Page 19 of Nothing But a Rakehell
“There you are. I hadn’t expected you to come down to dinner, but then I heard you weren’t in your rooms either. Is something amiss?”
“Only me. Again.”
Hope sat down next to her. “Is it Lord Keswick? He . . . saw you?”
“Yes.”
“And his reaction?” she asked gingerly.
“Everything one could hope for. He acted as if it were nothing.”
Even in the dim light, she saw the relief spread across her sister’s face. “Oh, good for him! I had hoped he would.” She raised her brows. “You know, perhaps seeing him first out riding was a good idea. He got to know other things about you first.”
“Yes, but he deduced that I expected him to act badly. He was insulted.”
“Oh.” Hope sighed. “Yes. I can see that.”
“I owe him an apology, Hope.” She raised her brows at her sister. “And I think I know how to deliver it.”
Chapter 5
Keswick came down late to breakfast the next morning and dined in sulky, solitary splendor. The earl and his countess were off, preparing for further guests and being productive and happy, no doubt. The sister was likely hiding again, or plotting further insult, or perhaps just lurking about thinking evil thoughts about him.
He nursed a cup of coffee and thought about returning to London. He’d lost his taste for the country. Or perhaps, just for country girls. Surely he could avoid Miss Vernon for what was left of the Season?
A footman entered, carrying a small silver tray. He stopped next to Keswick’s chair.
“This came in the post for you, sir.”
With a nod of thanks, he took the letter. Grinning, he noticed Chester’s seal on the back and opened it up.
Kes,
I dohope Tensford is not boring you past tears with cows, crops and fossils. Strike that—I highly suspect he is—but even so, I dash this note off to tell you that you’ve done the right thing.
That Vernon Girl is a menace.
The damned chit has got a maggot in her brain that your trip to Gloucestershire is a sham. She believes you are still in London and just attempting to avoid her. She’s begun haunting your usual spots, driving past your rooms and club several times a day. She spent an entire afternoon lying in wait outside of Angelo’s and I swear, I saw her carriage parked down the street from the gaming hell we left early this morning.
She’s hunting you, old boy, and if she catches you, she’s going to stick the steel pin of matrimony through your gullet like one of those simpering butterfly collectors and mount you on her wall.
And if she ain’t enough to keep you inured in the country, I heard last evening that your father has come to Town.
So, even if farm life has numbed your brainbox and has you thinking of returning—don’t do it, man. Better to stay where you are.
Give Tensford a good smack and tell him it’s from me . . .
Yrs . . .
Chester
Keswick droppedthe letter like it burned. Good heavens, what had he done to deserve the attention of a harpy like Alice Vernon? He winced, then, at the absurdity of the question. What hadn’t he done? Nonetheless, he wasn’t going to give in to her, no matter how richly he deserved her. And his father? He shuddered. Nothing he’d done, no matter how wicked, could demand a visit with his father to balance the scales.
No, Chester was right. He could far better stay here and tolerate insults and boredom.
Scratch that. Boredom, he discovered as he left the dining room, was not on the menu today.
Lady Glory lay in wait for him. She sat on a bench in the entry hall, a young gentleman standing nearby. The young man held his hat in hand and looked to be attempting a conversation, but she was watching the doorway through which Keswick emerged.
