Page 5 of The Mad Baron's Bride
Gibbs coughed from the door. “Your ladyship. John Burnham, Baron Brancaster of Holme Hall.”
Leda looked up. It washim.
The strangest sensation overtook her body. As if she were a flint that had been struck, and sparks flew from her.
Lady Plume smiled widely. “Brancaster.”
He made a small, correct bow. “Your ladyship. Jack, please.”
“And you must call me Aunt Plume. Do join us.”
Leda’s thoughts piled atop one another like squealing piglets. His name was Jack. He was abaron. Lady Plume was hisaunt?
“Brancaster,” Leda repeated. “LordBrancaster.”
His gaze met hers. “Of Holme Hall, Norfolk.”
“Gracious me, I’ve a shop to open.” Mrs. Limpet half-rose and, when no one stopped her, reluctantly completed the motion. “LordBrancaster.” She fluttered her eyelashes. “A chemist shop on Paternoster Row. I’ve a botanical syrup youmust try for bathing, and a nervous cordial should you have need.”
“Would it aid one contemplating matrimony?” Leda asked, prodded by a contrary impulse. She was all afire now.
Mrs. Limpet nodded with a touch of surprise. “It does, though I recommend the botanical syrup for those approaching the altar of Hymen. My syrup lays to rest the slightest apprehension and leaves the system entirely sound.”
“Then I daresay Mrs. Wroth would appreciate a dose,” Brancaster said.
She glared at him and thus could not miss the shape of his thighs outlined in cashmere breeches, his calves in leather top boots and small spurs. His riding coat of dark green everlasting sported a tall collar, his one concession to fashion, for otherwise his waistcoat was a muted velveret and his cravat simply knotted beneath his chin. Neither a dandy nor a peacock, and he seemed a man who would pay his tailor in full.
“I marvel that I somehow missed your telling me you have a nephew in town, mum,” Leda said to her ladyship, watching Brancaster as he dropped easily into one of the painted Maltese chairs. He seemed bigger in the dainty dining room than he had in the ballroom last evening, his chest broader. Perhaps the coat was padded.
“I told him to find you last night and make you dance, for I was engaged at cards with Lady Oxmantown,” her ladyship said. “Did he not locate you? It was rather a crush.”
“He found me,” Leda said.
“Coffee, tea, or chocolate?” Lady Plume inquired. “If there is anything you might want, Gibbs can produce it. Leda, do hand over the paper. Are your rooms in order, Jack? I wish you would put up here while you are in town. It seems so poor to let family take lodgings.”
“Coffee, please.” He met Leda’s gaze as she pushed theChronicletoward him. “I did not want to intrude on any arrangement you have here, aunt.”
Leda raised her brows. “You refer to me? I am the arrangement?” The thought of him staying in the house, looming in their quiet and orderly space, made her wish a dose of Mrs. Limpet’s nervous cordial was at hand.
His hair was combed back in the latest style, slightly wavy. She wondered if he used curling papers. A woman of lesser fortitude might be taken in by that sensual charm and easy grace, the impression that he walked calm and confident in his own skin.
“I suppose lodging with an unmarried woman might handicap your search for a bride,” Leda said.
He scowled. “I am in search of a governess. I was told you could help me locate suitable prospects.”
She scowled back. “You told me you wanted a wife.”
“Itold him he wants a wife,” Lady Plume said serenely. “I thought you might help with that, Leda.”
“I am not in the business of making matches.”
“No, rather unmaking them, from what I detect.”
“Choosing the wrong partner can be ruinous to a woman’s entire future,” Leda snapped.
He tasted the coffee Lady Plume passed his way. “The same might be said for a man.”
“At least here you can escape the silly rumors that follow you all about Norfolk,” Lady Plume said.
