She inhaled a comforting aroma: rich coffee and leather-laced tobacco, along with the slight scent of decay from books older than time.
It was heavenly. It was magical. Bethany clapped her hands with delight. Here was an experience she preferred to enjoy by herself.
“Elsie, why don’t you have a look around? I will be on the hunt to purchase novel called Emma.”
Bethany prompted separated from her maid and browsed through the titles. She smiled at the many “friends” she came across. So intent was she on her task, she neglected to watch where she was going and bumped into a fellow patron.
“I beg your pardon.” Her cry of mortification turned into one of pleasure. “Petunia! How good it is to see you. I missed you yesterday. Do you often visit Hatchards?”
“Bethany! I own ’tis been an age since last we laid eyes on each other.” The Viscountess Weatherhaven embraced Bethany as if she were a long lost acquaintance. Petunia was dressed in an elegant ruby-trimmed pelisse and matching bonnet. Several fair curls peeked out from under the brim, and to complete this charming picture, she carried an overly large white ermine muff. However, she marred her natural beauty by frowning. “Faddle! What else am I to do but read? Weatherhaven is being tedious beyond words.”
She stamped her small foot — the black leather half-boot made a thumping sound on the parquet wood floor.
Oh dear. Marital discord — just as I had feared. Bethany quickly took her friend’s arm and steered her around a freestanding bookcase toward the back of the store where no customers or employees were to be found.
“Hush, Petunia,” Bethany whispered. “You do not want to announce your woes to all and sundry, do you?”
The distraught woman refused to lower her voice. “What does it matter? Weatherhaven called me a spoiled brat.” She dropped her luxurious fur muff, then searched her reticule for a handkerchief. Sniffing, she dabbed at her eyes. “He…he didn’t come home last night.”
Goodness. That was serious.
Bethany drew her friend closer and tried to comfort her. “Perhaps you should ask your brother to intercede on your behalf.”
In her mind, David could solve any dilemma, any fix. If she were honest with herself, she would admit he was perfect. Her heart beat faster just thinking about him. Almost as if she was…in love with him.
Bethany inhaled sharply at this unexpected realization. Love? When had her admiration for David Petruchio Greyle turned to love?
The answer came quickly enough: when they had danced together at the Duchess of Margrove’s ball. The strength of his hand in hers, how he teased her, how his masculine scent seemed to permeate her soul, how it felt to be so close to him.
Yes, that was when she had lost her heart.
Petunia’s lower lip quivered, recalling Bethany to her surroundings. She felt like an insensitive monster. Here she was, thinking of love when her best friend, her only friend in London, was in such a flutter.
“I-I simply cannot tell Davy.” Petunia rubbed at her reddened eyes. “I assure you, he will call me a pest. My brother always does when I mangle my affairs. How can I possibly let him know that Weatherhaven…has washed his hands of me?”
No doubt about it. The Viscountess Weatherhaven was being overly dramatic. All the wisdom in the world surrounded them, and yet there was no solution to offer to Petunia. Silence hung heavy on the stale air.
“Um, what about Lady Ingraham then? Surely your mother will be able to smooth over this little contretemps.”
Petunia was quick to reply. “No, no. She is besotted by Mr. Fenwick. Her every waking moment is consumed by thoughts of that odious fellow.”
Twirling a loose lock of hair around her finger, Bethany checked the time. Fifteen until the hour. Goodness! She didn’t dare be late for her appointment with the Prince at Carlton House.
But what about Petunia’s dilemma?
Over one of the bookstacks close to the front of the store, Bethany spotted a crest of red hair. Glorious red hair that belonged to good-natured Lord Henry Penning.
“My lord,” she called out to him. “Over here.”
The affable young man trotted down the aisle to gape in surprise at them. “Stap me. What are you two ladies doing at Hatchards? Not bluestockings, are you?”
While Petunia appeared offended at the term, Bethany was delighted to be thought of as a learned lady.
But there was no time to dally.
Bethany took a deep breath. “I hope you both forgive me, but I have a prior engagement at two o’clock. I must collect my maid, then be off.” She released her breath. “My lord, would you be so kind as to escort Lady Petunia back to her house?”
Henry Penning bowed. “But of course, I’m delighted to be of service.”
Petunia frowned, obviously not understanding what Bethany had in mind.
Bethany tilted her head, then added sugar to her tone. “Perhaps your husband will be at home when you return with Lord Penning?”
A flash of understanding sharpened Petunia’s china blue eyes. If Lord Weatherhaven saw his wife with another man, he might become jealous.
Taking her new gallant’s arm, Petunia trilled, “You run along now, Bethany. Henry and I will see to each other’s amusements.”
Bethany nodded, then as good as her word, she dashed to the front of the store where Elsie, fortunately, waited. After they were situated back inside the Ingraham carriage, Bethany exhaled regret. Her quest to find a copy of the novel Emma would have to wait until her next visit to Hatchards.
Another note found its way into Miss Hasbrouck’s bedchamber. Tucked through the space at the bottom of the door, the folded piece of paper caught her attention as soon as she woke up in the morning.
She caught her lip on the edge of her teeth. What would the note say? Would it contain more insidious hints about Lady Innis’ unfortunate death? Would Lord Innis’ reputation be irrevocably ruined if the contents were revealed?
Her heart pounded with alarm. In the short time she had been at this house, he had become very dear to her, although he, of course, only viewed her as a governess.
No matter. His handsome visage had become indelibly etched within her thoughts. His dark curly hair, his brilliant blue eyes…
Goodness. She could not bear to think that he could be dishonorable in any way.
Miss Hasbrouck threw back the covers and rushed over to open the note. She read —
“Capital!” Prince Augustus, sitting in the back of the ornate gold and brown library, rose to his feet. He quickly made his way over to the writing desk.
At first it had been unnerving to for the prince not only to read her book, but also be in her presence. Fortunately, she had gotten used to the idea, and found that she completely blocked out any distractions, His Royal Highness included.
He set the pages of the first three chapters of her work-in-progress down on the desk. “Upon my honor, you astound me, Miss Branford. I am overcome with delight!”
“You are most kind, your Grace.” She spoke as calmly, but truth be told she would have sworn she floated up out of her chair.
“Now, now, you cannot indulge in coy, modest behavior here, Miss Branford.” The Prince paraded about the library as if in a parade. “’Tis the very best writing I have come across in a fortnight.”
Bethany felt her cheeks glow warm with embarrassment. She lowered her gaze.
“I have the very publisher for your novel, my dear. The Egerton Company here in London. I know Tom Egerton personally. In truth, are you aware Egerton publishes Sense and Sensibility, as well as Pride and Prejudice?”
The very mention of Bethany’s novel in league with that of those titles signaled success.
Once again, Bethany lowered her lashes. “I am honored, your Grace. Truly, I am. For everything you are doing for me.”
“Nonsense.” He waved a stubby hand through the air. “Now, I daresay I have used up enough of your valuable time, Miss Branford. I shall make myself scare so that you may con
tinue with your masterpiece.”
The Prince lumbered out through the paneled satinwood doors, then turned her attention back to her goose-quill pen. With a pleased smile on her face, she reread the passage that she’d just written. What she saw made her stop cold. “Fie! Here I am, getting a swelled head listening to the Prince when I obviously haven’t been paying attention to my own work.”
While her hero, Lord Innis, did have dark curly hair, he most certainly did not have brilliant blue eyes. Brown was Lord Innis’ color. Sparkling blue was David’s.
“You will get yourself in trouble, my girl,” she chastised herself, directing her tirade to one of the many plaster busts of literary figures strewn about the library. “If anyone ever were to suspect that the Marquess of Innis had even as much as one thing in common with — ”
“Are you talking to yourself, Miss Branford?” David, the very man her fictional hero was based upon, sauntered in through the satinwood doors and fixed that wondrous blue-eyed gaze upon her.
David entered the darkened library, then feasted his gaze on the beauty studiously writing at the desk. Whatever was capturing her attention fueled the fire of jealousy within his breast. What was she finding so remarkable?
The answer flashed inside him.
Blast. The Duke of Sussex’s demmed memoirs.
Bethany looked up from the desk and gave him a charming smile. “Good afternoon, my lord. Yes, I confess, I must have been talking aloud. I hope you do not consider me a candidate for Bedlam for that particular propensity.”
“Indeed no. I find it perfectly understandable. This silence within these solemn walls would drive me to distraction.” He chuckled.
He had only known Bethany a week, and yet he could not imagine his life without her. A deep yearning burned his soul.
Glancing around the library, he found he was out of charity with its morbid style. The quiet disturbed him as well. “Where is his Grace? I was under the impression you were to record his every word.”
She consulted the ornamental clock on the fireplace mantel. “The Prince was here in the library for a good while, then left so I could polish my notes.”
Hmm. David cocked his head to one side. If that was so, then why did she avoid his gaze? Why did her fingers nervously drum the desk’s tabletop?
He brushed aside his trepidations. “Miss Branford, I realize you are allotted yet another thirty minutes at Carlton House. However I thought if you were at a good stopping point, you might allow me to drive you home.”
Home. He liked the sound of that word when home included Bethany.
She looked up at him. Her hazel eyes shone. “That is most kind of you, sir.”
He felt as if he had slain one hundred dragons. The truth of it was, he had not vanquished a single one. Bethany had the gift of increasing his own self-importance.
Fortunately, when they rounded the grand staircase down to the entrance hall, the Duke of Sussex was unavailable to bid them farewell. Good. He had no desire to share his houseguest with any of her admirers.
After they donned their outer garments, Bethany turned to the liveried footman to confirm her appointment with the Duke for the next day
Again, jealousy rose in David’s heart.
He banished the emotion and helped her into his well-sprung carriage. “So tell me, what stories did the Duke talk about?”
She lowered her dark lashes. “I cannot reveal the Prince’s confidences, sir.”
“No, of course not.” Hatchards’ glass-paned storefront came into view. “Here’s the lending library now. We were not able be stop yesterday, but now — ”
“There is no need, my lord. I visited Hatchards before my appointment with the Prince.” She wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. “Indeed, I had the good fortune to chat with your sister there. And also Mr. Penning.”
“M’sister.” David ran his hand over his head and sighed. “Petunia’s a thorn in my side that is for certain.”
“Sir?”
There was no use wrapping it up in clean linen. “She is acting like a woman scorned. Weatherhaven is not pleased with his new wife’s histrionics.”
Bethany leaned forward in the barouche and placed her hand upon his. “Petunia is so unhappy, my lord. Can you not do something to help?”
It was such an innocent gesture — her hand on his — intimate and endearing at the same time.
He sandwiched her hand between his, savoring the special connection. He could not savor it for long; she quickly removed her hand.
“What would you have me do, Miss Branford?” He paused and took a chance. “Bethany, if I may?”
She met his gaze, then looked away. “Certainly, sir.”
“David,” he insisted.
Once more she stole a glance , then studiously studied her folded hands. “David.”
He watched the rise and fall of her bosom through the woolen material of her fashionable grey pelisse. This woman enchanted him in every way possible.
Bethany took several more deep breaths. “Perhaps you can talk with Lord Weatherhaven. Tell him Petunia longs for his good opinion. How she thinks of nothing but to heal their breach.”
“I might tell him that, but Weatherhaven is a downy fellow. He will not believe me. I have it on good authority that earlier this afternoon, he spied Petunia with Henry Penning.”
“Oh no! I suggested that your sister take up with Lord Penning. To make her husband jealous.” She worried her lower lip with the edge of her teeth. “Oh, what a muddle I have made. I am the most addlepated ninnyhammer that ever walked the earth.”
His poor darling was close to tears.
“No, no, my dear. You are nothing of the sort. You are the most upright, trustworthy female in my acquaintance.”
His sentiments did not seem to soothe her. As she stared out the window, her naturally rosy cheeks deepened in color. “You must not say so, sir.”
Sweet jasmine filled his head with inappropriate longings. Or, perhaps those longings were appropriate. With his fingers he gently guided her face to his. “I will think of something, Bethany. You are not to concern yourself with my sister’s problems.”
As he looked into Bethany’s gold-brown eyes, his heart skipped a beat. More than anything, he wanted to kiss her, not think about Petunia. What he could do, how he could solve his sister’s dilemma was unknown. Contrary to what Lord Liverpool believed, David was no expert on women.
The barouche suddenly stopped, jerking both of them forward. The door flew open. A cosmetically enhanced female stuck her unkempt head inside the carriage.
The devil!
He recognized the woman. Unfortunately. She was one of his fancy pieces from the previous year — Mrs. Sally Lippincott.
Chapter Nine
Bethany knew exactly who the woman was. Muddy green eyes ringed with kohl gazed up at David. Her full cheeks were impossibly reddened while her lips, also red, curved into a coquettish smile.
The strong fragrance of gardenias emanating from the interloper nearly overpowered the inside of the carriage.
“Lord Ingraham, please forgive me for being so bold.” The woman raked her gaze over David, then came to rest on Bethany. The smile widened. “And you, miss, you also must forgive me for interrupting your little tête-à-tête.”
Bethany gasped at the implication. She looked over at David. He had unobtrusively shifted position so there was more space between them.
“There can be no forgiveness, Mrs. Lippicott,” he thundered as a cold draft made its way into the carriage. “You are too bold. What is the meaning of this disturbance?”
Sally smiled archly. “I only have your well-being at heart, milord. I always think fondly of our time toget — ”
“Mrs. Lippicott.” David leaned forward, stretched out his arm and put his hand on the edge of the open carriage door. “You will be leaving now.”
“But you should know, milord. Your mother, Lady Ingraham — my news relates to her.”
Bethany ha
d kept silent up until this point, but at the mention of Lady Ingraham, she blurted, “Has anything happened to the Countess?”
The woman glanced at David, then back to Bethany. “Nothing has happened yet, miss. I come to Lord Ingraham to warn him. His mother is getting in deep with that weak-kneed wretch, Randolph Fenwick. ’Tis sure as rain she tends to marry the scoundrel.”
David’s cool blue eyes narrowed. “What concern is this to you?”
“Only that I dunna want to see the great lady hurt. I dunna believe she is aware that Fenwick’s affections are previously engaged. Fenwick, well, you should know, he and me, we have an understanding, if you comprehend.”
Sally had the audacity to wink.
This frightful news would break dear Lady Ingraham’s heart.
David detached Sally’s clinging arm from the door. With a rap on top of the carriage, he signaled for the coachman to continue their journey.
The he took Bethany’s hands. She flushed. Even through the cotton material of the gloves, he could probably feel the coldness of her skin.
“Bethany, I apologize for subjecting you to that unseemly display. That woman…” He tightened his hold on her hands. “Blast, Mrs. Lippicott overstepped the bounds of propriety.”
He was embarrassed. Bethany knew that instinctively. But he had no need. She was the one who should be embarrassed. She was deceiving him so egregiously. .She had to tell him. Her consciousness urged her, egged her to confess all. She couldn’t keep this secret any longer.
“David, I must tell you — ”
Bam!
Something crashed into the side of the carriage. Bethany flew up into the air, then smashed down against the opposite window. Outside, far away, she heard horses neighing and excited voices approaching the carriage.
Her head suddenly stopped spinning, and instead, throbbed as if someone had taken a hammer to it. She felt herself being lifted, and held in strong arms. David’s arms.
Susanne Marie Knight Page 9