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“So is time with your sisters.” Chastity flicked a finger over Demeter’s nose.
“We shall have all the time in the world soon enough,” she reminded her. “When you are in confinement.”
Her sister groaned aloud. “I know. What rotten timing it should fall in line with the Season. I shall go mad with boredom.”
“I shall visit daily,” Demeter vowed.
“As will I,” put in Eleanor and Cassie nodded.
“I can bring Simon,” suggested Aunt Sarah. “He’s most excellent company. He does seem to be shedding somewhat with the warmer weather but you do not mind a little cat fluff do you, Chastity?”
“I do,” Valentine muttered.
“Aunt Sarah, w-will you walk with me?” Demeter forced herself to ask before the conversation continued. At this rate, she would never get her walk done and if she did not, she would feel dull and sedentary.
Not to mention jittery.
It was silly to feel this way—as though every fiber of her being had sparked to life—merely because Blake wanted her help. Merely because she had vowed to help him. She hadn’t seen him for two days anyway and he had likely forgotten all about the promise he had dragged from her.
She blew out a breath. It hadn’t been much of a fight, if she was honest with herself. How could she turn him down? She couldn’t let him reveal her antics—the family had barely survived some made up scandal last year—she could not bring such gossip down upon the family this Season too.
However, she didn’t want to stop her secret activities either. The thought of another Season dragging out in front of her made her shudder. If she did not do something other than cling to walls and bury her head in books or whatever else she could find to distract, she might go madder than a confined Chastity.
Aunt Sarah looped her arm through Demeter’s. “Come then. Let us get your exercise done, then I can sit and eat.” She glanced sadly at the table the servants had set up, laden with fresh fruits and delicate shortbread biscuits.
Aunt Sarah had quite the weakness for biscuits though Demeter preferred hearty food—anything to keep her healthy. She’d already suffered the ravages of a severe illness once; she had no desire to suffer so again.
Her need for a walk was twofold anyway. She needed Aunt Sarah’s counsel. Often, her aunt’s guidance was no more than a lengthy tale of something scandalous. How Aunt Sarah was still accepted into Society, Demeter did not know, but perhaps the stories were embellished. One could never quite tell. Nevertheless, she had to talk tosomeone.
Demeter set the pace, ensuring they walked briskly enough that her heart rate began to pick up. The thick skirts about her ankles hindered her a little, as did the tightly cut pelisse and parasol. In the country, she would wear a simpler gown and forgo any accessories but she had to at least keep up appearances in London. Even her bonnet pinched her head, the pins pressed in so aggressively that they jabbed her scalp every now and then.
“So,” Aunt Sarah said, “tell me all about your conversation with that delectable Mr. Blake.”
Demeter eased out a breath and spied her aunt’s sly grin.
“That interesting, was it?” She tugged Demeter closer. “Tell me all.”
***
“Who are you and what have you done with Blake?”
Blake glanced up from the letter in front of him to spy Ashford taking up the entire doorway of the drawing room. Ridiculously tall, the fair-haired man commanded almost more attention than Blake. Not that he ever minded that fact. Together they drew women like flies to jam.
“I do not see the problem.” Blake shoved aside the letter, set the quill down and cracked his knuckles. No amount of poring over the investigations into his cousin or penning letters demanding more information helped. His cousin’s lineage wasn’t in doubt. Which meant Blake’s instinct could be wrong.
No.
Never.
Ashford strolled over, set his hat on the large, leather-topped desk, and gestured to the stack of letters, some sealed with wax, others open and crumpled from the amount of times Blake had read and re-read them. “You. Writing letters. At noon.”
“Believe it or not, Ash, I have been known to pen a letter or two.”
“Not in the second week of the Season, and not when we had planned to attend Hyde Park together and see what lovely delights are on offer.” Ash leaned against the desk and folded his arms. “And there is the small matter of you absconding with a duke’s daughter at Almack’s the other night.” He spread out a hand and glanced at his nails which were, as usual, impeccably groomed. He buffed one set against his dark green wool jacket, then met Blake’s glare. “It was noted. By many.”
“I hardly did anything wrong. We were in sight of the building at all times. Come, Ash, you know me better than that.”
“You are right. I do.” He pushed away from the desk. “And usually you would have found yourself a comely widow by now. Now, I know I have been trying to persuade you to refine your tastes a little but a duke’s daughter and a spinster one at that? That’s just begging for trouble.”
