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“I am not—”
“Mrs. Whitaker,” he said firmly.
“I did not realize you were the earl,” she murmured with a huff.
“So you most certainly did not come to apologize if you did not know me to be the earl.”
She pressed her lips together and gave a tiny shrug. “I thought you would be old and ugly.”
A laugh threatened to burst from him. No one had called him handsome in some time—and he cared little for his appearance, especially now his one duty to Society was done in the form of the wedding ball, but some small part of him rather liked that she did not think him hideous.
A small part that he needed to bury deep, deep down. Somewhere near China perhaps where it would never be discovered again.
“I am not young.”
“You are hardly ancient. What are you? Eight and thirty?”
“Forty,” he informed her.
“That explains why I do not know you. I was out in Society a lot later than you.”
“A lot later. How flattering.”
“I am ten years younger than you. It is a simple statement of fact.”
Yes, ten years and far less experienced in life. Which was likely why she thought this disguise would work for whatever it was she had planned.
“You cannot distract me from—” he gestured up and down her “—whatever this is.”
Mrs. Whitaker sighed and folded her arms. “You must have heard about my sister Eleanor.”
“Lady E,” he murmured.
“Indeed.”
“If it helps I do not believe for one minute she had any involvement with my...footman.”
She shook her head. “But the rest of Society does not agree with you.”
“The rest of Society is a pox.”
Blinking, she frowned. “I am not certain about that.”
How naïve she must be. How wrapped up in her opinions that she would be willing to dress like this and…he narrowed his gaze…had she spent time in the sun to darken her skin? He could swear he spotted freckles upon her nose and around her forehead where they had not been before. How he loathed how much the women of the ton cared for gossip and opinion. This woman was no different to those who had slighted his father.
“They have your sister practically ready for the noose,” he pointed out.
“It has its moments, I’ll admit, but it is not all bad.” She scowled. “But that is not important.” She unfolded her arms and set her hands to her hips. “My sister would never take a lover for one.”
“I do not think Mr. Harper would take a lady as a lover either.”
“And she said she spoke with him and he was quite happy—in love even. Not the sort of man who intended to kill himself only moments later. Not to mention what a strange place it was to do it. Why hang oneself at a ball?”
“It is strange,” he admitted, “though men with addled minds do not always make sense.”
“I do not expect you to care.” Her tone bitter, she waved a hand. “No doubt he is merely a servant to you and simply an annoyance. Now you must find a new footman.”
“You do proclaim to know me well at times, Mrs. Whitaker.”
