“We absolutely ought not, you little minx. We’ve already got quite a lot to explain to your father.”
“Oh goodness, my father.”
“Do not fret over it, I’ll smooth everything over,” he said kissing her neck.
“Will you?”
“Now, and for all your days.”
“How odd that I am to be a duchess.”
“You never did care for such things, did you?”
“Never. You might have been a grocer for all I cared about it.”
Conbatten laughed and rolled her over so she lay on top of him. “Lucky for you I am not.”
“Lucky for me.”
Then Rosalind kissed him again. And then again and a few times more. Time became a thing that did not harry, and she entirely forgot where she was.
Alas, Van Doren, that absolute wet blanket, barged in.
Fortunately, Conbatten was able to stop her brother-in-law’s outraged sputtering with the news that they would marry.
They would marry. She and Conbatten. What a thing.
The fates had come through for her after all.
Chapter Twenty-Two
When Balthazar hadset off for Lady Bloomington’s masque, he’d imagined that were he to garner Lady Rosalind’s consent to marry, he would approach the earl the following morning.
Circumstances dictated otherwise, though.
The explanation for this entire ridiculous evening must be made swiftly. And then preferably never mentioned again.
Fortunately, after Miss Mayton had told Lady Beatrice what had occurred, or at least as much as she knew of it, Lady Beatrice had kept her head. She’d taken Miss Mayton to her house to await the outcome. In the meantime, she walked over to the earl’s house and inquired if any letter had been delivered to her father.
It had, and it waited on a silver salver for the lord. He was already abed and would receive it with his breakfast tray.
Lady Beatrice explained to Tattleton that it was a note long expected and she would answer it for her dear papa.
Tattleton, much to her surprise, clutched the letter and refused to hand it over. He rambled on about Miss Mayton posing as a man, and how he’d thought it might be witchcraft, and how he was determined that no more underhanded dealings were to go on under his watch. He would not be a party to giving away the lord’s personal correspondence.
This meant it would be impossible that the earl would not read the ransom note eventually. It was impossible that the entire thing could be squashed.
Lady Beatrice had a footman standing outside to watch for any signs of her sister and brother, having every faith in Van Doren to bring them home safely.
When the carriages rolled up, she quickly motioned them in, hugged her sister tightly and called her the worst goose in the world, then explained that the ransom note had arrived and Tattleton had gone mad and refused to hand it over.
Everyone had speedily agreed that the earl must be told some facts, but he was not to be disturbed with too many facts. At least, they’d all speedily agreed, but for Van Doren, who Balthazar was beginning to think was a bit of a stick. However, as much of a stick as the fellow might like to be, he could not hold up against his wife’s wishes. He was brought to heel by her soft and soothing voice as she talked him round.
They arrived to the house en masse, all prepared to tell the same story. Lady Hightower had sent a note that she was ill and could not take Lady Rosalind and Miss Mayton in her carriage. Mondrian had intercepted it and come instead. Darden, Van Doren, and himself had speedily rectified the matter. The fewer details conveyed, the better.
Poor Tattleton had been taken aback to see all of these people piling into the drawing room, and perhaps shocked to see Lady Rosalind’s hand in Balthazar’s. Then still more stunned that he was to wake the earl to attend this unexpected party.
He’d staggered off to do it, though Balthazar thought he’d rather hang himself than wake his lord. No matter, the thing must be done quickly, and it was best that the earl would not be at his sharpest after having been woken from sleep.
