Page 92 of The Smuggler’s Escape

Chapter 20

Richard waited impatiently for Lady Ariadne to return. His mother and Sir Matthew were playing piquet, while Lucretia patiently plied her needle. With his typical twisted logic, Sir Matthew forbade her to play cards, pronouncing that only the most stouthearted and righteous of individuals could do so without risk to their immortal souls. Daniel Davison had left early, on the score of having to write the eulogy for the funeral tomorrow.

Lady Darsington sat in a chair by the fire, flipping through a recent number of The Lady’s Magazine. Where was Noelle?

“Your betrothed has the headache,” she said smugly. “And you owe me eleven pounds.”

“Is that all?” Richard feigned disinterest and strolled away, intending to check on Noelle, but came upon Dot and Harry Walsh just outside the drawing room door. The girl was smiling and laughing—and holding Harry’s hand. Quick work, Harry. Richard raised a brow intending to convey both appreciation and a warning.

Harry rolled his eyes. “So far, so good. You’ll just need to giggle a bit more, sweetheart.” They continued into the drawing room. Richard hovered in the doorway to watch.

Harry murmured something, and Dorothea tittered. It wasn’t convincing to Richard, but it succeeded in alerting Lady Darsington. “Dearest child, wherever have you been?” She glared pointedly at the couple’s clasped hands.

Dorothea reddened and extricated herself hurriedly from Lord Harry’s grasp.

“Coward,” he whispered.

“I am not,” she hissed back, and straightened her spine. “I was out on the terrace, Mother. It was frightfully hot in here, and Lord Harry kindly took me for a stroll.”

“My pleasure entirely, Miss Darsington.” Harry’s lascivious drawl was perfection. Richard stifled a laugh.

“My dear child, how foolish of you,” Lady Darsington said. “Whatever were you about to go aside with Lord Harry? You will ruin your reputation with your improper behavior.”

“Oh, but it was such fun, Mother,” Dorothea simpered. “Lord Harry is a most agreeable companion.”

“How could I be anything else in such charming company?” Harry grinned.

“Tsk,” Lady Darsington said. “Dear child, I know your poor heart is aching with love for Richard Boltwood, but only have patience and everything will turn out exactly as you wish.”

“Patience?” Dorothea cried.

Behind him, Richard heard Lady Ariadne’s tripping step. She came up beside him in the doorway.

Dorothea caught sight of this notable gossip, clamped her mouth shut, then visibly threw caution to the winds and faced her mother again. “I have exhausted all my patience. I mean to determine my own fate, and I will create as much scandal as it takes to achieve my ends.”

“There, there, child,” Lady Darsington said. “I know you are suffering, but you mustn’t go about with a rake to make Lord Boltwood jealous. You are much better bred than that. Ah, here is Lady Ariadne. My dear, I should love to see the pattern your man brought.”

Lady Ariadne gazed blankly down at her empty hands. Richard watched her dither for a long moment and offered gently, “I suppose he brought the wrong one.”

Lady Ariadne raised her eyes, blinking rapidly. “Yes, yes, that’s precisely it, Lord Boltwood. The wrong one!” She tittered.

Dorothea wasn’t about to be diverted by such an irrelevancy. She firmed her jaw and put her hands on her hips. “Mother, you know perfectly well I wouldn’t marry Richard even if he wasn’t already betrothed. Humiliating me isn’t going to work. Nothing will work. I don’t want to marry. You can manufacture compromising situations and maudlin stories all you like, but I shan’t marry Lord Boltwood or anyone else. After all, if I’m in the mood for a kiss or two, I can always go to Johnny Magee.”

Lord Harry made a choked noise. By this time everyone was staring—Sir Matthew affronted, Lucretia wide-eyed, and Richard’s mother exasperated. Dorothea turned to the gaping Lady Ariadne. “Shall I fetch a pencil and paper, so you can take notes? It would be a pity to forget even a tidbit of such juicy gossip.”

Lord Harry whistled under his breath. Richard chuckled.

“As—As a matter of fact,” Lady Ariadne said, “I do need a pen and paper.”

Excellent, Richard thought. “In a moment. I’m enjoying this little scene far too much.”

Lady Darsington pursed her lips. “My dear child, the Irish are known to be supporting the French. I am sure that dirty tinker is conspiring with the spy.”

“Johnny is doing no such thing,” Dorothea said. “If anyone here is a danger to England, it is you, Mother. I intend to tell Father just how indiscreet you have been.”

Lord Harry cleared his throat. “Bravo, Miss Darsington. I think you’ve made your point. How about a touch of brandy—and another stroll on the terrace?”

Richard’s mother saw fit to intervene, ordering Lord Harry to stop making mischief and sending the footman for more tea. With dignity, she returned her attention to the cards. Dorothea, pleading a headache, excused herself and left the room.