Page 9 of Any Rogue Will Do
Mrs. Pringle brought a platter of food and two plates. The older woman grimaced as she looked Lottie over. “How are you feeling this morning, your ladyship?”
“Cranky,” Lord Amesbury answered for her.
The glare Lottie shot at him made her wince when her bruised eye protested the movement. “Perfectly fine, Mrs. Pringle. I thought I’d walk into the village later. Where can I purchase more of the lemon bath oil you provided yesterday?”
Mrs. Pringle beamed. “My sister makes the oil, and many others besides. Go to High Street and look for the shop’s blue door.”
“Well then, I’ll explore High Street after I break my fast. Thank you.”
Lord Amesbury served himself seconds and handed her a plate of food as Lord Carlyle sauntered to their table. “Well, aren’t we cozy? Lady Charlotte, you’re looking better than expected.” Carlyle lounged against the wall behind Amesbury’s chair and stole a sausage from his friend’s plate.
“Get your own breakfast, thief. An’ leave her alone. She’s no’ chatty in the morning.” Amesbury stabbed at Lord Carlyle’s hand with his fork but wasn’t quick enough to save the second sausage.
Carlyle grinned at her around a mouthful of stolen goods. “Let me guess. You feel as if you’ve been thrown in a sack and beaten with a cricket bat?”
Lottie couldn’t help laughing. “Something like that. I’ll mend. Thankfully, so will my coachman.”
“He’ll keep the leg?” Amesbury asked.
“Yes. He’s tremendously lucky. The doctor is very skilled, as Mrs. Pringle said.” Carlyle eyed the empty platter in the middle of the table. “You may have mine if you aren’t too picky about from whom you steal.” Lottie pushed her plate in his direction. The level of pain in her body seemed to be impacting her appetite. Watching the friends interact was utterly fascinating, though. It revealed a playful side of Lord Amesbury. Yesterday’s confidence, then apology, and this morning’s teasing conversation with his friend made her wonder how many more layers there were to the man. He wasn’t the one-dimensional villain she remembered.
Lord Carlyle grinned. “My endless thanks, Lady Charlotte. Mac, I like her.”
Despite the fact that he somehow managed to be even more animated than Amesbury at this ungodly hour, it was difficult not to like Lord Carlyle in return. Lottie smirked when Lord Amesbury rolled his eyes.
That they were sitting here, not only civil but nearly friendly, struck her as strange. Last night’s apology must have been working on her years of animosity while she slept, because instead of hiding behind her raised hackles, she’d found this breakfast—well, nearly enjoyable. Though it pained her to say it, she might not hate the man as much as she thought. Trust him? No. Genuinely like and esteem him? A laughable concept. But maybe she didn’t wish him to perdition.
In her defense, it had been a great apology.
“Eat quickly, Cal. We should get on the road. Lady Charlotte, thank you for the pleasure of your company this morning. I hope your coachman makes a full recovery and that you’re back tae fighting form soon. Perhaps we will meet in London.”
Lord Amesbury sketched a shallow bow while Lord Carlyle finished the last bite from her plate. Carlyle bowed over her hand. “You are a gem, Lady Charlotte. Thank you for breakfast. Might I ask a small favor? Don’t forgive him too quickly. Watching him grovel is fun.”
Chapter Five
As Lottie rattled into Town in one of her father’s older traveling coaches, her teeth knocked together, and she bit the tip of her tongue when the coach hit a hole in the cobblestone street.
Darling held tight to a leather strap overhead, looking slightly green around the gills. “If it’s this bad for us, how is poor Patrick faring?”
“I gave him the well-sprung carriage, but I’m sure the journey will be hard. His recuperation will be easier at home, though. You gave him the laudanum?”
“Yes. Not that he’ll use it. But one can hope.” Darling craned her neck to see out the dusty window. “Are we close to your godmother’s house?”
“I think so. Although after so long delayed at the inn, just the fact we are in London means we’re close.” The week had felt like a year. She and Darling had spent their days with Patrick, trying to keep his spirits high while they waited for help from home. His injury was too serious to risk placing him in the hands of strangers in a hired carriage. At least tending to his care had given her something to focus on besides her encounter with Lord Amesbury and the general dread she held for returning to London.
Town was so stifling—and she wasn’t used to those restrictions anymore. In the country, a maid was sufficient companionship for sticklers of propriety. But London society saw and judged everything. They gossiped behind chicken-skin fans, eviscerating the next generation over tea, living in the hope that they’d be the first to share the latest tale of misfortune—assuming the misfortune belonged to someone else.
Lottie’s days of wandering about as a perfectly capable unsupervised adult were behind her. Lady Agatha would fulfill the role of chaperone through the turbulent waters of thetonand with any luck would stomp on Lottie’s toes to prevent improper things such as conversations about the works of Mary Wollstonecraft.
Outside the window, the buildings transitioned from sporadic to claustrophobic, one structure built atop another. She probably wouldn’t want to wander in London anyway. Only a fool would attempt to navigate these streets alone.
“The town house in Berkeley Square is under construction at the moment. Aunt Agatha leased a home not far away, on Hill Street. The architect assures her they’ll finish before winter, but we shall see.”
At last, the carriage drew up to the address from Agatha’s most recent missive. An ancient man so thin he resembled a walking cadaver answered the door. He stared with a silent, unblinking stillness until Lottie handed him her card.
The butler bowed his head in acknowledgment, no movement wasted. “I am Dawson, milady. Lady Dalrymple awaits you in the front drawing room.”
“Thank you, Dawson.” Their steps echoed across the tile floor of the foyer, the sound filling the cavernous space before fading into the plasterwork on the ceiling. In the comfortable drawing room, her walking boots sank into the plush carpet.
