Page 33 of The Marquess' Wicked Wager
Violet sat opposite Jonathan, and Albert worried trouble was afoot. She rang for tea which must have stood for something. “So, you expect me to believe one of the most reputable tattlers in all of London did this…for what? For lack of substance? For lack of story?”
Albert looked to his uncle for help, but the man seemed too enamored with Lady Rees to fight her on this. His support was only in his presence, it seemed. “I cannot say why they did it. I have not the faintest clue. I only know that it is not true. I have not...” he hesitated, looking between his two interrogators, “I have not seen Miss Serendipity in years.”
“Miss Serendipity Hargrove?” There was a great quiet then as Lady Rees examined Albert head to toe. “You mean to say, youhavedallied with Sissy? You confess!”
Albert ran his hands through his hair, dropping his hat to one side. A footman was quick to come and scoop it up. “I am not confessing,” he asserted, “Not to anything recent. But yes, once upon a time—” He wagged a few fingers in the air, leaving the rest up to interpretation.
Lady Rees tutted. “Why should I believe you? It sounds like a convenient lie.”
“I haveeverythingto lose,” Albert proclaimed so ardently he sent the words down every nerve of his body. “Miss Worthington, our betrothal…I would not trade it for a whole world of temptation.”
“You do care for her, then,” Violet said, and her thin brows were low and set in stone. Albert took a step back. He had not expected to win Lady Rees over quite so easily. He had not known how he had done it. He stood silently and was thankful when Violet spoke again.
“I can see she worships you. It’s in the way she looks at you. The way her eyes catch the light when she speaks of you.”
Was that true? Albert dipped his head. Edna was not that convincing of an actress. In fact, he found her quite terrible in that regard. Surely, she could not summon enough talent to speak worship with her gaze. But if Violet spoke true, then…
“So, I ask again,” Lady Rees urged, “are you as enthralled by her as she is by you?”
Memory of Eugenie and his mother flashed before his eyes, and he knew he needed to sayyesfor their sake as much as Miss Worthington’s. But once the memory of them faded, there was only Edna. And the thought of her was not only fueled by his desire to right his father’s wrongs.
“I am. I do care for her,” he avowed. “And so I must ask you this—allow her to see me that I might speak with her.”
Lady Rees’ eyes welled with tears. She pried a vinaigrette from her nearby reticule and took a long sniff. “You have won me over,” she said with full theatrics, her arms out, open-wide. “But I cannot give you what you seek.”
“Why?” Albert looked up at the ceiling as though he could feel Edna through the floorboard. “She’s not here, is she?”
“She’s out. She will be out for a good while. She is on her way to Norfolk to spend some time with her Aunt.”
Albert blanched. “But you know where. You must. And if you do, you must help me. For both our sakes.”
ChapterFourteen
Edna flicked her pencil over her sketchpad, quickly jotting down the blueprint of a landscape she could better draw later. The area just outside of Plumich was one of her favorite stretches in all of England, and she would never pass up the opportunity to capture it—not even while her heart was irreparably fissured.
She drew her eyes up from her pad and looked over to where Violet was sitting opposite her in the coach. “And you’re quite sure, there’s no modiste in London who would do the trick?”
Violet breathed in deeply as she tore herself from the carriage window. She dropped her gaze immediately. “No, no, my darling. She is the only seamstress in all of England who knows how to bend tulle to her will. And I must make the most of it before we head back for London.”
Something was bothering her godmother. Edna could always tell. She knew nothing was amiss with Lord Miles, for Violet continued to speak at length of him. She had since she had arrived at the Worthington’s second home a few days ago. Edna wondered whether Violet was more upset over Edna’s betrothal breaking than her godmother let on. Edna certainly was, despite the fact that it was completely and utterly fictitious.
She tapped her pencil against her sketchpad. “Godmother,” she murmured, “You have not heard from the Marquess since I took my leave of London.”
Violet’s painted lips twisted as if to conceal a smile. “No, my darling. I have not.” She looked up then. “Would you have liked for me to have brought news of him with me?”
Yes, Edna answered inwardly, but she merely shook her head.
The coach plodded down a narrow, cobbled road which meant they were approaching the village proper. Edna peered out at the passing houses, unsurprised to find the day gloomy and wet. The cottages were lined up and down with ivy, and it all looked rather picturesque. Edna began sketching again, the scratching of her pencil rather soothing until at last, the coach came to a halt.
Violet darted out of the coach quicker than Edna had ever seen her move, and it almost knocked the footman off his feet. She rushed around to Edna’s side and waited with seemingly bated breath as her goddaughter alighted the vehicle.
Wherever Violet had brought her, it didn’t look like a modiste’s at all. A small sign outside the two-storied building read,“Ginbury Lodgings”. They were at a drattedinn.
“What are we doing here? Unless the barkeeper moonlights as a seamstress, we’ve quite arrived in the wrong spot.” The footman drew out two cases from the boot, and Edna struggled for more to say. Thankfully, Violet filled in the blanks.
“I wanted to…take some time off. Just you and me. We shall rest here for the evening, away from the prying eyes of Mrs. Mary Clinchon, and head into town in the morning,” she supplemented.
“This is all rather strange,” Edna said. “Are those my things?” she asked when a footman passed with her trunk.
