“I asked her a lot of questions in the carriage and was able to ascertain one thing at least—she is not at all interested in marrying for a title.”
“No, she never would be. She has not the temperament for such cool calculations.”
“Just so. Therefore, it is you she is interested in. Not your title, not your standing, not your money. You, the person. Now, I find this young lady rather bizarre, but she has two things going for her—she entirely lacks sophisticated artifice and she likesyou.”
Balthazar set down his brandy. “Are you suggesting—”
“I am suggesting you examine your heart and see where you are. That is all.”
Though Lady Hightower said that was all, it was actually quite a lot.
He had of course had a passing thought that had it been the right time for marriage, Lady Rosalind could certainly be a rather pleasant choice. More than pleasant, really. He’d not allowed his thoughts to go further, as it was not the right time for marriage. Though, sometimes they’d gone further of their own accord.
That marvelous hair, and her upturned face, and hazel eyes. And then, it was always so interesting to talk to her. It never felt constrained, as it so often did with other ladies.
He sometimes had the urge to loosen one of her curls and twist it round his finger. He had perhaps even allowed his thoughts to wander to if she would like to join him in a ninety-eight-degree bath with glasses of champagne. She was an irresistible creature.
However, it was definitely not the right time for marriage.
He’d laid out the facts very clearly for himself. A wife would be handwringing at the door every time he left on the queen’s business. At first, it would be a mystery where he was going, dressed in black. Then her imagination would take flight and he would be accused of keeping a mistress or engaging himself in nefarious activities.
Eventually, he would have to tell her the truth to stop her from weeping or throwing things at his head. Then she would tell someone and the news would fly out the door like a murmuration of starlings at dusk. Finally, she would demand that he stop his forays into Rats’ Castle.
She’d not be wrong in any of it, he’d not be wrong in any of it, and the queen would be enraged that her secret was out. Therefore, it was not the right time.
Especially not now, when it appeared the Mondrian was not dead after all and was currently building a mammoth housebreaking operation.
But then, Lady Rosalind was not exactly like the composite of the woman he’d had in his head. Despite her dramatic faint into his arms, she seemed rather stalwart. In truth, he doubted she’d ever fainted in her life. She was not the sort for handwringing or weeping.
And somehow, she’d managed to hire herself a pickpocket.
“All I say is, now that you are apprised to what lengths Lady Rosalind will go on your behalf, perhaps look at her with new eyes. I do not like to imagine what she might try next,” Lady Hightower said. “She is frighteningly enterprising.”
“I cannot think there will be a next,” Balthazar said.
“Who knows? Maybe she’ll decide to hire an army of pickpockets and run through handkerchiefs by the dozen,” Lady Hightower said.
Balthazar drained his brandy over that thought.
“Now, I will kiss your forehead and you can be off while this old bat goes to bed.”
Balthazar took his leave. He also decided that, on the off-chance Lady Rosalind was planning to hire an army of pickpockets to steal her handkerchiefs, he would send her a dozen embroidered.
After all, it did not say anything in particular. It was only a gentlemanly response to a lady’s self-proclaimeddarkest hour.
He found himself laughing all the way home.
*
Tattleton paced hisquarters. There might be some individuals with a less incisive mind than his own that believed in coincidences. He did not.
It was his experience that when one viewed what might appear coincidence, if one brought a more critical evaluation of the circumstance to bear, one would discover it was not a coincidence at all.
Was it ever a coincidence that fires were started in the house at the same time that Lady Cordelia was leaping around lit candles as Desdemona? No, it was not.
Was it a coincidence when they had four young cats in the house last season and then suddenly it was discovered that some sort of animal had been into Cook’s icing for a cake? No, of course it was them.
Perhaps it was only a coincidence that he’d overheard the ladies of the house mention a pickpocket, and then Lady Rosalind was accosted by a pickpocket.
