Page 25 of My Lord, My Rogue
She turned to her aunt and hugged her. “It was from Lord Willington. He wants to take me on a carriage ride.”
“That is wonderful! I cannot help but feel hopeful for you. This is a real courtship, my dear.”
“It certainly feels that way.” She hugged the note close.
* * *
Benjamin foundhis unsent missive to Lady Aster sitting on the corner of his desk two days after he had written it. With all the worry that dratted masquerade ball had created, he had forgotten to send it. He had found the Runners and appraised them of the situation, only relaxing when he was satisfied with the security measures in place. At least he had met them, and they knew what he would wear, as he did with them.
He had not seen Jess. However, knowing that the queen’s security contingent was on high alert relieved him of at least some of his angst. People were taking this threat seriously.
Any ball presented dangers, and given the history of Warren’s antics and his misplaced conspiracy theories regarding the regent, the masked gathering heightened problems. The Runners told him the masked ball was Queen Charlotte’s choice and her security staff had taken special precautions, requiring tickets to be specially signed by the hostess committee. That could be hard to recreate, he tried to reason.Not for a spy, a small voice returned.
He pulled his watch from his waistcoat and checked the time. It was only ten—still early. He opened the door to his study and walked down the hall toward the front entry, not wanting to wait. “Weathersby, I need a footman to deliver a message.”
“Yes, my lord.” The man came up from behind him.
“Deliver this to Brook Hall immediately, and please have the messenger wait for a response,” he directed.
“Of course, my lord,” the retainer said before hurrying off to do his bidding.
It was fortuitous that I found that unsent invitation early, he reflected. He had about three hours before he would need to ready himself if she said ‘yes.’ He remembered something else and looked for the greatcoat he had worn when he met Jess yesterday.
As he fumbled through the myriad of pockets, Weathersby walked up behind him. “My lord, a footman is taking the missive.”
“Thank you, Weathersby,” Benjamin replied, distracted.
“Have you lost something, my lord?”
“No . . . er . . . well, I purchased something yesterday and I cannot seem to find it,” he finally admitted.
“Would that be a small brown package, my lord?” Weathersby opened the small closet near the front door and withdrew a carefully wrapped package from the top shelf. “I found it on the floor shortly after you arrived, but was not sure who had dropped it. I put it up here for safekeeping.”
“I find myself in your debt, Weathersby.” He took the small package and tucked it into his greatcoat pocket. “So, I will not forget it,” he said aloud, as he patted it.
“Yes, my lord.”
“Right. I need to get back to my study now,” Benjamin said.Lud!He was falling all over himself.He was not sure he could continue courting this woman if his brain was turning to mush after only a few days of it.
“Good morning, Benjamin,” his mother said, calling his attention to the top of the stairs. “I wonder if you might spare me a few minutes of your time this morning.”
“Yes, Mother. What did you have in mind?” A vein throbbed in his head. She was up to something. He sensed it had to do with Honora.
“Let us discuss it in your study,” she offered.
He waited and held his arm and escorted her into the study. “I was about to have some tea, Mother. Would you enjoy some?” he asked.
“I would. In fact, I asked Marie to have some delivered in your study.” She smiled.
A footman arrived, as if on cue, with a tea set and a small plate of biscuits.
“Allow me to serve,” she offered.
He watched while his mother took her time filling the two teacups and then shaving off the amount of sugar she desired from the tong. Stirring her tea, she nestled into the comfortable leather seat next to him and sipped her tea.
At last, she spoke. “I have come by a rumor that I do not know what to do with. My head tells me to ignore it, yet my heart tells me I cannot in good conscience do that. It would be simply,” she paused, “un-motherlike.”
“I have never heard you so concerned about the veracity or the destination of a rumor, Mother. I had suspected your visit had more to it than you were willing to let me believe.”
