Lady Gone Wicked (Wicked Secrets)(26)

Before Lady Margaret could answer, Lady Claire interjected. “It is very lovely for a Thursday, don’t you think?” she asked.

Adelaide tried to focus, despite her sleepy brain and Lady Margaret’s sharp tongue. “Very lovely.”

“It has rained for the past twelve Thursdays,” Lady Claire continued. “The first Thursday was rain with a bit of snow mixed in.”

She had an odd way of speaking, Adelaide noted. Lady Claire’s voice rose and fell in waves like the ocean. It was rather soothing, actually.

“The second Thursday was a downpour. The third Thursday was a light drizzle. The fourth—” She stopped.

“Excuse me,” Lady Margaret said. “But I see Lady Anne just ahead, and I really must speak to her.”

Good riddance. Adelaide bent to inhale the perfume of a rose and waited for Lady Claire to continue with her Thursdays. When she did not, Adelaide looked up. “Yes? What happened on the fourth Thursday? We are in…” She counted quickly, going backward from May. “March. Correct?”

Lady Claire’s mouth fell open. “March. Yes.” She looked about her in bemusement. “Pardon me. It’s only that usually someone stops me halfway, if not earlier.”

“How strange.” Adelaide gave the rose a last sniff and straightened. “I very much wish to hear about the fourth Thursday. Already we have had three different kinds of rain in as many weeks. Will the fourth be new, as well?”

“No!” Lady Claire laughed. “It was another drizzle, the kind that lasts all day and destroys the soul in your body.”

“Oh, dear.”

“The fifth Thursday, however, was a very odd sort of rain. It was a sunny day, and yet the rain fell from a single puffy cloud. I remember how the raindrops sparkled like diamonds in the sunlight, so brightly that I had to shield my eyes.”

Adelaide could picture it when she closed her eyes. There was the lady of nut-brown hair and eyes, a look of delight on her face as diamonds rained down upon her. She opened her eyes and smiled. “Lady Claire and the Day It Rained Diamonds. It sounds like a very fine romance, does it not?”

Lady Claire blinked. “A romance? And I am to be the heroine?”

“Well, who else would it be?” Adelaide asked, laughing. “It is your memory, after all.”

“That had never occurred to me.” Lady Claire did, indeed, look as though she had learned something surprising. She continued to ponder silently.

Up ahead, Miss Benton laughed, a lovely sound like ringing bells. She seemed very cozy with Alice, their arms linked together, with Alice’s dark head tilted toward Miss Benton’s golden one, looking for all the world like they had been friends for years instead of mere months. It was unusual for Alice to take so well to another woman. She had always had friends, of course, but no true confidante other than Adelaide.

A pang shot through her chest. Adelaide missed her sister’s companionship, but she was also relieved. She could not tell Alice about Nick’s visit to her bedchamber last night, but keeping the secret was almost as unthinkable. Alice had a nose for mystery and a mind for puzzles. She would know Adelaide was hiding something and not rest until she discovered the cause. And, oh, how she would scold! Or look disappointed, which was infinitely worse.

With another pang, she turned back to Lady Claire. “Do you keep a great many lists in your mind? Such as all the times it rained on Sunday? Or the times it was fair on a Tuesday?”

Lady Claire wrinkled her nose. “My mind is full of such lists, unfortunately. I could tell you all the kinds of weather on all the days, and what bonnet I wore. I could tell you”—her gaze landed on a lily—“all the gentlemen who have called on me and what flowers they brought.”

“Now that is a promising list,” Adelaide cried. “By all means, let me hear it.”

“Lord Dainbridge, Lord Fowler, and Lord Essex brought roses on Monday,” Lady Claire began. “Pink.”

“Very imaginative of them,” Adelaide said. “I received roses, as well, although the gentlemen were different.”

“Indeed. Pink roses seem to be the theme of the season. Mr. Wilkinson brought red tulips, but Mother was not impressed, although whether that was because of the unfashionable flowers or his unfashionable lack of a title, I cannot say.”

“Both, I should think.”

Lady Claire nodded. “On Tuesday, Mr. Eastwood brought pink roses, and Mother was still unimpressed, but perhaps slightly less so. Mr. Eastwood is the second son of an earl, whereas poor Mr. Wilkinson is the third son of a baronet.”

Adelaide stumbled.

“Lord Trent, who is heir to the Duke of Albany, also brought pink roses. Lord Mayweather brought white posies of some sort. I rather liked them. And Mr. Eastwood brought pink roses.”

“You already noted Eastwood.”

“This was his second bouquet, which he sent yesterday.”

Adelaide stopped in her tracks, gazing rather blankly at an exuberant rosebush. “Did he?”

“Yes.” Lady Claire stroked a glossy green rose leaf with her finger. “Mother threw his flowers out this morning to make space for another bouquet from Lord Dainbridge. Mr. Eastwood, after all, is not a peer.”

Adelaide smiled weakly. “What of Lords Dainbridge, Fowler, and Essex?” she asked. “Do you prefer their flowers, as well?”