Page 66 of Miss Determined
Those facts had also featured in Lissa’s sleepless nights. “I know there truly was a death in his family. We passed his town house on the way here, and the knocker was done up with black crepe.” A detail on an otherwise elegant and imposing façade.
A small detail, and an enormous relief.
Diana leaned near and lowered her voice. “Amaryllis DeWitt, were youspyingon his lordship?”
“Perhaps. All I know for certain is that I am in London to get our solicitors sorted out and to do some shopping. Other than that, I have no earthly notion what I’m doing here.”
Diana straightened and patted her shoulder. “Most of us find ourselves in that posture the majority of the time, Sister dear. You were long overdue for a turn at muddling along. Let’s find Grandmama, shall we? I do believe the situation calls for an ice.”
Diana took Amaryllis by the arm and led the way across the street, and what did it say about Amaryllis that she was willing for once to go where her younger sister directed her?
ChapterFifteen
Trevor had considered many a scheme for crossing paths with Amaryllis.
His first thought was an apparently chance meeting on the bridle paths at dawn, though a discreet chat between grooms confirmed that Amaryllis hadn’t brought a riding horse to London.
An encounter at Gunter’s came under consideration—except a peer in mourning ought not to be treating himself to an ice, much less turning the occasion social while all of Berkeley Square looked on.
A rendezvous feeding the Serpentine’s ducks at some quiet hour might have served, but for the fact that in spring, Hyde Park was never entirely deserted, and ducks made a deuced lot of noise, which would attract notice. They also left disagreeable mementos all over the grass.
The solution had come from the only person Trevor truly considered an ally: Jeanette had mentioned that she was presuming on Sycamore’s acquaintance with the DeWitts to invite the ladies to tea.
Even in mourning, Trevor was permitted to call on family.
He did so at precisely two of the clock on Tuesday afternoon, after having fussed over the propriety of showing up with an amaryllis blossom on his lapel and discarding the notion as beef-witted and fatuous.
Instead, he wore a black armband and the most subdued morning attire Bond Street offered.
“Tavistock.” Jeanette took both his hands and let him kiss both of her cheeks. “A pleasant surprise. You might be acquainted with my guests.”
Amaryllis, attired in a flattering ensemble of raspberry trimmed in gold, sat between her mother and Sycamore on a sofa flanked by enormous ferns. She rose as Jeanette ran through the introductions, curtseyed at the appropriate moment, and held out her hand for Trevor to bow over. Her bare hand, because the ladies were at tea.
“You must join us,” Jeanette said. “My guests have been in Town for only a week, but Sycamore had lovely things to say about Berkshire. I want our friends to have lovely things to say about London hospitality.”
Sycamore had risen to shake Trevor’s hand, and the scheming bounder now found it expedient to take the place beside his wife on the love seat. Unless Trevor wanted to occupy the escritoire by the window—which he did not—the only available seat was beside Amaryllis.
Not subtle, but appreciated.
“How are you finding London, Miss DeWitt?” The impulse to take Amaryllis’s hand with her mother looking on and Sycamore smirking nineteen to the dozen was nigh overwhelming. Trevor denied himself that pleasure not only because propriety demanded it of him, but also because Amaryllis’s military bearing suggested she’d dump her tea in his lap for presuming.
“London is an adjustment, my lord. I imagine you endured something similar in reverse when you sojourned in Berkshire.”
Had Amaryllis put a slight emphasis on the honorific? Was she in some way offended that he’d intruded on this tea?
“I found Berkshire very congenial after years spent more or less in the French countryside. Like you, I find a return to London an adjustment.”
Amaryllis shoved a tea cake into her mouth. Sycamore’s smirk had turned into a puzzled half smile, and Mrs. DeWitt was eyeing the door.
Dieu au paradis.
“Sycamore,” Jeanette said, “might you show Mrs. DeWitt your latest botanical album? I believe you left it in the family parlor.”
Sycamore popped to his feet. “Oh, do indulge me, Mrs. DeWitt. The illustrations are exquisite, and I can ask your opinion on a pair of ferns that are turning up contrary. The family parlor is this way.”
He had Mourna on her feet and out the door in the next instant, with Mourna looking more bewildered by the moment.
“If you’ll excuse me briefly,” Jeanette said after a few more minutes of isn’t-this-marvelous-weather. “I will inquire after a second pot and have the kitchen send up some sandwiches. Tavistock enjoys a healthy appetite, even in the blighted confines of London.”
