Susanne Marie Knight (10 page)

Blast.
What the devil was the old codger up to?

Perhaps Bethany discerned his impatience for she glanced at him, nodded, then turned to the Duke. “We must thank you for your hospitality, your Grace. It is time for Lord Ingraham and I to take our leave now. I do look forward to starting on your memoirs tomorrow.”

If David wasn’t mistaken, that regal rogue give her a wink.

Double blast.

A bow and a curtsey later, David and Bethany, made their way down the staircase in silence. He hasn’t known Bethany Branford long, but he did know this: his houseguest had not dissembled. She was, without a doubt, looking forward to tomorrow’s engagement with the duke.

Bethany was as merry as a cricket! To have a royal prince as a patron — surely success for her writing was just around the corner. Here she was on her way to Carlton House for her first opportunity to write without restraint. Without constantly looking over her shoulder.

Despite the well-sprung carriage she and Elsie traveled in, a nasty bump in the uneven road jolted her back down to earth. When one was grounded, one had a tendency to fret. And so she did: fret.

Prince Augustus hadn’t even read anything she wrote. How could he be so assured of her ability? Here was a puzzle she would have to solve if only to soothe her own mind.

The hour was still early — only fifteen minutes past one o’clock. To while away the time until her appointment, she requested the coachman stop at Hatchards, bookseller and lending library. Yesterday, she hadn’t gotten the chance to peruse the stately store’s windows. A downpour of sleeting rain had prevented David from granting her wish. It was just as well, she supposed. Today, Monday, she could go inside the shop.

Once the carriage came to a halt, Bethany hopped out, heading past the colorful window displays, and through one of the dignified double doors. Although Hatchards was relatively new, the heavy scent of wisdom permeated the air. It was as if all the knowledge accumulated on pages from shelved books had oozed out into the large main floor and up the staircase into the next level.

She inhaled a comforting aroma: rich coffee and leather-laced tobacco, along with the slight scent of decay from books older than time.

It was heavenly. It was magical. Bethany clapped her hands with delight. Here was an experience she preferred to enjoy by herself.

“Elsie, why don’t you have a look around? I will be on the hunt to purchase novel called
Emma.”

Bethany prompted separated from her maid and browsed through the titles. She smiled at the many “friends” she came across. So intent was she on her task, she neglected to watch where she was going and bumped into a fellow patron.

“I beg your pardon.” Her cry of mortification turned into one of pleasure. “Petunia! How good it is to see you. I missed you yesterday. Do you often visit Hatchards?”

“Bethany! I own ’tis been an age since last we laid eyes on each other.” The Viscountess Weatherhaven embraced Bethany as if she were a long lost acquaintance. Petunia was dressed in an elegant ruby-trimmed pelisse and matching bonnet. Several fair curls peeked out from under the brim, and to complete this charming picture, she carried an overly large white ermine muff. However, she marred her natural beauty by frowning. “Faddle! What else am I to do but read? Weatherhaven is being tedious beyond words.”

She stamped her small foot — the black leather half-boot made a thumping sound on the parquet wood floor.

Oh dear. Marital discord — just as I had feared.
Bethany quickly took her friend’s arm and steered her around a freestanding bookcase toward the back of the store where no customers or employees were to be found.

“Hush, Petunia,” Bethany whispered. “You do not want to announce your woes to all and sundry, do you?”

The distraught woman refused to lower her voice. “What does it matter? Weatherhaven called me a spoiled brat.” She dropped her luxurious fur muff, then searched her reticule for a handkerchief. Sniffing, she dabbed at her eyes. “He…he didn’t come home last night.”

Goodness. That
was
serious.

Bethany drew her friend closer and tried to comfort her. “Perhaps you should ask your brother to intercede on your behalf.”

In her mind, David could solve any dilemma, any fix. If she were honest with herself, she would admit he was perfect. Her heart beat faster just thinking about him. Almost as if she was…in love with him.

Bethany inhaled sharply at this unexpected realization. Love? When had her admiration for David Petruchio Greyle turned to love?

The answer came quickly enough: when they had danced together at the Duchess of Margrove’s ball. The strength of his hand in hers, how he teased her, how his masculine scent seemed to permeate her soul, how it felt to be so close to him.

Yes, that was when she had lost her heart.

Petunia’s lower lip quivered, recalling Bethany to her surroundings. She felt like an insensitive monster. Here she was, thinking of love when her best friend, her only friend in London, was in such a flutter.

“I-I simply cannot tell Davy.” Petunia rubbed at her reddened eyes. “I assure you, he will call me a pest. My brother always does when I mangle my affairs. How can I possibly let him know that Weatherhaven…has washed his hands of me?”

No doubt about it. The Viscountess Weatherhaven was being overly dramatic. All the wisdom in the world surrounded them, and yet there was no solution to offer to Petunia. Silence hung heavy on the stale air.

“Um, what about Lady Ingraham then? Surely your mother will be able to smooth over this little contretemps.”

Petunia was quick to reply. “No, no. She is besotted by Mr. Fenwick. Her every waking moment is consumed by thoughts of that odious fellow.”

Twirling a loose lock of hair around her finger, Bethany checked the time. Fifteen until the hour. Goodness! She didn’t dare be late for her appointment with the Prince at Carlton House.

But what about Petunia’s dilemma?

Over one of the bookstacks close to the front of the store, Bethany spotted a crest of red hair. Glorious red hair that belonged to good-natured Lord Henry Penning.

“My lord,” she called out to him. “Over here.”

The affable young man trotted down the aisle to gape in surprise at them. “Stap me. What are you two ladies doing at Hatchards? Not bluestockings, are you?”

While Petunia appeared offended at the term, Bethany was delighted to be thought of as a learned lady.

But there was no time to dally.

Bethany took a deep breath. “I hope you both forgive me, but I have a prior engagement at two o’clock. I must collect my maid, then be off.” She released her breath. “My lord, would you be so kind as to escort Lady Petunia back to her house?”

Henry Penning bowed. “But of course, I’m delighted to be of service.”

Petunia frowned, obviously not understanding what Bethany had in mind.

Bethany tilted her head, then added sugar to her tone. “Perhaps your husband will be at home when you return with Lord Penning?”

A flash of understanding sharpened Petunia’s china blue eyes. If Lord Weatherhaven saw his wife with another man, he might become jealous.

Taking her new gallant’s arm, Petunia trilled, “You run along now, Bethany. Henry and I will see to each other’s amusements.”

Bethany nodded, then as good as her word, she dashed to the front of the store where Elsie, fortunately, waited. After they were situated back inside the Ingraham carriage, Bethany exhaled regret. Her quest to find a copy of the novel
Emma
would have to wait until her next visit to Hatchards.

Another note found its way into Miss Hasbrouck’s bedchamber. Tucked through the space at the bottom of the door, the folded piece of paper caught her attention as soon as she woke up in the morning.

She caught her lip on the edge of her teeth. What would the note say? Would it contain more insidious hints about Lady Innis’ unfortunate death? Would Lord Innis’ reputation be irrevocably ruined if the contents were revealed?

Her heart pounded with alarm. In the short time she had been at this house, he had become very dear to her, although he, of course, only viewed her as a governess.

No matter. His handsome visage had become indelibly etched within her thoughts. His dark curly hair, his brilliant blue eyes…

Goodness. She could not bear to think that he could be dishonorable in any way.

Miss Hasbrouck threw back the covers and rushed over to open the note. She read —

“Capital!” Prince Augustus, sitting in the back of the ornate gold and brown library, rose to his feet. He quickly made his way over to the writing desk.

At first it had been unnerving to for the prince not only to read her book, but also be in her presence. Fortunately, she had gotten used to the idea, and found that she completely blocked out any distractions, His Royal Highness included.

He set the pages of the first three chapters of her work-in-progress down on the desk. “Upon my honor, you astound me, Miss Branford. I am overcome with delight!”

“You are most kind, your Grace.” She spoke as calmly, but truth be told she would have sworn she floated up out of her chair.

“Now, now, you cannot indulge in coy, modest behavior here, Miss Branford.” The Prince paraded about the library as if in a parade. “’Tis the very best writing I have come across in a fortnight.”

Bethany felt her cheeks glow warm with embarrassment. She lowered her gaze.

“I have the very publisher for your novel, my dear. The Egerton Company here in London. I know Tom Egerton personally. In truth, are you aware Egerton publishes
Sense and Sensibility,
as well as
Pride and Prejudice?”

The very mention of Bethany’s novel in league with that of those titles signaled success.

Once again, Bethany lowered her lashes. “I am honored, your Grace. Truly, I am. For everything you are doing for me.”

“Nonsense.” He waved a stubby hand through the air. “Now, I daresay I have used up enough of your valuable time, Miss Branford. I shall make myself scare so that you may continue with your masterpiece.”

The Prince lumbered out through the paneled satinwood doors, then turned her attention back to her goose-quill pen. With a pleased smile on her face, she reread the passage that she’d just written. What she saw made her stop cold. “Fie! Here I am, getting a swelled head listening to the Prince when I obviously haven’t been paying attention to my own work.”

While her hero, Lord Innis, did have dark curly hair, he most certainly did not have brilliant blue eyes. Brown was Lord Innis’ color. Sparkling blue was David’s.

“You will get yourself in trouble, my girl,” she chastised herself, directing her tirade to one of the many plaster busts of literary figures strewn about the library. “If anyone ever were to suspect that the Marquess of Innis had even as much as one thing in common with — ”

“Are you talking to yourself, Miss Branford?” David, the very man her fictional hero was based upon, sauntered in through the satinwood doors and fixed that wondrous blue-eyed gaze upon her.

David entered the darkened library, then feasted his gaze on the beauty studiously writing at the desk. Whatever was capturing her attention fueled the fire of jealousy within his breast. What was she finding so remarkable?

The answer flashed inside him.

Blast.
The Duke of Sussex’s demmed memoirs.

Bethany looked up from the desk and gave him a charming smile. “Good afternoon, my lord. Yes, I confess, I must have been talking aloud. I hope you do not consider me a candidate for Bedlam for that particular propensity.”

“Indeed no. I find it perfectly understandable. This silence within these solemn walls would drive me to distraction.” He chuckled.

He had only known Bethany a week, and yet he could not imagine his life without her. A deep yearning burned his soul.

Glancing around the library, he found he was out of charity with its morbid style. The quiet disturbed him as well. “Where is his Grace? I was under the impression you were to record his every word.”

She consulted the ornamental clock on the fireplace mantel. “The Prince was here in the library for a good while, then left so I could polish my notes.”

Hmm.
David cocked his head to one side. If that was so, then why did she avoid his gaze? Why did her fingers nervously drum the desk’s tabletop?

He brushed aside his trepidations. “Miss Branford, I realize you are allotted yet another thirty minutes at Carlton House. However I thought if you were at a good stopping point, you might allow me to drive you home.”

Home. He liked the sound of that word when home included Bethany.