Page 43 of The Wallflower Manifesto
How many people could say their breakfast had been prepared by an earl? Abe enjoyed the novelty of it very much, but he also enjoyed it silently, so as not to compromise his good fortune.
The urge to needle Freddy, it turned out, was far weaker than the urge to eat quality meals on Sundays.
It was the series of events that started the instant Freddy had vanished around the sidewalk corner that had been the issue.
First, the post had arrived. It was a mighty addition to his stack of neglected papers, but the headline onThe Standardhad been impossible to ignore: HIGH SOCIETY JEWEL THIEF DETAINED BY BOW STREET RUNNERS.
Damn it.
He had become far more invested in solving that blasted case than he should have allowed. It was also his most effective tie to Millie Yardley. Not only had he lost the sorely needed fee for solving the case, but he had now lost his pretense for courting a woman he was completely smitten with.
He didn’t even read the article, tossing the newspaper with frustration and disgust on his study chair and slamming the door to the room as though he could banish the information from existing in his vicinity.
Then the doorbell rang.
He had been in his bedroom, drying his hair, when the bell chimed. It took him a moment to orient himself, and pulling his bracers up over his shoulders, he hurried down the staircase, one side of his shirt still waiting to be tucked into his waistband.
He’d expected a client, or perhaps Freddy had forgotten his key.
Instead, he’d reached the landing to hear a very tense exchange between clipped female voices.
“I don’t understand why he is buying vegetables like some common kitchen boy, is all,” came a breathy, higher-pitched voice. “He is a peer of the realm.”
“He’s a young man who needs some guidance in his life, I say,” replied Mrs. Harrison, not bothering at all to lower her volume. “Might call it mothering, even.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Indulgence leads to ruin,” Mrs. Harrison replied with a haughty sniff. “Discipline refines character.”
Abe found his step speeding up in triplicate to stop whatever the hell was happening at the door.
“Lady Bentley!” he boomed, loud enough to startle both women from their adversarial stances. “What an unexpected pleasure!”
Mrs. Harrison had been akimbo in the doorway, like she’d need to be taken down by a battering ram before she’d let the other woman through. Lady Bentley had drawn herself up to her full height and was staring down her narrow nose at the housekeeper with murder glinting in her light eyes.
Now they both turned to him with a sort of baffled sheepishness. “Please, come in,” he said with a pointed widening of his eye at the housekeeper.
Mrs. Harrison pressed her lips together so hard that they turned white, spun on her heel, and marched back into her kitchen. She said nothing, but somehow her opinion of the whole matter remained very, very loud.
Lady Bentley relaxed her shoulders and stepped over the threshold, shaking her head like she’d just had an out-of-body experience.
“Come to my office,” Abe said, guiding her into the house and kicking the door gently shut behind her. “I will have some tea brewed.”
“No need, Mr. Murphy,” she replied. “I couldn’t possibly stomach a thing. I need to speak to my son urgently.”
“I’m afraid Mrs. Harrison was correct,” he said apologetically, closing his office door and moving to clear the stack of papers from the desk. “Freddy is out on an errand.”
He sat directly on the copy ofThe Standard.
“Whoisthat woman?” Lady Bentley asked, raising her brows. “She wasn’t here last time I visited. How dare she imply I am a poor mother?”
“I’m certain she’d never be so brazen,” he replied uneasily, the sheets of newspaper crinkling under his bum. “I will, of course, have words with her if you wish.”
“I think you’d be wise to rein her in before she offends one of your clients,” Lady Bentley said with a lift of her narrow shoulder, “but it is not my concern today. I have received atroubling contact from a gambling establishment this morning, attempting to collect a debt incurred by my son some two nights ago.”
“Ah.” Abe grimaced.
“You are not surprised,” she observed with a resigned nod. “It is not a substantial debt, Mr. Murphy. I am not concerned about the amount. I am far more concerned that it is the start of another cycle of poor behavior from my son.”
