Lady Be Reckless (Duke's Daughters #2)(11)

“I will be fine. And when I am Lady Carson, you can come live with me and you’ll be able to do whatever you like.”

Pearl’s lips drew into a thin line. “Are you saying you don’t think I will get married? That I won’t have my own life?”

Oh dear, how did she always say the wrong thing? “No, that’s not what I mean at all.” She didn’t think, she just spoke. “It’s just that I thought I would be the first one to get married out of the two of us, because you’re not . . .” She paused, trying to think of the right word.

“Never mind,” Pearl said in a weary tone. “Go ahead and do what you want to. It’s not as though I can change your mind.” She glanced at Scamp, who was kneading her gown with two tiny paws. “As long as you also make it a project to find a home for these kittens.” She pinned Olivia with a hard stare.

Olivia’s heart hurt to think about it. “All of them? Surely not Scamp. Or Snapper. Or—or Mr. Whiskers,” she added, even though they had only chosen two names since they knew naming all four would mean it would be harder to let them go.

Although perhaps she would present one of them to Bennett—he was certain to welcome it gladly, and he’d be reminded of her every time he saw it.

Another excellent idea.

“Mr. Whiskers?” Pearl shook her head, then glanced down at the kitten in her lap, her expression softening. “Fine, we can discuss that. Get Mr. Wolcott accepted by Society and then we can decide what to do with these little love bugs.” She lowered her head to rub her nose in Scamp’s fur.

“It’s a plan,” Olivia said. Now she just had to figure out how to get Mr. Wolcott accepted while at the same time ensuring Bennett recognized her efforts.

It would be just like any of her other projects. Starting with her goal, then working out the steps until she achieved what she wanted.





Chapter 4




If you believe something is right, you should do it. Even at the risk of being wrong. But you are never wrong.

Lady Olivia’s Particular Guide to Decorum



“You’re home!”

Edward paused at hearing his father’s voice, then continued to shrug his cloak off, handing it to the waiting butler.

It was close to two o’clock, and normally Mr. Beechcroft was long asleep—the early bird catches the worm, he’d normally say with a grin as he headed to his bedroom at some ungodly early hour. As though worms were desirable.

Apparently the current worm his father wished to catch was an account of Edward’s evening.

Oh, it was wonderful. I was snubbed by no fewer than a half dozen of Society’s best and was called a bastard by a lady who’d just unknowingly thrown an object at my head.

A beautiful young lady. Not that that mattered, given what she’d said.

His father rounded the corner, huffing as he did. That shortness of breath concerned Edward; it had only started recently, a few months before they had arrived in London. When he asked his father about it, he’d dismissed it as just the excitement and fast pace of being in the city after so long leading a predictable existence. But the way his father’s expression looked as he spoke led Edward to believe there was more to it than that.

“Put those things away, Chambers, and bring a bottle of port and glasses to the library. Come, son,” his father said, clasping Edward on the arm and drawing him down the hall.

The house they’d rented was enormous, far too big for two people. But Mr. Beechcroft enjoyed flaunting his wealth and, as he’d explained to Edward when the latter had expostulated about the cost of something, showing your financial power meant people paid attention a lot faster.

It was unfortunate, Edward mused, that he couldn’t just walk into a Society ballroom with a sheaf of bills in his hand. It would certainly make things a lot simpler. His father’s enormous wealth was one of the few reasons Edward was tolerated in Society as much as he was—money was usually able to solve many problems, including the problem of illegitimacy.

He and his father walked down to the library, Edward slowing his normal long-legged pace to accommodate his father’s shorter steps.

“In here,” his father said, unnecessarily, as he drew Edward into the room.

Edward took his father’s arm and assisted him into one of the comfortable chairs. The fire had burned low, so Edward knelt down and added a log to the flickering flames, waiting patiently until the wood began to burn.

“There,” he said, leaning back on his heels and looking at his father. “Now why are you up so late?”

His father opened his mouth to speak, only to be interrupted by Chambers bearing a tray with port and two glasses.

“I’ll pour, just leave it there,” Edward said, getting to his feet. The butler nodded, placing the bottle and the glasses on the small table next to his father’s chair.

Edward poured out a healthy amount for himself and a smaller amount for his father and handed him the glass, returning his father’s look of dismay with an arched eyebrow—Dr. Bell had told Mr. Beechcroft he should not drink to excess, and it was up to Edward to enforce that, since his father could never say no to good food or drink.

“You are determined to ruin what days I have left,” Mr. Beechcroft said in a grumpy tone of voice as he took a sip from his glass.