Bramley Hollow is hardly a hotbed for insurrection and unrest."
"No one of that nature. I'm looking for the author of the
Miss Darby
novels."
Jemmy put down his knife and fork. "What? You're looking for some spinster scribbler?" The young man broke into wails of laughter. "Oh, you must be up the River Tick if you're chasing after harmless bluestockings."
"Scarcely harmless," Lady Finch said. "Those novels have caused a revolution amongst the
ton
. Daughters refusing to marry, can you imagine such a thing? Almost as bad as heirs who refuse to take their obligations seriously."
Jemmy ignored his mother's jab at his own unmarried state and turned to Rafe. "So you think this chit is here?"
"Yes. My information says that the M. Briggs who is writing the books lives here in Bramley Hollow."
"Here? Imagine that," Jemmy said. "If you ask me, those
Darby
books are a shocking waste of time. Utter nonsense. I wonder that anyone gives them a bit of regard."
"I wouldn't be so quick to judge," Lady Finch told her son.
Rafe couldn't resist asking, for there was something a little too defensive in the lady's words, "Have you read the
Darby
books, my lady?"
At first she started to shake her head, then stopped. "Oh, I must confess I've read every single one. I couldn't put them down." She sighed. "Would be a shame to see the stories end, but I can see Malvina's point. Can't have all these girls running about decrying marriage. Now that's utter nonsense." She shook her head. "And you? Have you read them?"
Rafe shifted in his seat. 'Twas embarrassing to admit the truth. "I've only just started the first one,
Miss Darby's Daring Dilemma
. Though purely as part of my case." He wasn't about to admit, especially not in front of Jemmy Reyburn, that he'd been up till the wee hours reading the demmed thing.
"And what do you think of them?" she asked.
He ignored the smirk on Jemmy's face. "They aren't quite what I expected," he confessed. "This Miss Briggs does know how to spin a story. But that Lieutenant Throckmorten is an insufferable boor."
"Agreed. I was glad to see him die at the end of
Miss Darby's Darkest Hour
."
Rafe's gaze shot up. "He dies?" Not that he cared, for Throckmorten was only a figment of Miss Brigg's fertile imagination, but it was a shame to think of Miss Darby as brokenhearted.
"Ha!" she said, pointing a finger at him. "You are as besotted as the rest of the
ton
."
"I suppose," he admitted, not willing to tell the lady that now he would have to burn an extra candle tonight to see how exactly Throckmorten's utterly dull life ended.
"Are you so sure the author is here in Brantley Hollow?" Mrs. Radleigh asked. It was the first time she'd entered the conversation, but her question was well put.
"I have it from the clerks in her publishing house that the manuscripts come from Bramley Hollow and the payments are sent here as well."
"But who could it be?" Lady Finch mused aloud, more to herself.
"Perhaps it is one of those nabobs you love so much," Jemmy teased. "Especially since all the
Miss Darby
books take place in India."
Rafe shot him a sidelong glance. "I thought you said you hadn't read the books." He grinned down the table at Lady Finch. "Utter nonsense, wasn't that what he called them?"
She smiled. "I believe his exact words were 'a shocking waste of time.' "
"Well it was a waste of time to read them." Jemmy conceded, then grinned. Then he leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table, a mischievous light in his eyes. "But at least I know how Throckmorten died."
"Has everyone read these books but me?" Rafe asked.
The entire party nodded, including Lord Finch and Cochrane.
"
Et tu?
" Rafe asked his assistant.
"Pymm said it would show me the evils of what happens when a gel gets too headstrong," Cochrane said between bites, ignoring the snort of dismay from Lady Finch's end of the table. "But I thought that Miss Darby is probably a real swell sort of lady. Wouldn't fuss if a fellow didn't have the best
"No one of that nature. I'm looking for the author of the
Miss Darby
novels."
Jemmy put down his knife and fork. "What? You're looking for some spinster scribbler?" The young man broke into wails of laughter. "Oh, you must be up the River Tick if you're chasing after harmless bluestockings."
"Scarcely harmless," Lady Finch said. "Those novels have caused a revolution amongst the
ton
. Daughters refusing to marry, can you imagine such a thing? Almost as bad as heirs who refuse to take their obligations seriously."
Jemmy ignored his mother's jab at his own unmarried state and turned to Rafe. "So you think this chit is here?"
"Yes. My information says that the M. Briggs who is writing the books lives here in Bramley Hollow."
"Here? Imagine that," Jemmy said. "If you ask me, those
Darby
books are a shocking waste of time. Utter nonsense. I wonder that anyone gives them a bit of regard."
"I wouldn't be so quick to judge," Lady Finch told her son.
Rafe couldn't resist asking, for there was something a little too defensive in the lady's words, "Have you read the
Darby
books, my lady?"
At first she started to shake her head, then stopped. "Oh, I must confess I've read every single one. I couldn't put them down." She sighed. "Would be a shame to see the stories end, but I can see Malvina's point. Can't have all these girls running about decrying marriage. Now that's utter nonsense." She shook her head. "And you? Have you read them?"
Rafe shifted in his seat. 'Twas embarrassing to admit the truth. "I've only just started the first one,
Miss Darby's Daring Dilemma
. Though purely as part of my case." He wasn't about to admit, especially not in front of Jemmy Reyburn, that he'd been up till the wee hours reading the demmed thing.
"And what do you think of them?" she asked.
He ignored the smirk on Jemmy's face. "They aren't quite what I expected," he confessed. "This Miss Briggs does know how to spin a story. But that Lieutenant Throckmorten is an insufferable boor."
"Agreed. I was glad to see him die at the end of
Miss Darby's Darkest Hour
."
Rafe's gaze shot up. "He dies?" Not that he cared, for Throckmorten was only a figment of Miss Brigg's fertile imagination, but it was a shame to think of Miss Darby as brokenhearted.
"Ha!" she said, pointing a finger at him. "You are as besotted as the rest of the
ton
."
"I suppose," he admitted, not willing to tell the lady that now he would have to burn an extra candle tonight to see how exactly Throckmorten's utterly dull life ended.
"Are you so sure the author is here in Brantley Hollow?" Mrs. Radleigh asked. It was the first time she'd entered the conversation, but her question was well put.
"I have it from the clerks in her publishing house that the manuscripts come from Bramley Hollow and the payments are sent here as well."
"But who could it be?" Lady Finch mused aloud, more to herself.
"Perhaps it is one of those nabobs you love so much," Jemmy teased. "Especially since all the
Miss Darby
books take place in India."
Rafe shot him a sidelong glance. "I thought you said you hadn't read the books." He grinned down the table at Lady Finch. "Utter nonsense, wasn't that what he called them?"
She smiled. "I believe his exact words were 'a shocking waste of time.' "
"Well it was a waste of time to read them." Jemmy conceded, then grinned. Then he leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table, a mischievous light in his eyes. "But at least I know how Throckmorten died."
"Has everyone read these books but me?" Rafe asked.
The entire party nodded, including Lord Finch and Cochrane.
"
Et tu?
" Rafe asked his assistant.
"Pymm said it would show me the evils of what happens when a gel gets too headstrong," Cochrane said between bites, ignoring the snort of dismay from Lady Finch's end of the table. "But I thought that Miss Darby is probably a real swell sort of lady. Wouldn't fuss if a fellow didn't have the best
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