Page 8 of Long Live the Baron
“Of course!” He stepped forward to lean in and kiss her cheek, breathing in the scent of roses from her warm skin. No man could deny that the delightful Harriet was an alluring companion, with soft curves and provocative shadows that made a man think of the sensual activities to be enjoyed in the next room. Stepping back, he smiled down at her. “Did you enjoy your evening?”
“What unique events have unfolded this day! We shall never see another coronation as grand as this one. They are saying it eclipsed that of the little French tyrant himself. Did you hear a tailor went to Paris to study the emperor’s robe?”
“I heard that a veritable fortune was spent on the day’s activities,” Brendan responded dryly, but Harriet failed to note the sarcasm.
“It was a day that shall never be rivaled,” she continued, the red flags at the top of her cheeks displaying her excitement. Or, perhaps, she was tippled as he had thought moments earlier?
Brendan chuckled. “I am glad you enjoyed your day. And evening.” He thought spending such a fortune on a single day was shallow and irresponsible, but it was nice to see her so ebullient.
“Evening, darling? I reached home at six o’clock in the morning! A sure sign of an excellent night.”
Brendan gasped. “Six o’clock? I must go!” Grabbing his gloves from the side table, he cursed under his breath. He was not afraid of the baron cutting him off, or anything like that. The old man was too obsessed with maintaining appearances to allow his heir to emerge penniless. Nevertheless, he did not wish to exacerbate their tense relationship with no stratagem to run the baron off back to Somerset.
Making for the door, he ignored Harriet’s offended expression at being put aside to stride out. He needed to get home immediately.
* * *
Lily opened her eyes,finding her book had fallen to the floor when she had dozed off in the early hours. Sitting up, she peered out the window, blinking the blur of sleep away to find the first threads of dawn were stealing over the rooftops of Mayfair as Lady Slight’s carriage drew up outside her home. The widow came into view after several moments when she walked to her front door in a cape and evening gown.
Lily’s forehead furrowed in surprise. Had the widow left Mr. Ridley waiting all evening for her return? That seemed inconsiderate, even if their relationship was of the disreputable sort.
Stretching out in a manner that would have earned a rebuke from Mama if she had witnessed it, Lily stood up. If she had slept in the drawing room, her parents and Aidan must still be out and about at their various gatherings, or Mama would have woken her to send her to bed.
Suddenly, her attention was caught when the front door of Lady Slight’s townhouse flew open and Mr. Ridley came striding out, heading down the street with a frantic demeanor. Had he fallen asleep as she had and failed to notice the passing of time? Apparently, he needed to reach somewhere in a hurry.
Leaning down to grab her book, Lily headed to the door. It was high time she went to bed. She hoped Mr. Ridley was close to home, because she doubted he would easily find a hackney at this time of the morning.
CHAPTER3
“Be extremely subtle, even to the point of formlessness. Be extremely mysterious, even to the point of soundlessness. Thereby you can be the director of the opponent’s fate.”
Sun Tzu, L’Art de la Guerre (The Art of War)
* * *
JULY 20, 1821, THE DAY AFTER
Lily was eager for an outing with her cousin. After a restless night falling asleep in the front drawing room, she had gone to sleep in her bed and awakened fresh and ready for a visit to Hatchards with Sophia to peruse the latest novels. After yet another unsuccessful Season, Lily admitted she needed a respite from social events and meeting with people she barely knew. Sophia and she could relax and enjoy each other’s company without Mama watching her closely like a falcon protecting its nest of hatchlings.
She was wearing a muslin walking dress in the customary white that her mama insisted on. Lily pulled a face at the figure in the full-length mirror in her room. White was not a flattering color for a pale young miss with brown hair and brown eyes. Ever since Sophia married, she had enjoyed the privileges of a countess, which included a flattering wardrobe of the blues and spring colors that suited her red-blonde hair and blue eyes. But even before marrying, Sophia had enjoyed more latitude as Mama’s niece than Lily could ever hope for.
How was she to attract the attentions of a handsome—and young— gentleman when she looked washed-out and childish?
Shaking her head in disgust, she drew on a pastel blue spencer, which also did not suit. Mama wore rich colors, such as claret, saffron, and Egyptian brown. From their similarity of complexion and coloring, Lily knew these hues would elevate her appearance, but Mama would not relent about the whites and pastels, which she persistently insisted was the appropriate attire for a young debutante.
Not so young of a debutante any longer.
Lily grimaced at her reflection. Indeed. After three Seasons, she could no longer claim to be young.
Drawing on her kid gloves, Lily departed her room to head downstairs. Sophia would collect her on the hour, and Lily could not prevent a slight skip in her step at the opportunity to leave the Abbott townhouse without her family in attendance.
Reaching the hall, she checked the time on the casement clock before moving to the window overlooking the street, where she gazed out in anticipation.
And gazed.
And gazed.
Checking the time once more, Lily paced the hall. It was not like Sophia to be late, and she had sent over a footman two days earlier to confirm their appointment despite all the coronation events her cousin was to attend as the Countess of Saunton.
