Page 45 of Enticing Odds
Matthew furrowed his brow. What could he say? What did a viscountess need with a mere doctor?
“I’ve…” he began, casting about for something, anything. “I’ve agreed to… inspect…” Finally it came to him, something not far from the actual truth. “Her library. She asked me to inspect the collection, wishing that there be no gaps in knowledge, for the education of young Master Caplin.”
“Oh,” said Sir Frederick, sitting back in his chair. “It is a tremendous collection,” he admitted.
Matthew released his breath, and took another delicious bite.
“I could’ve sworn she was up to something…” Sir Frederick muttered. He looked back to Matthew, his expression hard. “She’s slippery as an eel, I tell you. Always scheming. One day I’ll sort it all out.”
Matthew swallowed. Just as he hadn’t expected Sir Frederick to be so dreary, he certainly hadn’t expected him to regard his sister so cynically.
“Why don’t you just ask her?”
Sir Frederick recoiled. “Ask her what?”
“Whatever it is you wish to know.” Matthew supposed he should refrain from shrugging, even in the strangers’ rooms, meanly appointed though they were.
“And why would I do a thing like that, Doctor?”
Matthew felt his ears burning as he set back to his soup. He hoped, if the day ever came when he stood for election, that he would somehow learn how to fit in here. For at the moment he was floundering.
And lying. He could practically hear Aunt Albertine’s droning voice in his head, reading flatly from Proverbs.
Well. He would have to tell Lady Caplin of his deceit, lest she be caught out by Sir Frederick. But that meant facing her alone once more.
He ate another delectable spoonful and prayed that their next meeting would not take place in the conservatory. It was enough to drive any man mad, the humid air and the sweat running down her neck, her—
“What did you say your club was?”
Sir Frederick’s censorious tone brought Matthew back to the here and now. His stomach sank to the floor.
“Er… the Transom Club.”
“Never heard of it.”
Matthew thought of his humdrum little club, with its solicitors and retired newspapermen, and his heart hurt.
“Oh,” he said weakly.
Just then, before either man could utter another word, the mop in the corner decided it had had enough, and fell to the ground with a spectacular clatter, knocking away the empty bucket, which rolled along its edge in a meandering, snake-like manner until it came to rest just before their table.
Sir Frederick sighed.
“None of those upstairs, I can assure you.”
“It’s…” Matthew began, fumbling for something positive to say. Unfortunately, it ended up being, “It’s a fine specimen, as buckets go.”
“Yes, well.” Sir Frederick sneered.
Matthew decided to hold his tongue for the rest of the meal.
Chapter Twelve
“It’s rather vile,” Cressidasaid, her tone neutral even as her words were harsh.
What else was one to say when faced with a stuffed beast as colossal as this? Why, the thing must’ve been nearly as long as a coach and team, from snout to tail.
“From the Nile, did you ask? Yes, my lady, it is, and a fine specimen too. Rare to find a crocodile of this size.”
