twenty-three
EDITH MASSAGED THE back of her neck. Her body wasn’t used to reading and focusing all day anymore.
Since she’d made a deal with Perry, she was reading in his study while he read more boring agricultural reports at his desk. Also, she preferred the quiet of his house to the chaos of the constant visitors her parents received. Not to mention that Edith didn’t want to be disturbed by Daphne. Dr. York worked next to Perry, avoiding looking at her whenever he raised his gaze. Still, the fact he stayed there without blushing was an improvement from their last encounters.
She yawned. “I’m rusty.”
“I’m sure you’ll do great. Do not worry,” Perry said, putting aside a folder.
“Medicine is the most noble pursuit,” Dr. York said. “Your father must be proud of you.”
“I love him, and he loves me, but to be honest with you, I expected to see him happier or that he would have hugged me. If anything, he looked angry when I told him I wanted to study again.”
“Because he cares about you and is worried.” Perry reached out and took her hand.
She acknowledged the little quiver at the bottom of her stomach. “At least he promised me to search for a qualified teacher for the test.”
The butler opened the door. “My lord, there’s a Mr. Simmons who wishes to see you and Miss Winkworth.”
Edith tensed. “I’ve never heard the name.”
“Please show him in, Mason.” Perry stood up when a man in a fine, tailored suit walked in.
Mr. Simmons carried a leather bag under his arm. “Lord Ravenscroft, thank you for seeing me. I’m Mr. Simmons, senior solicitor at Thomson & Passmore.”
A sickening lump crawled into Edith’s throat. That firm was the oldest and most famous in London; its solicitors were employed by the top echelon of aristocracy and politicians. Mr. Simmons had to be there for a serious reason.
“Please take a seat.” Perry exchanged a glance with her.
The solicitor sat down and opened the bag. “I represent Lord Neville St. George, Master of Tallbridge, and Mr. Jonathan Clarke, the owner of the Scarlet Room.”
Edith suppressed a gasp. Dr. York scowled.
Mr. Simmons spread a few documents on the desk. “Miss Winkworth spent a night in the Scarlet Room in the company of Lord Neville. Is that correct?”
She cleared her throat. “Yes.”
“Do you recognise your signature in the Scarlet Room’s contract?” He showed her the ten-page contract she’d signed weeks ago.
“I do,” she said.
He flipped through the pages, muttering under his breath. “This section”—he showed her the part in fine prints—“is a binding contract between you and not simply the Scarlet Room’s owner but its customers. I believe you lost a bet against Lord Neville while playing a card game in the Scarlet Room.”
Perry gave her an encouraging nod.
“I did, but what does that have to do with this?” she asked.
Mr. Simmons steepled his fingers together on the desk. “The verbal contract you agreed upon with Lord Neville can be enforced by virtue of the contract you signed.”
“I don’t understand,” she said.
“In other words,” Perry said, jaw tensing, “unless Miss Winkworth honours the terms of her agreement with Lord Neville, she might be fined.”
“Or go to prison for breaching the agreement,” Mr. Simmons completed.
“This is absurd.” Perry furrowed his brow. “It was a nonsensical bet, and Miss Winkworth has no intention of yielding to Lord Neville’s demands.”
“I don’t really remember having agreed to the bet,” she said. “I was drunk.”
