make breakfast?”
“I broke my fast hours ago. The early bird, my dear. The early bird.” She leaned over and confided to Langley, “Dr. Franklin had a bit of a tendre for me and I so adore his sayings.”
“From what I have heard of you, my lady,” Langley teased, “Franklin wasn’t the only one. You’ve always been the lady to court. I daresay, looking at you, you prescribe to his notion of air bathing?”
Lady Chudley blushed at the implication. “You wicked man!”
Across the table, Minerva groaned, her gaze rolling upward. “Truly, Auntie, whyever are you here?”
“Tut tut,” the lady said, waving her napkin at her niece. “Don’t you remember, I promised that gaggle of nannies a shopping expedition today.”
Minerva’s gaze swiveled down to her aunt. “You were serious?”
“You of all people should know I never jest about shopping.”
And as if on cue, the ladies began trooping in, Brigid in a sapphire blue gown with Knuddles at her hemline, Lucia following close behind in a pink gown that only accented her dark hair and lithe figure, while Helga had gone with red—garnet red with touches of black here and there—and finally came Tasha, all in black. Tasha always wore black for it set off her fair hair and pale skin, making her seem almost fragile inside it.
A mistake many a man had made thinking she needed to be rescued, protected, cared for.
Langley cringed. He wouldn’t make that mistake again.
About any of them.
It would be like thinking one could pluck a jewel from the case at Rundell & Bridges and not be caught.
Or punished.
“Langley, darling!” Tasha purred as she slid around the others with her catlike grace. “Did you sleep well?”
“The better question is how did you sleep, Lady Standon?” Lucia posed, her smile perfectly set but her eyes focused sharply on her opponent.
Langley had always suspected that the duchessa had more Borgia blood in her than she let on.
Tasha ignored the duchessa’s remark and replied with one of her own. “We mustn’t pry, ladies. What a betrothed couple does late at night in a lady’s bedchamber isn’t that hard to imagine.” She swung an assessing glance at Minerva. “Well, most of the time.”
“Good heavens, it is true!” Lady Chudley exclaimed. “You were in her bedchamber?”
“Guilty,” he replied with a grin.
“You see, I told you,” Lucia said. “This betrothal is madness. Not even the aunt knows of it.”
“Exactly!” Minerva agreed. “There is no betrothal.”
Lady Chudley got to her feet and faced her niece. “If there wasn’t an engagement before, there is one now.”
Aunt Bedelia was true to her word. And true to her character, she would brook no arguments over the situation.
If Minerva and Langley had been caught in a state of dishabille, or as Nanny Lucia so aptly put it, in flagrante delicto, then they were betrothed, and the sooner the wedding took place, the better.
So with a stamp of her foot the indomitable Lady Chudley herded the other ladies out the door on the pretense that she wanted their input on an appropriate trousseau for her niece, thus leaving Minerva alone with Langley.
Minerva took a deep breath and told herself she should never have opened the door last night and allowed the nannies in. Further, she should never have allowed Aunt Bedelia in her house.
And certainly she should have called the rat catcher and had the house exterminated from attics to cellars.
The largest rat sat back in his seat, hands folded behind his head as he lounged, looking more like the cat who had swallowed the canary than the vermin she knew him to be.
Well, not quite vermin, for he was far too devilishly handsome to be so crowned.
Truly, how did a man of his age remain so well put together, so charming, so utterly desirable? Then despite herself, she couldn’t help wonder exactly how old he was—what with two grown daughters and all.
There’s a copy of Debrett’s upstairs. Look him up . . .
No! She wasn’t going to start prying into the particulars of Lord Langley, and she certainly wasn’t going to be forced into another marriage. Not by anyone. But in her long years of widowhood, if there was one thing she’d learned, it was patience and timing.
So she sat in her seat, composing herself as Aunt Bedelia shooed the ladies out the front door. Well, all but one of them, for apparently Nanny Helga had other ideas and refused to go out so early, ordering her maid to discover what had become of the sausages she’d ordered and then stomping back upstairs muttering something in her own language that Minerva had to guess was a lengthy condemnation of English hospitality.
Glancing out the door of the morning room, Minerva smiled, for all-too-soon she was going to give the Margravine of Ansbach and the rest of her companions a lesson in English hospitality that would put even those ladies to blush. But the first one to be dispatched was Langley, the root of all her problems.
Once the front door slammed shut and the margravine had done much the same to her door upstairs, Minerva counted to twenty.
Then she got up, walked across the room and stopped in front of him.
Lord Langley grinned up at her, unrepentant scoundrel that he was. “Come to give your betrothed a proper morning kiss?”
Leaning forward, Minerva gently placed both of her palms on his chest, smiling ever-so-sweetly.
Just before she shoved him over backward.
The man landed with a satisfying thud. Brushing her hands together and then over her skirts, the first of the dirty business done, she stalked back across the room.
Meanwhile, there was a scramble of boots and the scrape of the chair as the baron tried to right himself. “Christ sakes, woman! Are you trying to kill me?”
Minerva’s gaze once again wandered over toward the silver candlestick on the sideboard and considered the suggestion for a moment. Then she sighed and resigned herself that at least for now killing him outright probably wasn’t the best course of action. She had to assume, and rightly so, that the Duchess of Hollindrake would be more put out with her than she already was if added to her crimes against the Sterling family was that of killing Her Grace’s rapscallion father.
Meanwhile, Langley had managed to get to his feet. “That was hardly necessary,” he told her, straightening up the chair and tugging his waistcoat back into place.
“But very satisfying, my lord,” she said, smiling at him.
“Hardly the way to greet one’s betrothed,” he said, settling back in his seat and reaching for the teapot. “May I?” he asked, nodding at her cup.
“No, thank you,” she replied. And much to her chagrin, he poured himself another cup and then began to help himself to the platter of bacon and kippers, as well as another scone. “I wouldn’t get too comfortable, if I were you. You are not staying here.”
“And where else would I go?”
“We cannot live in this house together.” Her stomach rumbled in complaint, for the smell of food was just too much and she was hungry. Against her better judgment, she filled her plate as well. “I will brook no argument on the subject, for you cannot stay here.”
“Whyever not?” he said. “We have a house full of chaperones, who are more than willing, I would note, to keep you out of my bed. And further, I am quite capable of restraining myself. That is, if you insist.”
“Oh, I do insist. Besides, I never asked for your attentions to begin with.”
“No, I suppose you didn’t,” he conceded. “But from what I can see, they may be exactly what you need.”
Minerva had chosen that moment to take a sip of her tea and ended up sputtering it all over. “I beg your pardon?”
He grinned at her, and she couldn’t decide if it made him more handsome or more annoying. Both, she decided, ignoring the strong line of his jaw, the crinkle of a dimple on one side, and the sparkle of his blue eyes.
“What I mean to say is that an engagement would be of tremendous benefit to you,” he said, as if he had suggested she try the marmalade instead of the strawberry preserves.
“However would an engagement to you be of benefit to me?” she asked, setting down her knife and fork. Having already given the candlestick another glance, she decided it was probably better not to have anything deadly in her grasp.
He sat back as well. “I would think that would be obvious.”
“Enlighten me.”
“Gladly,” he agreed. “It is well known that your aunt would like to see you married and settled and is not opposed to using whatever means possible to corner you into some sort of union, whether you like it or not.”
Minerva flinched. She could well imagine how he’d discovered that much—for while a single meeting with Aunt Bedelia was more than enough to discover this, she suspected Tia’s hand in this as well.
The little minx loved to gossip, and Minerva could also imagine what little—and large—on dits the girl had shared while playing cards with Lord Langley.
“If you were engaged to me, she would hardly continue to truss you up like Maid Marion and send you off to masquerades only to fill your dance card with aging roués and widowers with seven children.” His smile as he finished was like a well-executed touché.
Oh, yes, Tia had done her worst.
“And,” he continued, turning his attention back to his breakfast as he spoke. “If you could assume a more loving demeanor, you might even convince your houseguests to give up their stakes and leave. If they have no reason to remain in London, they will be out with the morning tide.”
“Oh, no,” she said, shaking her head. “They will be out this afternoon.”
He didn’t so much as laugh, but smiled indulgently at her, as if he found her naiveté quite endearing.
“They will be,” she insisted. “I have ordered the carriages, and if it comes to it, I will use Thomas-William’s pistol and evict them by force.”
“You are going to run a Cossack footman out of your house with only a pistol?” He shook his head. “I hope you are prepared to shoot it, for that is the only way he will leave without his mistress’s approval.”
Minerva pursed her lips together, but then suddenly brightened. “If I shot you, then there would be no reason for any of them to stay and I would be rid of the lot of you.”
“Have no fears, given my reputation and the life I’ve lived, you may get your wish sooner than necessary,” he said in his usual light manner. But Minerva wasn’t fooled, for there was something else to his words that filled in around the merry edges.
A sober note of concession.
She eyed him suspiciously, but Langley wasn’t a renowned diplomat for nothing. He smiled blandly at her and continued eating his breakfast.
“Whyever would you want such an arrangement?” Deliberately she hadn’t said, “engagement.”
“Again, isn’t it obvious?” He took a swift sip of tea. “I have no desire to marry, but I fear I’ve had a difficult—if not impossible—time convincing anyone else of that fact. If I were engaged to you, then effectively I would be out of the market and free to live my life without the fear of an unwanted entanglement.” He paused for a moment. “That, and an engagement to you, my lovely and staid Lady Standon, would do much toward rehabilitating my standing in Society. I can hardly be as bad as all that if I was able to convince you to enter into marriage again.”
There was more to this than just that, she wagered. For if it was only a matter of avoiding marriage, hadn’t he proven he was quite adept at it? But there was something so enticing about what he offered . . .
Aunt Bedelia off her back. Her houseguests gone. The freedom to live her life as she saw fit—much as he desired.
Oh, it was tempting to accept what he was offering, but then the chains of matrimony rattled her back to the present. And there was one other factor—Aunt Bedelia. The old girl would only be put off so long before she’d have Lord Langley hauled down to the Archbishop’s office and a Special License procured.
The man before her might be the most elusive spy England had ever claimed, but Minerva held a greater fear of Aunt Bedelia’s prowess at getting a man married. Lord Langley might have trumped Napoleon, but he’d never outwit the infamous Lady Chudley.
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I will not enter into any sort of agreement. There will be no betrothal. No engagement. I’d rather weather the scandal that will come of refusing you than find myself mired up to my neck in something neither of us could escape or want.”
He shook his head and looked ready to start doing what he reputably did so well—cajoling—and certainly not the other thing he was reputed to do so well—when Mrs. Hutchinson came in and stopped him in his tracks.
“There you are,” the housekeeper said, thrusting a note out to Minerva. “This came for you. The fellow said he’d wait for an answer.”
Minerva took the slip of paper and drew a deep breath, for she could never quite get used to Mrs. Hutchinson’s less than stellar manners. She’d be fired from any other employment for her cheek and lack of regard for boundaries, but then again, no one made scones like the lady.
And that had to be worth something, Minerva told herself even as she glanced down at the dirty folded bit in her hands.
Lady Standon.
Minerva nearly dropped it as she stared at the hasty scrawl of writing across the front. Good God, no! It couldn’t be.
She glanced again at the lettering, even as her heart stilled to a dull pounding thud. She’d know that handwriting anywhere. After glancing at Langley, who was charming Mrs. Hutchinson with lofty praise for her baking, she slid her trembling finger under the plain seal.
Inside it was worse than she’d first feared.
The money is late. Explain yourself. Now.
She folded it back up and stuffed it inside her sleeve, hidden away, though hardly forgotten. Taking another deep breath to still her shaking limbs, she managed a prim smile. “Did the man say he would wait?”
“Oh, aye. Out back. Cheeky devil. Should I send Lucy’s man after him?”
“No, no,” Minerva told her, rising abruptly. “That won’t be necessary.”
“Is there something amiss?” Langley asked as he too got to his feet, wiping his mouth with his napkin and setting it down beside his plate. “Can I be of assistance?”
“No,” she said quickly, shaking her head. “Just some questions from the painter about what colors I wanted this room done in.” She paused, her hand coming to rest on her other sleeve cuff, where the note sat tucked away. “Best I see to it quickly so the work isn’t delayed. Please, Lord Langley, finish your breakfast.”
“We are not done, my lady,” he told her as she rushed out the door, having paid his words no heed. Langley glanced over at Mrs. Hutchinson. “Did you find her ladyship’s behavior a bit odd?”
The housekeeper shrugged. “Everything about you toffs is a bit queer in the nob, if you ask me.”
“Sorry I did,” Langley said, glancing out the door where Minerva had fled.