“Poor Mercutio,” Rhys muttered, stroking the pages as he found his spot again. “You deserved better.”
She rolled her eyes, her back to Rhys, and let her amusement twist her lips a little since only Jasper could see her.
He couldn’t help but grin back at her.
She sighed, shaking her head. “I mean it, Jasper,” she said again. “I won’t toy with some young woman for the sport of it. If you meet her and genuinely do fall for her, then the farce may continue,perhaps. But I think we ought to talk about multiple angles here before we embark on any scheme of this nature.”
“Yes, naturally, of course,” he blurted out, each word toppling over the ones on either side of it. “Anything. Obviously. I told you it was still half-formed.”
“Hm,” she said, squinting at him as though trying to see through any artifice, her dark eyes shining. “All right. We will discuss the matter further sometime soon.”
If the morning had just ended there, Jasper might have bounded off happily, optimistic about the weeks to come.
Instead, he made the mistake of reflecting on his good fortune.
And just as he did so, Rhys flipped the script forward, chose a line at random, and moaned loudly, “O, I am fortune’s fool!”
Which of course put a leery bent on the remainder of the day.
Chapter Five
Julian Harcourt, Esquire,was the most punctual man Libba had ever encountered in her life.
She found it rather annoying.
Despite knowing he’d agreed to arrive at half eleven on the chime, she’d allowed herself to get pulled in half a dozen different directions this morning, several of which were wherever Jasper Townsend fell on the damned compass rose.
She knew that there were several practical matters to work out if she were going to help him in this nonsense endeavor. And shehadto help him.
Discouraging Jasper from one of his schemes was the only way to guarantee he’d succeed in it.
Humoring them was the only gambit that had ever diffused one, in Libba’s experience, and this one, God in heaven, needed to be diffused.
So first, she would have to deal with the largest obstacle. While one might think that the largest obstacle was the practicality of the thing, it was not. The largest obstacle was Malcolm.
He was going to notice. That was a given.
So what in the Devil were they going to tell him?
She sighed, pressing her fingers to the bridge of her nose. When they’d been younger, Malcolm would have been instrumental in entertaining one of these schemes just enoughto watch it blow up. This time, however, her brother would take it personally, as his best mate was scheming in the opposite direction of Malcolm’s own interests and benevolent offers.
Still, it was amusing to remember Malcolm’s stock of failed sundry throughout their teen years, amassing in his closet after so many failed plans.
She wondered if he still had that bushel of dried lavender. Probably not. Ruby would’ve made use of that in quick order and Malcolm was nothing if not a capable and unfailingly practical distribution service.
“Miss Lennox?” Mr. Harcourt said again, frowning at her over his folio. “Is it a poor time to have this meeting? I can always come back another day.”
“No,” she said, fanning her face with her hands and giving it a shake. “No. I am sorry. Let me go see what’s keeping him.”
She frowned, pushing herself to her feet and pacing out of the parlor in search of Lem, who was not usually tardy, especially in matters in which he had a personal stake.
“Is that Mr. Harcourt?” Hattie asked, passing her with a suspiciously green liquid sloshing in the glass she held. “I was going to write him today. Might I interrupt to ask him a few questions about registering a newborn?”
“Be my guest,” Libba said, gesturing to the side. “Have you seen Lem?”
Hattie nodded, sipping her concoction. “Rhys is shouting at him in the hall.”
Libba sighed and rolled her eyes. “Of course he is. Oh! Hattie!”
