Read Online Kathryn Caskie - [Royle Sisters 02] by How to Engage an Earl - Free Book Online Page B

“Pick up your pace, man, only another mile to go.”
    Berkeley Square
    The ladies sat in the parlor awaiting Lord MacLaren’s arrival.
    He hadn’t bothered to send a card informing Anne of the hour he might be expected. That might indicate he possessed manners, and of course he had none. And so they waited. Two hours so far. Two mind-numbing hours during which Anne was left to fret and imagine the absolute worst endings to the evening.
    As was her habit, Aunt Prudence slept in the chair beside the fire, sucking the remnants of cordial from her withered, wine-stained lips.
    Cherie, the petite, silent maid-of-all-work, gently lifted the half-empty crystal of cordial from the ancient woman’s palsied hand. She settled it on the old sterling salver that MacTavish, the family’s gray-haired butler, extended to her, and then quit the room with him.
    “Lotharian should have sent word to us by now.” Lady Upperton slipped her hand between the drapes, parting them, and peered out the window to the street.
    Anne’s elbows were propped upon the mantel, and she glanced up, catching movement in the gilt-framed mirror that hung above it. She turned to see Elizabeth entering the room with Mrs. Polkshank, former tavern maid, now their household cook.
    “Are you sure of your facts, Mrs. Polkshank?” Elizabeth was asking.
    “Oh yes.” The cook nodded, sending both her chins and her pendulous breasts bobbing. “Lady MacLaren gave all the staff the night to themselves—the day, too. And not just the serving staff, all of ’em. From the butler right down to her own fancy frog of a lady’s maid.”
    Lady Upperton pulled her nose back from between the drapes and addressed the cook. “And Lord Lotharian was made aware of this—you’re certain?”
    “Oh, sure as a wench like me can be. Took the message to him meself.”
    “You?” Anne had never liked the uncouth cook, and she knew the feeling was more than mutual.
    Mrs. Polkshank had always preferred Mary, the frugal eldest of the Royle triplets. Mary had hired her, without references, mind you. And paid her handsomely for her ability to steal society guest lists from randy footmen whose brains obviously resided in their breeches.
    Now the bawdy cook expected payment for every secret she obtained on behalf of the Royles—which would not be so worrisome, had the cook’s requests for payment not doubled each time she was needed to perform…a special service.
    Mrs. Polkshank smiled cheekily at Anne. “I did. And he, bein’ the fine gentleman he is, invited me to sit and take tea with him in the library. He didn’t give a fig that I am naught but a cook. He knows a real woman when he sees one. Why, we chatted, just like I was Quality, for at least an hour.”
    Lady Upperton brought her hand to her crimson-painted lips, concealing a faint smile, then abruptly returned to her post at the window. “Oh my!” She lurched backward suddenly and spun around on the very high heels of her satin slippers. “I never heard the carriage wheels. Dear heavens, the earl is here, and he’s brought Lord Apsley with him!”
    The percussion of the brass knocker slamming to its base fired through the house like a pistol shot.
    Elizabeth raced across from the parlor, grabbed Anne’s arm and flung her onto the settee, then took a seat beside her. “Mrs. Polkshank, the tea.”
    “No, no. Arrack punch.” Lady Upperton’s pale blue eyes were wild as she leapt up into the wingback chair opposite Aunt Prudence.
    “Wait!” Anne held her voice to a hush. “Brandy. That’s what they were drinking last night.”
    “Yes, Miss Anne. Best idea yet. Men do enjoy their brandy, and I ought to know.” Mrs. Polkshank poked her chest proudly with her thumb, and then hurried from the parlor.
    Despite the disturbance, Aunt Prudence did not awaken. Her eyelids never even fluttered. Her breathing remained slow and steady, whistling softly each time she exhaled through her long nose.
    Within an instant