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“Well, I don’t know what my plans are at this point,” he said.
“I do hope you’ll join us for dinner one evening,” Bathsheba replied. “My husband will insist on it.”
That was a bridge too far, since Beath and John cordially disliked each other. A scowl returned to his face, and he gave Bathsheba a stiff bow.
“Give my regards to your husband, ma’am.” Then he flicked a cool glance in Samantha’s direction. “I will be staying in town for several days, Samantha. Before I leave Edinburgh, I will make whatever decisions I feel are necessary.”
Samantha managed a shallow curtsy. “Please know that I am at your disposal, sir.”
He gave a brusque nod before stomping out of the room.
“Pleasant as always, I see,” Bathsheba sardonically commented.
With a groan, Samantha plopped down onto the sofa, rubbing the back of her skull. Her friend settled next to her.
“I suppose I overdid it by telling him that John would wish to see him.” Bathsheba wrinkled her nose. “Sorry, pet.”
Samantha tried to think past the furious headache. “It wasn’t you. The old bastard wants to take Felicity away from me. He says I’m an unfit guardian.”
“That’sridiculous,” Bathsheba said, outraged. “And John will certainly have a few words to say about that. We’ll think of something, I promise. John and I will fix everything. We won’t let Beath take Felicity away from you.”
“I’m not sure anyone can fix it,” Samantha wearily replied. “Not this time.”
Because this time, she’d made a cock-up of everything, and she had only herself to blame.
CHAPTER16
Bathsheba, dressed in a frilly wrapper while she lounged on the silk chaise in her dressing room, scooped up a coconut pastry from the tea tray.
“Samantha, youmusttry one of these. They’ll be smashing for your fundraiser.”
Samantha looked up from yet another checklist in her notebook and cast Bathsheba a distracted glance. “If I sample anything else, I’ll not be able to fit into this silly dress.”
Donella Kendrick was seated on a padded stool at a dressing table that was piled high with bandeaus, turbans, and other expensive headgear, gingerly inspecting a gigantic, feathered headband.
“That dress is far from silly,” she said, glancing up. “And it’s the perfect color for you, Samantha.”
“It should be,” Bathsheba said. “I picked it out for her.”
“Unfortunately,” Samantha muttered as she inspected her reflection in the standing mirror.
Miss Boland, Bathsheba’s dresser, critically eyed her before pulling another pin out of the pincushion strapped to her wrist. “You could use a little more weight on you, my lady. I’ll have to take in three inches of fabric at the waist.”
Boland was a truly estimable woman who had served her mistress with unswerving loyalty for years. Although a bit stern and always dressed like a widow in perpetual mourning, she had impeccable taste and an unerring eye for the latest fashions. Unfortunately, Bathsheba had decided to unleash her on Samantha. The last thing she wished was to parade about in a stupidly stylish gown designed to attract attention—particularly male attention.
She juggled her notebook and pencil as she tugged at the alarmingly low neckline. “Boland, I’m practically falling out. Surely it’s not supposed to be this revealing.”
The dresser gave her a gentle slap on the hand. “It’s just sagging because I haven’t made the adjustments yet. And it’s not too low. It’s just right for the line of the gown.”
“Lord Beath will have an absolute conniption when he sees this. Besides, I’ll probably catch pneumonia from exposure.”
Bathsheba chuckled. “I know a certain man whowon’thave a conniption. Then again, you might give him heart palpitations when he sees that you actually do have a bosom.”
Samantha waggled her notebook, dropping her pencil in the process. “Stop. You’re being absolutely ridiculous again.”
Her dratted friend had been teasing her about Braden Kendrick all morning. It was driving her batty, all the more so since it would appear that she’d developed an unfortunate schoolgirl crush on the annoying man.
Bathsheba widened her eyes. “I only ever speak the truth.”
