Page 102 of The Lyon Whisperer
“Walk with me?” he asked.
She nodded, and the two—three, if she counted Roddy—set off along the wood perimeter.
As she had several times since receiving Lady Harriet’s well-meaning advice, she contemplated sharing her theory with him that no shopkeeper worth his salt would name names to a solicitor.
Fear pricked her, as it had from the moment she developed her scheme. At once she realized why she held back. It wasn’t his displeasure she feared, but the idea he might scoff at her efforts.
He treated her with the utmost consideration, and his lovemaking stole her ability to think. But what if she discovered he did not respect her the way she did him?
And why would he? Certainly her father always found her notions “hare-brained.” Why wouldn’t her husband? The two seemed birds of a feather in many ways.
No, she wanted to—needed to—prove herself and saw her investigation into the fabric source as an opportunity to do so.
Her upcoming dinner was another opportunity to show her worth.
“I received the final RSVP today. Everyone I invited has agreed to come.”
He nodded and his mouth curved up slightly. “Remind me who’s on this illustrious list.”
She narrowed her eyes on him. Was he making fun of her? “My father,” she began, “whose presence lends credence to any affair. Your aunt and uncle, who bring a degree of levity and whom everyone likes.”
She waited.
He nodded.
“Lord and Lady Selbie,” she continued.
His dark eyes sharpened on her. “He has been one of the hardest swing votes to pin down. I have yet to speak with him at all, despite my best efforts.”
She smiled inwardly. “I understand he leads the faction of the most fiscally and socially conservative. Where he goes, others follow.”
“He’s tightfisted,” Chase summarized. “It’s doubtful I can draw him to my camp.”
“If anyone can, you can,” she said, “and I have often heard my father say, forewarned is forearmed—politically speaking.”
“True. It would be helpful to know what I’m up against, assuming I can’t reel him in.”
“You shall assume no such thing,” she chastised.
“Yes, madam wife.”
“Lady Frommer, the dowager duchess of Glastonbury, to balance things out.”
“An interesting choice.”
Amelia bit her lip. “The dowager’s husband, the late duke, worked hard to better the lives of the common man, and, as I recall, his duchess worked tirelessly behind the scenes, hostingsoirees, balls, dinners, luncheons, even welcoming traveling diplomats into her home when it behooved her husband for her to do so.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“My, you have done your homework. Where did you come by this information?”
The Ladies’ Literary Club members, of course.“One hears things.”
“I see. A week from Saturday?”
“Yes. That reminds me—you recall I will need the carriage to go into town again this coming Saturday, do you not?”
