Page 33 of Why Do Earls Fall in Love?
Oh, she did indeed have her work cut out for her.
She dampened her own enthusiasm, stilled and reached for a detached demeanor. “How are you today?” she asked calmly—and saw relief flash behind his eyes.
“I am well, thank you. I have news. And something for you.”
“Please, sit. Will you have tea?”
“No, thank you. I won’t stay long. But I thought you’d like to hear about my meeting this morning.”
He explained and she had to remind herself to rein in her enthusiasm. “Double Anne’s dowry?” she asked. “And a sum for George, too?” There was no curbing the flood of gratitude she felt, but she directed it down into the grip she tightened on the arms of her chair. “Thank you. Thank you so very much.”
He shifted in his seat. “Yes, well. It’s less worry for you that way, and frankly, it’s the least that Burchan can do.” He cleared his throat. “There is another matter.”
She watched as he pulled a wallet from his coat, taking out a set of papers and smoothing them over his knee before offering them to her.
She took the papers, a question in her gaze. Examining the top one, she read it over—then covered her mouth with a hand. “Oh! How did you . . ?”
“I had help. Lady Tremaine summoned the work crew who set up her garden lights and Chester intimidated them until the culprit confessed. It’s all true. Signed and witnessed. Proof that your cousin bribed the workman and arranged our mishap. The question is, what do you want to do with it?”
“What do you mean?”
“You have options. You could give the information to the papers. They would love to create a scandal out of a jealous girl’s machinations. You could confront her yourself. Or you could just tease her with your knowledge and let her suffer in doubt about what you might do.” He shrugged. “I did tell her father I had evidence. It’s probably making him insane, wondering.”
“I don’t know.” It wasn’t triumph she was feeling, only sadness over her cousin’s baseless enmity—and a bit of confusion. Honestly, she should be grateful to Harriett for setting this marriage in motion, but saying so would only send Whiddon into a tailspin.
“I thought perhaps you would like to go to the art gallery this evening,” he ventured. “Sterne said that Penelope invited you. Society will attend. Likely Harriett will, too, if you should wish to make use of the evidence.”
“Must I do anything with it?”
“No. It is entirely your decision. But I would recommend keeping the evidence safe, just in case you need it in the future.”
“I will.” She hesitated. “Penelope said that Sterne meant to obtain a special license.”
“He has.” Whiddon’s expression had gone flat. “Chester insists that he will host the wedding in his townhouse. It will be tomorrow afternoon, if that suits you?”
It suited her. It thrilled her. It scared her almost as much as the idea of no wedding at all. She couldn’t admit to any of that, though. She just nodded, instead.
“You don’t wish to attend the gallery showing tonight, then?”
“No. Although I hate to miss the art, I’ll be happy if I never have to see Harriett ever again.” She gave a vague wave of her hand. “I have a few matters here still to arrange. Also, it might prove awkward to go out, to see people . . . before . . .”
“Before. Yes. Well.” He abruptly stood and took her hand, bowing low over it.
A great shiver went through her, threatening to unravel her completely. She knew he felt it, too. It was a mutual arousal that fed her body’s responses, but it was the carefully built wall he tried to hide behind that touched her heart.
“Tomorrow, then,” she said softly.
“Yes.” He’d shuttered everything behind those variegated green eyes, but she knew it was there. “Tomorrow.”
