Once Upon a Maiden Lane (Maiden Lane #12.5)(27)

The other girl took her hand as if she knew what Mary was thinking and squeezed companionably.

Henry, who had stood at their entrance, gestured to the tea. “Won’t you have some tea, my lady? I’m told it is a wonderful restorer.”

“Oh, thank you.” The countess crossed to the door. “I’ll send for more.”

But the gentleman in the bobbed wig was frowning now. “Were you closeted alone with my cousin, sirrah? This is disgraceful!”



Henry turned to look at the gentleman so rudely accusing him of nefarious deeds with his fiancée. The man was at least sixty, with bandy legs, a weathered, reddened face, and a disapproving expression.

Henry lifted an eyebrow. “And you are?”

“Cousin Lancelot,” Lady Angrove sighed, turning from the door where she’d ordered tea from a footman. “My lord, this is my cousin Lancelot Fitzgerald and his wife, Lillian. My cousin is a vicar in a small parish outside Cambridge. Cousin Lancelot, this is Lord Henry Blackwell, the heir to the Earl of Keating—and Cecilia’s fiancé.”

The older man huffed, seemingly not at all impressed with Henry’s pedigree. “Yes, well, that’s as may be, but they aren’t married yet.” He drew himself up importantly. “My lord, it is the husband who must see to the wife’s spiritual welfare, and I hardly think to begin in such a scandalous way—”

“Yes, yes, Cousin,” Lady Angrove interrupted hastily as she took a seat near her daughters. “But I think we should sit down before the tea becomes cold.”

Henry sat again without comment as Lady Angrove turned to say something to her daughters. Fitzgerald was a boorish ass, but he did have a point.

Henry had most definitely been behaving scandalously with Mary not seconds before the others had entered. He should be ashamed, but he couldn’t find it within himself to feel so. She’d responded so easily—so freely—to him. Even now he fancied he could smell her: a delicate violet scent. He’d nearly forgotten himself in ravishing her mouth, his blood heating, his cock stirring. If he hadn’t heard Lady Angrove’s voice in the hall outside, the others would’ve walked into a most scandalous scene.

He darted a glance at Mary. She was sitting calmly, her hands folded in her lap, paying rapt attention to her mother. No one would guess, looking at her, that only moments before she’d been panting into his mouth.

The thought made his loins tighten, and he casually flipped the skirt of his coat over his lap.

“But, my dear, you have a curl coming down,” Lady Angrove was saying. She reached to pin a lock of Mary’s hair over her ear. “It must be from all the excitement in the park. I do think…” Her voice died away, and for a moment she stared at her daughter’s ear. Then Lady Angrove smiled and lifted her hands away. “There. As good as new.”

The door opened, and the maids bustled in with more tea. For a few minutes the settling of the tea accoutrements took up all of the ladies’ attention.

The maids left, and Lady Angrove began pouring the tea.

“I’m not sure what proof you have that this young woman is indeed the long-lost Angrove child,” Fitzgerald said.

Henry looked up, his eyes narrowing. “The proof is in her face. Do you deny that she looks exactly like her sister?”

“No, not at all,” Fitzgerald replied smoothly. “But you may not be aware that the earl is quite a…erm…man about town. There are several natural children, if I’m not mistaken, and who is to say that this girl isn’t—”

He was interrupted in his long-winded theory by Lady Angrove’s clearing her throat loudly and pointedly.

“Cousin Lancelot, I’ll thank you to refrain from gossip while in my sitting room, particularly gossip that is hurtful to the present company.” Her face was thunderous.

Fitzgerald’s face flushed an even deeper red. “I do apologize, Cousin, but please be aware that I only have your best interests in my heart. For all you know this girl could be some sort of charlatan, bent on taking advantage of your kind nature.”

“Lancelot,” murmured Mrs. Fitzgerald, speaking for the first time.

Lady Joanna’s voice nearly drowned the other woman’s out. “Oh, that’s such a nasty thing to say, Cousin Lancelot. I’m sure my sister could never be a—a schemestress!”

Henry coughed, trying not to laugh at the made-up word. “Indeed, Lady Cecilia is the meekest lady I know.”

That got him a glare from beneath black eyelashes from his intended.

Henry widened his eyes innocently as he took a sip of tea.

“Exactly,” Lady Angrove said, apparently still not entirely familiar with her daughter. “I don’t know that I’ve ever met so sweet a lady as Cecilia, unless it is her sister, Joanna. They are both my daughters.”

She sat back, looking satisfied at her volley, while Joanna glowed at the praise and Mary looked doubtful.

Henry set his teacup down. “Well, as fascinating as this discussion has been, I must be off to see my man of business. Ladies.” He stood and bowed separately to Lady Joanna and Lady Angrove and then to Mrs. Fitzgerald. “Cecilia.” He took her hand and bent over it, inhaling once again her violet scent. “I trust I will see you tomorrow at my mother’s tea?”

“Yes, indeed,” she murmured. “I look forward to it.”