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Authors: Diana Douglas
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Put them in the drawing room.”
“That might not be wise,” Olivia said.
“Why ever not?”
“If Lord Mallory sees that he has serious competition he could very well become all the more determined to win your hand.”
This was growing quite ridiculous. Priscilla made a sound of exasperation. “Then, where would you suggest?”
“What about your lovely little parlor? I know how much you enjoy spending time in there.”
Her parlor? Oh, no. It was too personal. Too close. She couldn't allow Lord Stratton to invade her little sanctuary. “But I’m the only one who ever goes in there,” she said. “That would be terribly selfish. You wouldn’t be able to enjoy them.”
Olivia smiled. “But dear, I’ll come visit you. You wouldn’t mind, would you?”
Good grief. What else could she say? She smiled tightly. “Of course not.”
“Good.” Olivia beamed. “We’ll have our tea in your parlor this afternoon. Maybe around four? That should give us plenty of time to get ready for this evening.” Before Priscilla could object, Olivia turned on her heel and left.
“Miss?”
She looked up at Beldon.
“This arrived not long after the flowers. I was given instructions to deliver it in private.” He offered her a silver salver holding a letter.
She took the missive. The wax seal was imprinted with the Stratton insignia. What else could he possibly want ? “Thank you, Beldon.” She carried it upstairs to her bedchamber, then sitting on her bed, broke the seal, opened the letter and read:
My dear Miss Hawthorn, I believe I may have some information regarding the letters Miss Dearborn so desperately wants. If you would be kind enough to meet me this evening at the Danfield’s ball, we could discuss it further. I hope to bring this misunderstanding to a close. Please accept the orchids as a token of my gratitude for your patience. Yours truly, Viscount Eugene Terrance Rutherford, Lord Stratton
Priscilla tore the note into pieces and dropped them onto her bed. If this was a ruse, she was going to kill him.
Chapter Four
L ater that evening, Stratton stared out the window as their carriage crept toward the Danfield’s town home. The crush of carriages was enough to set his teeth on edge, but Rand was right; he had best get used to spending time in London. It was no longer practical to spend the entire year in the country. And besides, Priscilla wasn’t in Surrey. She was in London. She was here. At least, he hoped she was here. And if she wasn’t? Then he would go to her house and demand that she see him.
He groaned and slowly closed his eyes. What an idiotic idea. She would think he had lost his mind. Because he had.
“Eugie.” He felt a rap on his knee and looked up.
“Eugie. You haven’t heard a word I’ve said, have you?” Mirabella held her fan poised a few inches away as if she couldn’t decide whether or not to rap his knee again. He was tempted to snatch the fan from her hand. She had been rambling off and on for the length of time they had been stuck in their carriage. After a while, the sound of her voice was enough to make him shudder. In order to preserve his sanity, he had shut out her prattle.
“I was just remarking that Mrs. Danfield gives lovely balls,” she said. “She certainly spares no expense. And her connections are such that no one dares mention the Danfield’s lack of title for fear they won’t be invited to the festivities. I heard there were several lords and ladies who weren’t invited this year for that very reason. They’re apt to find themselves uninvited to a number of balls this year." Mirabella opened her fan and waved it in front of her face. "Serves them right. It doesn’t pay to treat someone as lovely as Mrs. Danfield, poorly. She’s very well connected. I’ve heard there’s a
“That might not be wise,” Olivia said.
“Why ever not?”
“If Lord Mallory sees that he has serious competition he could very well become all the more determined to win your hand.”
This was growing quite ridiculous. Priscilla made a sound of exasperation. “Then, where would you suggest?”
“What about your lovely little parlor? I know how much you enjoy spending time in there.”
Her parlor? Oh, no. It was too personal. Too close. She couldn't allow Lord Stratton to invade her little sanctuary. “But I’m the only one who ever goes in there,” she said. “That would be terribly selfish. You wouldn’t be able to enjoy them.”
Olivia smiled. “But dear, I’ll come visit you. You wouldn’t mind, would you?”
Good grief. What else could she say? She smiled tightly. “Of course not.”
“Good.” Olivia beamed. “We’ll have our tea in your parlor this afternoon. Maybe around four? That should give us plenty of time to get ready for this evening.” Before Priscilla could object, Olivia turned on her heel and left.
“Miss?”
She looked up at Beldon.
“This arrived not long after the flowers. I was given instructions to deliver it in private.” He offered her a silver salver holding a letter.
She took the missive. The wax seal was imprinted with the Stratton insignia. What else could he possibly want ? “Thank you, Beldon.” She carried it upstairs to her bedchamber, then sitting on her bed, broke the seal, opened the letter and read:
My dear Miss Hawthorn, I believe I may have some information regarding the letters Miss Dearborn so desperately wants. If you would be kind enough to meet me this evening at the Danfield’s ball, we could discuss it further. I hope to bring this misunderstanding to a close. Please accept the orchids as a token of my gratitude for your patience. Yours truly, Viscount Eugene Terrance Rutherford, Lord Stratton
Priscilla tore the note into pieces and dropped them onto her bed. If this was a ruse, she was going to kill him.
Chapter Four
L ater that evening, Stratton stared out the window as their carriage crept toward the Danfield’s town home. The crush of carriages was enough to set his teeth on edge, but Rand was right; he had best get used to spending time in London. It was no longer practical to spend the entire year in the country. And besides, Priscilla wasn’t in Surrey. She was in London. She was here. At least, he hoped she was here. And if she wasn’t? Then he would go to her house and demand that she see him.
He groaned and slowly closed his eyes. What an idiotic idea. She would think he had lost his mind. Because he had.
“Eugie.” He felt a rap on his knee and looked up.
“Eugie. You haven’t heard a word I’ve said, have you?” Mirabella held her fan poised a few inches away as if she couldn’t decide whether or not to rap his knee again. He was tempted to snatch the fan from her hand. She had been rambling off and on for the length of time they had been stuck in their carriage. After a while, the sound of her voice was enough to make him shudder. In order to preserve his sanity, he had shut out her prattle.
“I was just remarking that Mrs. Danfield gives lovely balls,” she said. “She certainly spares no expense. And her connections are such that no one dares mention the Danfield’s lack of title for fear they won’t be invited to the festivities. I heard there were several lords and ladies who weren’t invited this year for that very reason. They’re apt to find themselves uninvited to a number of balls this year." Mirabella opened her fan and waved it in front of her face. "Serves them right. It doesn’t pay to treat someone as lovely as Mrs. Danfield, poorly. She’s very well connected. I’ve heard there’s a
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