An Honest Heart by Kaye Dacus Page A

sighed. “I do not know that she believed me. I cannot imagine this was the first time she found the chit in such a position.”
    Oliver glanced over his shoulder. Thankfully, Edith had moved away from the settee and now had her back turned to him, having cornered her sister, apparently reprimanding her for some perceived wrong. Excellent. Now he could escape unnoticed.
    He leaned closer to Doncroft and Radclyffe. “I just learned that the seamstress is in the house. I intend to intercept her before she can leave.”
    “Seamstress?” Radcliffe’s boyish face crumpled in confusion.
    “ The seamstress? The one from North Parade whom you intend to seduce?” Doncroft rubbed his hands together.
    “Yes. She’s seeing to Miss Buchanan’s cousin’s wardrobe. And I intend to see to her, if I can.”
    Doncroft gave him a wicked grin. “Yes, yes—go. We shall make excuses for you if your absence is discovered. It is the least I can do since you covered for me this morning.”
    Precisely what Oliver thought. He glanced toward Edith again and—seeing that she still had her back turned—slipped from the room.
    He took the service hall at the back of the oversized entry hall and made his way to the east-wing servants’ staircase. He listened for a long moment to ensure no one currently used the stairs before climbing them. Up two flights, he opened the door onto a hallway of closed bedroom doors. He hadn’t been in the family wing of the house before, so he could not be certain which was the cousin’s bedroom, or even if this were the correct floor.
    Moving into the shadow of the tall urn at this end of the hall, he waited. And waited. How long could a dress fitting take?
    A door halfway down opened. Female voices spilled into the hallway. Oliver straightened and moved forward a bit, ready to intercept the seamstress.

    Edith glanced around the room. Ever since voicing her idea of an arrangement to Oliver, she’d tried to keep him close to make sure he upheld his end of the bargain—that he did not do anything to shame her.
    She’d known him long enough to know his penchant for outrageous flirting . . . and for backroom meetings with women of certain reputations. No more. Not if she was going to tie her name to his.
    Not seeing him at the settee where she expected him to rejoin her, she looked for his two friends—Doncroft and Radclyffe. Each handsome in his own way, but neither one as wealthy or as high ranking as Oliver, she’d effectively ignored the two of them for the past three weeks.
    He was not with them either. In fact, he wasn’t anywhere in the room. How dare he depart without begging her leave? Even if she were not his intended fiancée, she was still hostess of the house party.
    Well.
    Clamping her back teeth together, Edith twitched her skirts to unbunch her petticoats, turned, and found a perfect target.
    He’d entered late—not having been with the walking party—and he had not yet come over to speak to her to make his apologies. Edith turned her toes in as she walked across the room, making her skirts sway like the bell they resembled.
    She stopped several paces away from where he stood observing the other guests. She dropped into a deep curtsy, wishing tea did not call for the higher-cut neckline of an afternoon gown. “Good day, Lord Thynne.”
    The viscount inclined his head. “Miss Buchanan.”
    “I hope you found employment enough to keep you from boredom today.” Edith reached her left hand up and twined her fingers in the delicate gold chain holding her mother’s locket. She did not care for the piece, but she liked the air of sentimentality it gave her. And it was the appropriate length for this bodice.
    “Yes, thank you. Miss Dearing showed me the water garden, fountains, and pond.”
    Edith forced a smile. Hearing that he’d chosen to spend the morning with her cousin confirmed her suspicion that there was more than a mild flirtation between the viscount and the penniless American