Meanwhile, in Mayfair, a somewhat drink-addled man rang the bell at the front door of a large townhouse for the third time, or possibly the fourth.
“Dammit, all of Ashworth’s bloody servants must be deaf,” Preston Holt muttered to himself, leaning against the front door for a moment and then steadying himself on the large, ornamental knob. “The lights are on, so someone must be home.”
He rang the bell for the fifth time and almost fell forward into the hallway as the front door was finally opened by a tall, dark-haired butler of supercilious expression.
“Lord Holt to see Lord Ashworth,” Preston announced himself with the careful speech of the very drunk. “I rang the bell five times. Five times! Tell Lord Ashworth that it’s Lord Holt, my good man.”
“I know who you are, but why are you here on my doorstep, interrupting my dinner?” demanded a querulous voice before its grey-bewigged owner came into view from around a corner. “That’s what I want to know, Holt.”
“Lord Ashworth!” Preston crowed. “I am glad to see you still in London. When you didn’t answer my notes, I thought you had gone away to the country. But I thought I’d try once more in person.”
Seeing the man swaying on his doorstep and not wishing to have his business aired before his neighbors, Lord Ashworth gestured for the butler to usher his visitor inside.
“I didn’t answer your notes because I had nothing to say, Holt,” Lord Ashworth replied with contempt. “First, you promise me a bride. Next, you say she has pre-wedding nerves. And finally, you admit she has vanished. I learned from theTimesthat your other niece has married a duke and brought Miss Mary into their household. Did the Duke of Greyhaven offer a higher price?”
“It was beyond my control, Lord Ashforth,” Preston pleaded. “The Duke of Greyhaven and Cecily must have been plotting against me for some time. She always was a young viper in my bosom, but I had no idea she would go this far.”
“What are your family problems to me, Holt?” Lord Ashworth scoffed. “I have already had to cancel a wedding and suffer the pity of my local vicar and family. Take your whining to your new relative. He might be more willing to listen than I am.”
“But what if you could still have Mary?” Preston bargained desperately. “Would you take her at the same price if you could?”
“I cannot have Miss Mary,” Lord Ashworth answered flatly. “She is far from any influence you might exert and likely poisoned against me by her harridan of a sister.”
“I have a plan, Ashworth. I have been thinking it over the whole afternoon.”
“Drinking it over, more likely,” Lord Ashworth muttered, his nose twitching.
“I know how we can bring both of those damned girls to heel,” Preston insisted.
“What about Greyhaven? You cannot think of crossing a man like him, and they are both under his protection.”
“Oh, he won’t want to protect either of them once I’m finished,” Preston announced gleefully. “That’s the best part. He’ll be glad to be rid of them both.”
Lord Ashworth’s eyes narrowed as he considered. Then, he nodded. “Follow me to my study.”
CHAPTER 24
“Ten more minutes should do it,” Cecily murmured to herself as she wiped the sweat from her forehead with the corner of her apron and consulted the large clock on the shelf behind her.
It was almost three o’clock in the morning on a warm summer night, and the stove in the kitchens had been burning for over an hour now, baking two fair-sized batches of bread which would be appreciated by the local orphanage and the poor of the parish.
It had been a long habit of Cecily’s to bake bread when she could not sleep. Back in London, she had known all the local charities and had been able to deliver the bread by hand. Mary had been forbidden to accompany her, likely for fear that contact with the poor and sick might somehow ruin her marriage prospects. Cecily had been a lost cause for years.
Despite begrudging all the money spent on them, their grandmother and uncle had never objected to Cecily’s charitable baking, basking instead in the glory of being known as a public-spirited family. Cecily thought it was a cheaper way of gaining esteem than actually donating money.
A sudden rumble of masculine laughter interrupted her thoughts and almost made her drop the last tray of loaves as she took it out of the oven.
“I knew I could smell fresh bread baking, but I had no idea that the baker was the Duchess of Greyhaven herself,” Nathaniel’s voice said with great amusement. “Are there no end to your surprises?”
Setting the tray down safely on the stovetop, Cecily composed herself and turned to him.
“I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I would do something useful,” she replied matter-of-factly. “I had no idea that anyone else was still awake. I hope I didn’t disturb you.”
“I could not sleep either, although I often keep late hours. I was in my study, thinking, and then I smelled bread. It is always an irresistible smell, so I followed it.”
Cecily nodded, wishing that he had not mentioned his study and glad that she was already so pink from the heat that her blush would not be visible. She had tried to put their most recent encounter out of her mind, still unable to comprehend or classify what had happened between them.
“If you would like a piece of fresh bread, it will not matter if we cut one,” she offered. “There are still many more left.”
