Charlotte Louise Dolan (30 page)

“Ah, but I have three weeks while the banns are being called, during which time I am confident that I can persuade you.”

She looked up into his eyes and experienced again that feeling of unspoken communication. Happiness welled up inside of her. “I am quite looking forward to your persuasion, Bronson. You are so eloquent—”

“I had not planned to use intellectual reasoning, my dearest darling,” he murmured for her ears only.

She trembled in his arms. “In that case, I must be sure to demur as long as possible.”

“But in the end?” he asked, suddenly unsure of himself.

She smiled up at him. “In the end? Well, if all else fails, there is always clotted cream with strawberries.”

Over a cup of hot chocolate,
Lady Letitia Morrough
perused the morning paper. She smiled with satisfaction when
she noticed a small announcement: “Married, in Tavistock,
Devon, Lady Gloriana Hemsworth and Bronson Roebuck, Lord
Leatham.”

Succinct, but sufficiently informative for those who cared
about them. She must remember, Lady Letitia thought, to invite
Dorothy Wiggins over for lunch one day soon to celebrate their
success. And perhaps at the same time she would invite the widowed banker her husband had brought home to dinner
Saturday a week ago. Mr. Carrwell might just be the one for
dear Dorothy, who had been without a husband long enough.

Lady Letitia laid the paper aside and was pouring herself
another cup of hot chocolate when Amelia Carlisle was
announced.

“My dear Amelia, how fine you are looking. Is that a new
bonnet?”

“Oh, Letty, do you think it will do?” Amelia hurried over to check her appearance in the mirror hanging above the
sideboard.

“Do? Do for what?” Lady Letitia asked.

Amelia blushed. “Well, I have met the most wonderful
man.”

“How interesting, my dear. Sit down and have a cup of hot chocolate with me, or tea if you prefer, and tell me all about
him.”

Amelia sat down, but waved away the proffered refreshment.
“No, no, I am too excited to drink a drop. I met him quite by chance, and he has the most fascinating hobby. He has been
studying the art of spying—”

“Spying? He is a military man then?”

“Military?”

“You said spying. I presumed you meant spying on the
French.”

“The French? Oh, no, no, nothing like that. He is practicing
to be a Bow Street runner. Or rather, he is practicing their
techniques, but of course he would never actually become a
runner.”

“Of course,” Lady Letitia murmured, taking another sip of
hot chocolate.

“Mostly he has been following people, and you will never
believe what he has discovered. Did you know, for example,
that Lady Brownell is definitely having an affair with a captain in the Horse Guards? And Lord Ahrendale is not only sleeping
with Toveson’s new bride, but also with the Gravenstoke’s
widow?”

“But really, Amelia, a runner?”

“Oh, he is not a real runner, of course. He is Felix
Sommerton. You know, Sommervale’s younger brother.”

“Younger? My dear Amelia, have you taken to robbing the
cradle?”

“Oh, pooh, he is not that much younger than we are. And
he says I am quite well preserved for my age. Besides, I have
not mentioned one word about marriage.”

“But you have stars in your eyes, and a certain tone in your
voice when you say his name...
.”

“It shows?” Amelia gave a girlish giggle. “You have found
me out. I am indeed in love, and I am sure my feelings are reciprocated. You do not think I am too old to consider
marriage, do you? To be sure, I am already a grandmother,
but I was a very
young
bride—”

“Oh, absolutely.”

“And besides, dear Felix says that one is only as old as one
feels, and I feel positively fifty again.”

“And you do not look a day over forty in that bonnet.”

“Do you think so?” Amelia jumped up again to check her
appearance in the mirror.

While she was occupied, Lady Letitia glanced down at the
paper once more and her eye was caught by another nuptial
announcement, this one so unexpected she dropped her cup,
spilling chocolate all over the table.

“Letty, good heavens, what are you about?” Amelia hurried to mop up the hot liquid, since Letty was laughing too hard even to attempt it.

“Read, read,” Lady Letitia finally managed to say, pointing with her finger at the small announcement.

Picking up the paper by one corner and holding it so that the chocolate would not drip on her clothes, Amelia managed to decipher through the brown stain: “Married, in St. George’s London, Mrs. Rosemary Pierce-Smythe née Pierce and Mr. Creighton Trussell.” For a moment she looked puzzled, then with dawning comprehension, she exclaimed, “The mushroom’s widow! But however did she catch Trussell? Is he not the grandson of the Earl of Bardeswythe, or am I thinking of a different Trussell?”

“No, you have the correct man. But it is quite a long story, and unfortunately you are pressed for time.” Lady Letitia could not resist a smile.

“Nonsense, Letty,” Amelia replied, seating herself again on the settee and removing her bonnet. “I always have time for a comfortable coze with you. Ring for a pot of fresh tea and tell me every detail!”

Dedicated

To my mother-in-law,

Virginia Bess Fisher Dolan,

for twenty-five years

of love, affection, and friendship.

I wish to thank Dee Hendrickson and Mary Jo Putney for their advice and encouragement, and I wish to thank Vickey Duffey, formerly of Devonshire, England, and now of Idaho Falls. I also wish to thank Russ Burnham, my favorite Mohawk, for letting me borrow his great-grandfather’s name.

Copyright © 1991 by Charlou Dolan

Originally published by Signet [ISBN 0451170644]

Electronically published in 2013 by Belgrave House/Regency Reads

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

No portion of this book may be reprinted in whole or in part, by printing, faxing, E-mail, copying electronically or by any other means without permission of the publisher. For more information, contact Belgrave House, 190 Belgrave Avenue, San Francisco, CA 94117-4228

     http://www.RegencyReads.com

     Electronic sales: [email protected]

This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.