The Marquis and I (The Worthingtons #4)(37)

Folding the foolscap, he tucked it into the pocket in his waistcoat. “I promise you I shall never reveal to anyone your connection to this name.”

“Thank you, again.” She held out her hands. “I wish you much happiness with your fiancée. She must be très spéciale.”

Taking her fingers, he kissed them for the last time. “She is more than that.”

Much more than he had ever suspected.

Yet now, he would have to confess to Charlotte that she had been right all along. As he left Aimée’s house, he wondered ruefully if his male pride could take the blow she was bound to land, and prayed she would be kinder to him than he had been to her.

Chances were he’d be eating real toads before this was over. But would even that be enough to convince Charlotte to marry him?

Con turned on Saint James Street toward his club. He’d never been at such a loss in his life. Fortunately, she didn’t expect him until tomorrow. For the rest of the day, he’d simply forget about it and enjoy convivial companionship and a bottle of Brooks’s excellent brandy.

Not long afterward, he opened the door to his club and handed his hat and cane to a footman. The club’s master bowed. “Good day, my lord. May I felicitate you on your betrothal?”

Hell! Rumors be damned. The news was all over Town. “Thank you, Smithers. Perhaps a bottle of brandy to celebrate.”

“As you wish, my lord.” He bowed again before snapping his fingers at a footman.

Con had no sooner sat down with his glass of brandy when a friend of his, Lord Endicott, strolled up. “You’re a sly dog, Kenilworth, snatching up Lady Charlotte when Harrington is still in the country.”

What the devil did that pup Harrington have to do with Charlotte? “I beg your pardon?”

Endicott’s brows rose at the same time his jaw dropped. “You mean you didn’t know? He’s been sniffing around her all Season. He had to get his father’s agreement to the match. That is the reason he’s out of Town now.”

Was that why she was so hesitant to marry Con? She had said it was because of his mistress, but did she wish to wed Harrington? Was she in love with the man? “His name has not come up.”

“How did you meet her in the first place?” Endicott settled on a leather chair next to Con’s.

Now that was a question he could answer. “Worthington introduced us. Went to visit him and stayed for tea.”

“If Worthington had any other sisters out this year,” Endicott said with feeling, “I’d cultivate a closer acquaintance with him. That’s how Rothwell met Lady Louisa, you know.”

Lady Louisa? Oh, that’s right. Worthington’s other sister. He’d mentioned that she had got married not long ago. “Yes, of course. I’m fortunate to be a friend of his.”

It began to occur to Con that coming to Brooks’s was not one of his better ideas. At least until his life was more settled.

“Demmed fine ladies, Worthington’s sisters.” Endicott glanced at the bottle of brandy and frowned. “Come now, Kenilworth, you don’t want to be drinking that stuff. A celebration is called for.” Endicott turned his head and called out, “You there, bring us a few bottles of your best champagne. We have a betrothal to celebrate. Lord Kenilworth here has stolen the march on the rest of us and convinced Lady Charlotte Carpenter to marry him. Must wish him happy!”

Perdition. He couldn’t let Charlotte jilt him now, even if she did prefer that pup Harrington. Con would never live it down.





Chapter Thirteen


The morning after Burt had left the Green Man, he found Lord Braxton’s house in Mayfair and discovered the man’d left Town with a blond woman.

Miss Betsy wasn’t going to be happy her chicken had flown the coop. After returning to his rooms, he wrote to her, and for the past two days he’d been at a tavern waiting to hear from her.

“Be there a Mr. Smith here?” a young boy dressed in little more than rags asked.

The lad reminded him of himself when he was a kid. “I’m Smith.”

“Got this fer ye.” The boy held up a letter and Burt flipped him a penny.

He swallowed the last of his ale, then went to his room to open the note.



Please continue to follow his lordship and recover the package from him.

B.





In his opinion, it were a waste of time. Likely the mort weren’t still a virgin and the gent wouldn’t want her no more. Not that anyone asked him. He shrugged. It was all the same to him as long as Miss Betsy was payin’ for it.

Burt opened his watch. Still enough time ta try ta catch the nob’s trail before dark. If he was lucky, that fancy coach’d be easy enough to find.

He packed up his sack and paid his shot at the tavern. It didn’t take him nearly as long as he’d thought to get to the Great North Road.

Burt pulled up at the first tollbooth, and the toll keeper came out. “Have ya seen a flash cove with a fancy black carriage and a yaller-headed mort come by a day or so ago?”

“See a lot of fancy coaches this close to Lunden.” Burt tossed a coin up and the lad caught it. “Two days ago, ye said? Reckon I did. Bought a ticket all the way to the next county. The coachman said they was goin’ to somewhere called Biggleswade. Ain’t never heard of it meself. Said it was in Bedford.”