Page 70 of Her Impeccable Scoundrel
Perhaps she shouldn’t have confirmed that she’d burned the copy of the will Sir Morris had been carrying. He’d merely surmised those were the papers she was burning from what Coralie had said; if anyone else heard the story, there was no reason to suspect the papers had been the will.
She had debated talking to Coralie, asking her to keep quiet about what she’d seen, but that would only make Coralie suspicious, and once the dear girl decided to ferret out a secret, she could be relentless. If Coralie should mention to anyone else that she’d seen her burning papers the day Sir Morris died, she could simply say she was upset about the will and was burning something else—love letters from Archie perhaps.
A wretched lie about a wretched husband who’d never written her any such letters.
“Lord Chilcombe will return soon,” Hermione called from the card table. “You know how these gentlemen go on when they’re together without their ladies to hurry them on.”
Blythe sighed and leaned her shoulder against the window and then her pulse quickened. A carriage had passed, obscuring the view of a man near the park and… there. Lord Vernon was crossing the street, dodging a curricle and a town coach, hopping over a pile of horse droppings and advancing on Chilcombe House.
She slid into the window curtain and waited and… there. Another man lounged against the iron fence surrounding the park. Mr. Morley had thought to set a minder to follow Lord Vernon.
The dastard had trotted up the front steps of Chilcombe House and disappeared from view. She quickly moved to the door and slipped through it to stand out of sight on the landing and listen.
“Neither Lady Chilcombe nor Lord Chilcombe are at home,” Adwick said.
“Come, come, Adwick. I know that’s not true. I know they’ve just returned from a long journey, and I haven’t seen either of them go out.”
“They are not at home, my lord,” Adwick said firmly.
“Wait.”
She imagined Lord Vernon stopping the door with his foot.
“May I come in and write Lady Chilcombe a note?”
“I’m obliged to tell you that?—”
“Not even a note?” Lord Vernon exclaimed.
Blythe heard movement behind her and saw Will whizz by and fly down the stairs. He wore trousers and a shirt, but otherwise, he was barefoot and in deshabille.
“Captain Lynford.” Lord Vernon laughed. “Done in by your labors last night, I see.”
“My labors, my arse,” Will said with a laugh that she knew was forced. “You’ll be lucky I don’t spew on you, Lord Vernon. Heard you speaking to Adwick and thought I’d come down and let you know I’m alive. No thanks to your company last night. What’s your message for my sister? I’ll relay it to her.”
“Will you, Lynford? Oh, I fear it might be too personal for her brother’s eyes.”
Blythe held her breath, praying that Will would see that the weasel was baiting him.
“Oh well, that’s all right,” Will said. “Adwick, fetch a pencil and paper for his lordship and he can write it right here.”
“The hall table?—”
“Right where you’re standing, there’s a good lad. I’ll turn around and you can use my back for a desk. It’s alright, Adwick, he won’t stab me with the pencil. You, come here, please,” Will said. “This here’s Chilcombe’s new, er, porter. No livery yet. What’s your name, fellow?”
A low voice grumbled out a name.
“Blythe did need more servants.” She heard the sneer in Lord Vernon’s voice and wondered if he had worked out the Runner’s true role.
“Here’s another new man,” Will said cheerfully. “And here’s Adwick with paper and pencil. Now go ahead and scribble that note and maybe save the long love verses for later. Oh, I said I’d turn around.”
“On second thought,” Lord Vernon said, “I’ll call again when her ladyship finds herself at home.”
“Where are you off to?” Will asked, masking his impertinence with that same cheerful elan. How was he managing it?
She heard the sound of the heavy door closing.
“Bring that chair for the Captain,” Adwick said.
