“The duchess is your aunt?”
“A courtesy title only. My friend Gabe is the duke’s nephew and heir. She and the duke feel much more comfortable with informality. I’ll explain later.”
“Yes, you will. My imagination was running wild. For a moment I thought you’d brought us to a well-to-do brothel, and the duchess was the madam, or procuress, or whatever such people are called.”
Darby’s bark of laughter caused her to flinch slightly.
“It’s her gown,” she went on quickly. “I’ve never quite seen so many ruffles.”
“She wants the dressing of you,” Darby said, offering her his arm once more. “Apparently she and the other ladies have decided you and Marley are to move about in Society while you’re here.”
“You aren’t going to allow that, are you?”
He was actually becoming used to the idea, odd as that seemed to him. The sight of Sadie Grace Boxer in fine silk and pearls might prove interesting. In fact, the more he thought about how displeased that same Sadie Grace appeared to be, the more he approved the ladies’ plans.
“The dressing of you, no. I’m afraid the ladies are quite set on the rest of it. You could have remained at the cottage, not that I’d be so crass as to point that out to you.”
“No, you’d never be that, would you? And where will you be, my lord, once you’ve successfully dumped your responsibility in that sweet old lady’s lap?” she asked, taking his arm and forcing a smile to her face as they at last entered the enormous drawing room.
He had one thing to say for the woman. She could hold her own in a give-and-take of words. Of course, he wasn’t sure that could be listed as a compliment, not when she was also so clearly concealing something from him.
“Hiding in a cupboard under the stairs most quickly springs to mind, Mrs. Boxer, but I do believe that won’t be allowed. Shall we be on with it? I’ll introduce you to the ladies and be off about my business for a few days, giving you and my ward time to...settle in. You’ll be safe here. In every way.”
“Her name is Marley, and we’re both in mourning. It would be highly improper for us, me most especially, to go into Society.”
“I’m convinced John would understand, under the circumstances. Well, Mrs. Boxer? I don’t hear any argument coming from your direction, which is refreshing.”
“That’s only because you’re correct. John specifically asked that Marley not be subjected to a year of mourning.”
“And?”
“And I agreed,” she muttered before Clarice Goodfellow, never one to wait patiently for anything, came at them, all but cooing in pleasure over the smiling Marley she carried along with her, the child’s legs wrapped around her hip.
Darby quickly counted noses. Besides the duchess and Clarice, Minerva Townsend was present, along with Gabe’s Thea and Coop’s Dany. More than needed for a witches’ coven.
Five against one. Seven, if he counted Sadie and Marley.
Darby introduced, bowed, kissed hands and excused himself within five minutes, lamenting that he could no longer keep his cattle standing.
Marley, he was certain, was the only one who didn’t know he was lying through his teeth.
WHAT A DIFFERENCE a few days can make. From sorrowful country mouse, to panicked hare on the run, to pampered pet curled up snug as a bug in a rug in the middle of fashionable Mayfair, Sadie’s entire life had seen change after rapid change.
Could she relax now? It seemed so, at least for the moment. Except, of course, for the fact that Marley’s curious guardian had been noticeably absent for five entire days, but would be calling on Sadie in a few minutes, supposedly to take her for a stroll in the square.
What pleasant surroundings for what was sure to be an inquisition, at least thankfully without the thumbscrews or rack.
Five days. More than enough time for him to have stuck his nose where she wished it would never go. Time to think up a dozen questions she’d have to answer without hesitation, without fear. Without telling him the whole truth.
“Did you kill him?”
Yes, her days with the ladies had been chaotic, bordering on delightful, but her nights had been filled with those four carelessly drawled words and the memories they evoked.
The viscount had this way about him, Sadie had decided. Even in such short acquaintance, she had recognized his intelligence, for one, and his curiosity, for another. He had a rather silken way about him, saying things that seemed innocuous and even slightly silly on the surface, but with an intensity of purpose behind every carefully careless thing he said. He didn’t goad her, as he’d done at the cottage, because he was a mean man, but because she hadn’t had sufficient time to produce a more convincing story, and he had seen straight through her.
Not to the lies themselves, thank goodness, but to the fact she was telling them.
She’d actually believed herself to be on relatively solid ground until he’d asked her why he should believe her as to Marley’s identity, her own identity. He’d certainly had every right to ask the question, but she hadn’t been prepared to have her word doubted. She had proof, certainly she did, but to show it to him would open the door to everything else.
“There you are, Sadie. He’s downstairs. Don’t forget your new cloak and bonnet. And just you wait until you see what he’s brought with him!”
Sadie snapped out of her uncomfortable reverie, surreptitiously wiped at her damp cheeks and unfolded herself from the window seat overlooking the mews. Smoothing down the same light blue morning gown she’d worn the first time she’d met the viscount, she looked at Clarice, who was all but hopping from one foot to the other, apparently in some anticipation.
What a lovable creature she was, and lovely into the bargain, from her blond curls to her saucer-size blue eyes, to her...interestingly curved figure. But it was her open and carefree nature that made Sadie feel so comfortable around her, and she knew she had found a friend.
Clarice Goodfellow viewed most everything to be either delicious or wonderfully exciting and worthy of exclamations—be it the materials the ladies had picked for Sadie’s and Marley’s new wardrobes or the fact that the Cranbrook chef had prepared sugared berries for dessert.
“My goodness, Clarice, did the man bring a pony with him, or perhaps a monkey on a chain?”
Her new friend looked crestfallen for a moment. “No, neither of those.” Just as quickly, she brightened once more. “But very nearly as wonderful.”
Sadie patted at her hair as she did a quick inventory of her appearance in the mirror—she must have looked into the mirror more often since arriving at the cottage than she had done in her entire life—picked up her borrowed cloak and bonnet and followed Clarice out into the hallway. “Then we must settle for very nearly as wonderful. I will do my utmost to hide my disappointment.”
“Oh, he didn’t bring anything for you, silly. He brought it for Marley.”
Sadie found herself tipping her head slightly and smiling. The viscount had brought a gift—a very nearly as wonderful as a pony or a monkey gift—for his new ward? Wasn’t that sweet. And thoughtful. Perhaps she’d been judging him too harshly, and he was more delighted to have a ward thrust upon him than he was interested in asking questions.
No, she doubted that. He had probably brought the gift just so that she would relax, feel in charity with him, and then he’d start in on the questions once more.
Oh,