Page 36 of Avenging the Earl's Lady
As she left her footman and blended into the crowd, Shaldon pulled down the brim of his hat and followed.
She wasn’t here to shop.She simply kept moving, brisk and sure, all the way through the arcade and onto the street beyond.
Jane slippedup the empty staircase quietly and knocked on a dark paneled door, waiting.Light filtered in through a skylight above, highlighting the fading paint, nicked moldings, and worn stair runners.
The door opened and the starched servant who answered flashed her an astonished look.
She handed him her card and put a hand on the door.“I’m here to see Mr.Penderbrook.”
He cast a worried look over his shoulder.
She slid one sturdy half-boot forward.“Is he presentable?”
“He is…” He glanced at the card.“He is at breakfast, my, er, lady.”
Pasting on a smile, she pushed the door open and brushed past him.
Quentin Penderbrook was a young man of four-and-twenty, but the look on his face when he saw her was that of an astonished toddler.Wonder and shame warred in her, as it had each time she’d seen him.
But she must proceed.She was tired of lies and secrets, and he, above all people, deserved the truth.
If she could bring herself to it, he also deserved a good dressing-down.
He shot to his feet and fumbled with the ties of his banyan.A bachelor, he’d just risen from his bed and strolled into the next room to dine, much as she’d done in the rooms she’d taken last year when she and Sirena arrived in London.
“My lady.”The servant hovered nearby.
She turned on him.“I must speak with Mr.Penderbrook in private.”She handed him a coin, and he looked at it, perplexed.
Not very bright, this servant.
“Run out to the corner and buy Mr.Penderbrook whichever newspaper he is missing.”
When Penderbrook nodded, his man left.
“My lady, I’ll just go and finish dressing.”
His trousers peeked out below his dressing gown and above his house slippers.
“No.Please be seated.”
Fumbling again with his banyan, he looked around.“Will you join me?Have a, er, coffee?”
She nodded and began to pace.He picked up the serving pot and put it down again.Only one cup and saucer graced the table.
“I’m quite fine,” she said.
He remained standing.
He was a gentleman, with handsome looks, and handsome manners.He wouldn’t sit unless she did.
She pulled over a chair and sat, and so did he, perching on the very edge of his seat.
“Are you well, my lady?”he asked.“I’d heard a rumor you were…you had not returned from Yorkshire.”
She shook her head.“I should, perhaps, have done this differently.But I am here, and I will speak.”
His eyes went impossibly wider and he sat up straighter.“No, my lady, let me call you a hackney and escort you home.You are too far above me…I am a mere vicar’s ward.”
