Page 18 of Deceiving an Earl
“We are almost ready to go in,” he said.
“Splendid.” She turned back to Oliver. “You are staying, of course. It’s a most excellent ensemble.”
He almost mumbled, “Better than the poetry reading?” but held his tongue and nodded.
“Shall we start herding the people in?” Needham said to her.
Ellen hesitated, glancing at Oliver. “Give me one moment, William, and I will be right with you.”
Needham shot a confused look at Oliver before walking away.
“Call on me tomorrow morning,” Ellen said hurriedly. “There is something I need to discuss with you.”
It took a moment for Oliver to realize what she was asking. What could Ellen possibly need to discuss with him?
“Very well.”
She reached out to squeeze his arm. “Thank you for what you did for Philip the other night.”
“I’m assuming he’s feeling better?”
“It took the better part of the day but, yes, he’s his old self.”
By the way she said “old self” Oliver got in the impression that maybe that was not a good thing, but he held his tongue. He was doing a lot of that this night.
“Tomorrow then,” he said.
She hesitated, as if she wanted to say more, but nodded, then hurried after the doctor.
…
“Really, Oliver, you ask too much. I don’t even know this girl.” Josie had not been as open to showing Amelie around the city as Oliver had hoped.
He’d stopped by his mother’s house on his way to Ellen’s to ask this favor of his sister and had not found Josie in the best of moods. He probably should not have come here rushed as he was.
“Just a ride around Hyde Park. She’s lonely, Jose.”
Josie huffed and put her stitching down. He was stuffed in a small, delicate chair that was more for decoration rather than utilitarian purpose, in her sitting room on the second floor.
“How do you know this girl?”
“I met her at a salon.”
Josie’s brows went up, and she asked a thousand questions with just one look.
Oliver sighed and then thought he might be able to turn Josie to his side with the truth.
“You can’t tell anyone, Jose. Not even Mother.”
Josie sat forward a bit more, curiosity lighting her features. Josie—short for Josephine, a name she despised—was considered a beauty of the first water. She’d had marriage proposals the moment she’d debuted, but nothing Oliver would even seriously consider. More than once she’d told him that she would marry for love or not marry at all, and he adored her enough to take that proclamation seriously. Because he felt the same way. He’d experienced love once, a deep, abiding love, and wanted nothing less with the woman he chose to spend the rest of his life with.
How could he ask less of his sister?
But she was also bored with her life as a debutante. Josie liked adventure and intrigue, and he feared that someday that would land her in trouble.
“I was asked to discover some information on a man named Antoine Bertrand.”
“That sounds French.”
