Back. Everything in order. As it should be. No, wait. There.
Bloody, bloody hell. Lady Elizabeth had forgotten a name, and the result was a surprise of the worst order. Pendleton. If not the man himself, a member of his family. Potential disaster there. Any one of Marcus Pendleton’s relations might recall Dysart from a dozen years ago.
The conveyance rolled closer to the head of the line. Near enough for Dysart to determine a lone occupant. Not a woman, then. No respectable woman would travel without a maid, at the very least. Nor would a woman sport a tall beaver hat.
And if this guest turned out to be Marcus Pendleton himself, so much the worse. Under those circumstances, Dysart’s conscience would not allow him to leave. Not without warning Lady Elizabeth.
—
“I must speak to you about the accommodations. They simply will not do.”
Lizzie swallowed a few choice words. She hadn’t managed to advance past the foyer before Lady Whitby accosted her.
“I’m afraid there’s very little I can do, my lady. All our bedchambers are accounted for.” She sifted through her memory, trying to recall which quarters she’d assigned the lady and her daughter. “If you lack for anything, I’m certain my staff can assure your comfort, but beyond that…”
Lady Whitby pressed her lips together. “Our rooms are entirely too close to one of the gentlemen’s. It is simply not fitting for my Anna.”
Said Anna hovered just behind her mama, practically clinging to the woman’s skirts. Pippa had somehow befriended the chit in London, but dash it if Lizzie could work out why. She’d seen bolder expressions on a rabbit.
“I’m quite happy to vouch for any of the gentlemen present. I’m certain none of them would even consider leading your daughter astray.” Not when the girl had arrived with her own personal guard dog in the form of her mother.
“Your pardon.” A tap on Lizzie’s shoulder came as welcome relief, at least until she turned and saw who offered the distraction. Snowley had drifted in from the hallway, and now he stood far too close.
“Snowley, have you been introduced to Lady Whitby and her daughter?” As long as Lizzie had to deal with her cousin, she may as well attempt to direct his interest to another young lady. Hopefully one who was eligible. “Mr. Snowley Wilde, my cousin and Papa’s eventual heir,” she couldn’t resist adding.
“Yes, we’ve met.” Lady Whitby gave a sniff. “In the corridor outside our lodgings, in fact.”
Apparently being heir to a dukedom was not sufficient to overcome Lady Whitby’s sense of propriety.
“I say,” Snowley put in, “was there a particular reason you gave me those rooms? They aren’t where I usually stay.”
Lizzie pasted on her freshest hostess smile. She’d known this conversation was coming. She could only wish Snowley had chosen his moment a bit better. “I’m afraid your usual rooms were allotted to Lord Dysart on his arrival yesterday.”
“Lord Dysart?” Lady Whitby’s brows disappeared beneath the lace edging of her cap. “I cannot say I’ve ever heard of that title. Who are his connections?”
Oh dear. The party had barely begun, and already Dysart’s presence was raising questions—sight unseen, at that. “They’re Scots, I believe, on his father’s side. His mother was a dear friend of my mother.”
“Really? And where is Lord Dysart? I should like to meet him.” Meet him and see if he passed muster. Lady Whitby may as well have appended those words to her statement.
And that was a problem. Not only was Lizzie unsure that Dysart would meet this matron’s approval, she hadn’t seen him all day. Not at breakfast, not in the course of the morning, not even now that the guests were arriving. And good heavens, she needed to find him, as she would have to make any introductions personally.
“I’m sure we can arrange something the moment he appears.”
“Lizzie.” Snowley somehow managed a puppylike
Bloody, bloody hell. Lady Elizabeth had forgotten a name, and the result was a surprise of the worst order. Pendleton. If not the man himself, a member of his family. Potential disaster there. Any one of Marcus Pendleton’s relations might recall Dysart from a dozen years ago.
The conveyance rolled closer to the head of the line. Near enough for Dysart to determine a lone occupant. Not a woman, then. No respectable woman would travel without a maid, at the very least. Nor would a woman sport a tall beaver hat.
And if this guest turned out to be Marcus Pendleton himself, so much the worse. Under those circumstances, Dysart’s conscience would not allow him to leave. Not without warning Lady Elizabeth.
—
“I must speak to you about the accommodations. They simply will not do.”
Lizzie swallowed a few choice words. She hadn’t managed to advance past the foyer before Lady Whitby accosted her.
“I’m afraid there’s very little I can do, my lady. All our bedchambers are accounted for.” She sifted through her memory, trying to recall which quarters she’d assigned the lady and her daughter. “If you lack for anything, I’m certain my staff can assure your comfort, but beyond that…”
Lady Whitby pressed her lips together. “Our rooms are entirely too close to one of the gentlemen’s. It is simply not fitting for my Anna.”
Said Anna hovered just behind her mama, practically clinging to the woman’s skirts. Pippa had somehow befriended the chit in London, but dash it if Lizzie could work out why. She’d seen bolder expressions on a rabbit.
“I’m quite happy to vouch for any of the gentlemen present. I’m certain none of them would even consider leading your daughter astray.” Not when the girl had arrived with her own personal guard dog in the form of her mother.
“Your pardon.” A tap on Lizzie’s shoulder came as welcome relief, at least until she turned and saw who offered the distraction. Snowley had drifted in from the hallway, and now he stood far too close.
“Snowley, have you been introduced to Lady Whitby and her daughter?” As long as Lizzie had to deal with her cousin, she may as well attempt to direct his interest to another young lady. Hopefully one who was eligible. “Mr. Snowley Wilde, my cousin and Papa’s eventual heir,” she couldn’t resist adding.
“Yes, we’ve met.” Lady Whitby gave a sniff. “In the corridor outside our lodgings, in fact.”
Apparently being heir to a dukedom was not sufficient to overcome Lady Whitby’s sense of propriety.
“I say,” Snowley put in, “was there a particular reason you gave me those rooms? They aren’t where I usually stay.”
Lizzie pasted on her freshest hostess smile. She’d known this conversation was coming. She could only wish Snowley had chosen his moment a bit better. “I’m afraid your usual rooms were allotted to Lord Dysart on his arrival yesterday.”
“Lord Dysart?” Lady Whitby’s brows disappeared beneath the lace edging of her cap. “I cannot say I’ve ever heard of that title. Who are his connections?”
Oh dear. The party had barely begun, and already Dysart’s presence was raising questions—sight unseen, at that. “They’re Scots, I believe, on his father’s side. His mother was a dear friend of my mother.”
“Really? And where is Lord Dysart? I should like to meet him.” Meet him and see if he passed muster. Lady Whitby may as well have appended those words to her statement.
And that was a problem. Not only was Lizzie unsure that Dysart would meet this matron’s approval, she hadn’t seen him all day. Not at breakfast, not in the course of the morning, not even now that the guests were arriving. And good heavens, she needed to find him, as she would have to make any introductions personally.
“I’m sure we can arrange something the moment he appears.”
“Lizzie.” Snowley somehow managed a puppylike
Similar Books
