Page 18 of The Baron Takes a Bet
“At the very least, you will have London-made gowns,” Holly said. Was a modiste really necessary at all? Perhaps they could skip that expense altogether. “Supposedly, Mrs. O’Kirk, the housekeeper at Bairnsdale Terrace has a very steady hand.”
“The housekeeper?”
“Yes.” Katrina remained silent, causing Holly to glance up. She saw her sister’s brow scrunched together as she chewed on the inside of her bottom lip. “What is it?”
“It’s just…” she started but shook her head. “Never mind. I’m sure it will be grand.”
Holly gave her a reassuring smile but understood her hesitation. Even though she was bright and beautiful, reassembled gowns wouldn’t give Katrina much edge compared to all the ladies paraded about London. Every season, the events seemed to become more and more spectacular, and they were both aware of how important it was for Katrina to make a match.
Just then, Mr. Jorden arrived, holding a tray of letters that he presented to Holly. She scooped them up.
“Thank you, Jorden,” she said.
He nodded and turned, leaving just as quietly as he had come. The first letter in her pile was Clara. She read it eagerly.
Evidently, Clara’s sister-in-law, Lady Violet Winters, was hoping to reach London before the season so that she might attend to her wedding dress, which was being made by the most exclusive modiste in London. Lady Violet had recently become engaged to the Earl of Trembley’s youngest brother, Fredrick. Clara was writing to ask if Violet could be escorted by Holly and the new baron to London as the dowager duchess was away in Italy for the season and Clara and Silas were needed in Bristol to secure some building for one of her father’s inventions.
Of course, Holly would welcome Violet and immediately sent off a missive saying yes. The second letter she read, however, robbed her of all her joy.
The spindly handwriting of Mrs. Charlotte Payne stared up at her, and the letter became suddenly heavy in her hands. She wanted to avoid it, to throw it away and not read whatever condolences were given in its contents, but knowing Charlotte the way she did, she knew it would announce a day of a visit, and it was always better to be prepared rather than surprised.
Holding her breath, she tore open the letter.
Dearest Holly,
Bertram and I called on Felton Manor the daybefore but found you weren’t in residence. We will be around Kingston House at noon.
Sincerely,
The Paynes
Holly reread the letter several times before dropping it to the table, only to see her sister’s concerned expression.
“Charlotte?” she asked, apparently aware of Holly’s discomfort.
“Is it that obvious?”
Katrina stood, finished with her meal.
“You only ever look like that when Charlotte or Bertram are brought up.”
“They’ll be here before noon,” Holly said, just as Mr. Jorden reappeared.
“Mr. Mannion is here,” he said quickly. “I tried to stop him, but—”
“Where is he?” A bellow from the hallway echoed through the dining room. A short, red-faced man with thinning grey hair and bright blue eyes entered the dining room. He pointed his finger directly at Holly. “I demand you hand him over!”
The Mannions and the Smyths were longtime neighbors who had always gotten on quite well, though the relationship had diminished in recent years. Old Mr. Mannion had been angling to buy Felton Manor for months to expand his farm and while he had been polite and charming at first, he had become increasingly less so since Holly’s first refusal. He had continued to offer, each time decreasing his price until it had become close to insulting. Holly hadn’t seen him since their last tense encounter, when he offered her a hundred pounds for their entire property, citing that the tree that had fallen on the manor had eviscerated the property’s worth, as if the house was the only part of the property that had any value. It was a ridiculous idea,since it was the land he wanted anyway—if shehadsold it to him, he would have just knocked the house down anyway.
“Who?” Holly asked, standing, hoping that he wasn’t searching for Jasper.
A whiff of mint suddenly filled the air.
“Don’t pretend that you don’t know who I speak of,” Mr. Mannion spat. “Your brother will pay for this, that bast—”
“Excuse me.”
Gavin’s calm, strong, masculine voice seemed to echo throughout the room, catching everyone’s attention. Mr. Mannion whipped around.
