“Nobody does, Sandren,” Cordelia said in a conciliatory tone. “It’s theton, they like strange amusements and Rosalind has to fit in, does she not?”
“I do not remember anything like this last season, when Lady Beatrice was fitting into theton.”
Viola shook her head. “No, you wouldn’t have,” she said. “Mrs. Ellington was in a confinement last year. Twins, we heard.”
“Proceed, Sandren,” Rosalind said, with what she hoped was authority. “We have little time to lose if we are to prevail on Mrs. Ellington’s goose chase. We are determined to come out ahead.”
Sandren nodded reluctantly and got the horses moving again. Rosalind breathed a sigh of relief, the highest hurdle had been cleared. Everything was falling into place.
She and her sisters wished their aunt good luck and arranged themselves underneath the carriage throws.
Were any footmen of Conbatten’s to peer in and wonder about the blanket covered lumps, they would be told it was luggage.
*
Balthazar stood atthe window of his bedchamber, idly drinking a cup of coffee. The queen had sanctioned his idea of asking for Lady Rosalind’s hand and it felt as if a harness had been thrown off him.
He’d been keeping his desires under a hard rein and now they only grew and bloomed. He thought he understood Lady Rosalind, at least partly. She was a complicated woman and that suited him just fine. Of what he thought he did understand would be required for her future happiness, she must be rescued from danger from time to time. It was a matter easily arranged and he would be happy to oblige.
Of course, he still must ask the question and there was always the chance she might decline him. He did not think so, but she could be a complicated and contrary creature. He would find out how it was to be for him at Lady Bloomington’s masque in a weeks’ time. They would both attend, and a masque was a perfect setting for stealing a lady away to a quiet corner.
Henri had taken the news of his plans as well as could be expected. The poor fellow had been fretting and muttering all morning—“Why? Arno! Happy as we are! Thames! Not too late!”
Balthazar had soothed his feelings just a bit by reminding his valet that he could have chosen someone who would be peering into the servants’ business every minute. He was certain Lady Rosalind would not give a toss for how long they all lounged around or how much of his wine they drank.
Henri had a certain soft spot for his wine cellar, after all.
Balthazar was surprised to see Lord Westmont’s carriage suddenly clatter to a stop in front of his address. He could not see the crest, but he would recognize that fine team of Hanoverians anywhere.
What was he doing here?
As one of his footmen ran toward the carriage, the window opened. An older gentleman who was certainly not Lord Westmont poked his head out. The fellow had the most alarming visage. Were those sideburns? Or a beard? Or something in between? Whatever it was meant to be, it was distastefully unkempt. An odd-looking fellow.
Perhaps it was not Westmont’s carriage after all and there was another matched set of horses looking very like.
The footman was handed a note. The boy nodded and ran back into the house.
Strangely, the carriage did not set off, but remained where it was.
If it were an invitation of some sort, the fellow could not think to wait for an answer? What a strange thing to do, particularly on a Sunday.
There was a rap on the door and Alden came in with the note on a silver tray. “Your Grace,” he said, “a Mr. Rimperton sends this. He informed Benjamin that he will wait for an answer and he demands the answer in writing.”
“Does he?” Balthazar said.
“Naturally,” Alden said with a huff, “Benjamin informed this gentleman that nobody but the king and queen was to demand anything from a duke. Mr. Rimperton then seemed distressed and cried that he was a war hero and had injured his leg and could not come into the house. Benjamin said the gentleman seemed quite upset.”
Balthazar took the note. “Perhaps he has been damaged in the mind,” he said. “He would not be alone in it. Let’s see what the poor fellow wants. I suspect he finds himself down on his luck and there is some loose family connection he seeks out in desperation.”
“Ah, that might very well be the case,” Alden said. “Benjamin reported that the fellow’s carriage is filled up with items covered in blankets. Perhaps it is all his worldly possessions.”
Balthazar nodded. He would not think it at all unusual for a man facing poverty to hold on to his horse and carriage to the last possible moment. He’d probably been haunted by creditors, took what he could out of the house under cover of darkness, and set off.
He opened the sealed letter.
Sir—
I am a baron living nearby Taunton and have been near-engaged to Lady Rosalind Bennington for these past two years. Though the engagement has not been announced, as the lady has so far not accepted, I expect that circumstance to change once I dispatch all other suitors. I am a rash man, Duke, and have been informed that you are often in the company of my one and only lady love.
