Page 63 of A Vow for the Viscount
He blinked, then frowned. “No, not yet. It’s a day or two behind, but nothing unusual—not this early in the spring.”
“Still,” she said gently, “you’ve always told me a good captain sends word ahead.”
“I did say that, didn’t I?” He sighed and reached for his coffee. Barrington mentioned it yesterday, as a matter of fact. He said he might have someone look into it, just to be cautious.
Mary-Ann raised her brows slightly. “Who?”
“I didn’t ask. Likely one of his men or Quinton, perhaps. He said someone was heading to Scarborough.”
She nodded, absorbing the information. So Barrington was already investigating.
“I’ll make time this afternoon for the ledgers,” her father said, his voice gentler now. “Just like old times?”
“Just like,” she echoed.
And for the first time in days, the tension in her shoulders eased a fraction. The balance was shifting subtly, but real. She could feel it in the air, as surely as the scent of toast and tea.
Mary-Ann was not halfway up the stairs when Lydia appeared at the landing, hands clasped, smile fixed.
“Miss Seaton,” she said brightly, “I thought perhaps a drive to the park this morning? The air is lovely, and Mr. Wilkinson said it would be good for your nerves.”
Mary-Ann paused two steps from the top. “My nerves are quite sound, thank you.”
Lydia’s smile flickered. “Well, a change of scenery—”
“—would interfere with my schedule,” Mary-Ann said pleasantly. “But I’m sure you’ll find something else to occupy yourself.”
A flash of something passed behind Lydia’s eyes, irritation, perhaps, or calculation.
“Very good, miss.”
But she didn’t move. Instead, Lydia offered a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
“You won’t have to worry about managing a house once you’re married,” she added smoothly. “I’ll be there.”
Mary-Ann stopped short, blinking.
Lydia’s expression turned smug. “Mr. Wilkinson has hired me as the housekeeper in his new home. I thought I ought to get accustomed to the rhythm of things.”
Mary-Ann said nothing. Not yet. But her smile returned, calm and unreadable.
So that was the game. Not a companion, but a shadow in silk. A presence that slipped in too easily and watched too closely.
Mary-Ann continued, her steps unhurried. Behind her, she could hear Lydia descending the stairs, the sound just a bit too sharp.
She had nearly reached the hall when the drawing room door flew open.
“There you are!” Mrs. Bainbridge swept in, trailing a bolt of ivory ribbon and a folded invitation. “You must come help me. A baron’s nephew is now refusing to sit beside a viscount’s daughter, and I’ve been told the cake baker is threatening to elope with the florist.”
Mary-Ann blinked. “Is that… figurative?”
“Not even slightly,” Bainbridge said. “They’ve taken a chaise and three bottles of champagne and are nowhere to be found.”
Mary-Ann clapped her hand over her mouth. Had she just laughed? Out loud? She hadn’t expected to find a moment of absurdity tucked between suspicion and worry, but Mrs. Bainbridge always managed it. “Come,” Bainbridge said, linking their arms. “We’ll rescue the guest list, restore order to the ribbons, and pretend your lady’s maid isn’t sulking like a slighted governess.”
Mary-Ann allowed herself to be swept along. Tuesday mornings with Mrs. Bainbridge had become a welcome routine, even if they sometimes came with ribbons and minor noble chaos. For now.
They were halfway through arranging seating cards by rank, reputation, and likelihood of political offense when Hollis stepped discreetly into the room.
