Page 48 of Long Live the Baron
“Us?”
“My colleague … John … is dow’stairs. We will be taking shifts.”
“And you are to follow me around? My own home?”
“Yes.”
“Why? Did something happen?”
The … protector … dropped his gaze to his worn boots. “I wouldna know, milady.”
Lily clenched her jaw. Marching past … John … she made for the stairs, running down them in a manner that would have had Mama scolding, while John followed a few steps behind.
Reaching the main floor, she headed to the library, but there was no sign of her missing husband. Lily quickly checked the other rooms, except for the study, which was still closed, but she did pause to place her ear against the door. There were no sounds of life inside.
Each time she turned around, John was there, politely waiting. It was like having a shadow chasing her heels, except this shadow had a heavy tread and his breathing was audible.
Where in the damnation is my husband?
Turning to John, she finally admitted defeat. “Did Lord Filminster leave me a note to explain?”
“I wouldna know, milady.”
Lily huffed in aggravation, no longer caring about the inappropriate display of emotion in front of a stranger. It was not even nine o’clock, and Brendan was gone, leaving only a rough chap as an explanation. The only positive she could conclude was that John was the personification of Brendan’s desire for her to remain safe. Nevertheless, the bleakness of Ridley House was palpable without her husband there to dispel its dispirited fog.
* * *
Brendanalighted from his carriage to stand at the side of the teeming road. Pulling out his timepiece, he confirmed that the time was a few minutes past nine o’clock. He was to meet Halmesbury, Richard, and Briggs in his club at precisely nine, but traffic had held him up. London was awake and lively, with horses, carriages, and pedestrians heading in both directions on St. James’s Street.
“Brendan?” Dulcet tones called out, and he whipped his head around to find Harriet peering at him from several feet away. The viscountess was about to climb the steps into her own carriage. Brendan restrained a grimace. He did not wish to engage in pleasantries with the widow while he had much more important issues to attend.
Lifting his beaver, he bowed politely. “Lady Slight.”
The redhead was attractive in striped muslin and a jaunty bonnet, as she raised a gloved hand to her mouth to giggle, but Brendan really wanted to dash off inside. “So formal.”
He squashed his irritation as Harriet approached him. Glancing around, he noted that there were far too many people to witness their interaction. Had the fact that he was now married emboldened his former paramour to be seen conversing with him on a public street?
Slipping his timepiece back in his pocket, Brendan smiled politely in acknowledgment. Lady Slight came to a stop in front of him, and Brendan’s general temperament and good breeding required he engage while every instinct was to walk away. This woman had no right to his time. She would have seen him tried and hanged rather than risk being married to him.
“Is it true that you wed the silly chit from my street?”
Well, this was a conundrum. How to remain polite while censuring the slight to his bride? “I married Miss Abbott yesterday, but I find that she has a lively mind. Not so silly, after all.”
“My commiserations.”
Brendan could not help it. He frowned. The truth was, he was growing to very much like his new circumstances, but he had no wish to discuss his sentiments with the woman who would not lift a finger to assist him. Now that she had revealed her character, and he had reassessed his own, he had no desire to speak with the widow. He needed to extricate himself and see to Lily’s safety.
Harriet stepped closer. Too close. The cloying scent of her rosewater aggravated his senses, and all he could think was how simple honey smelled so much better than extravagant, gaudy flowers.
Raising her hand, Harriet stroked a slender finger down his lapel, causing him to step back in surprise. “Feel free to visit, Brendan. No need to be a stranger now that you are returning to society’s good graces.”
His brows drew together into a deep scowl at her insinuation. “I assure you that will not be happening.”
Harriet drew her painted lips into a coy smile. “We shall see. The little debutante is bound to bore you, and now that you are a married man … it is all rather perfect for us to continue on.”
Before he could respond, she sauntered back to her carriage. Brendan did not want to create a further scene by chasing her down the street or calling after her, so he was forced to tamp down his outrage and head into the club. He would need to be better prepared the next time he encountered the widow, but right now he had more pressing concerns.
Brendan made his way inside, quickly finding his party at a table in the corner set a little distance away from the other guests. As he approached, he noticed that men were pausing mid-conversation to watch his progress. Brendan resolutely ignored the curious stares. Arriving at the table, he pulled out a chair to flop down. The buzz of conversation slowly resumed, to Brendan’s relief, despite his suspicion that he and Lily were now the subject under discussion.
