The Marquis and I (The Worthingtons #4)(50)

“This cannot be as bad as the last one,” he groused, making her smile again.

“How so?”

“I shall have you to protect me.”

“Ah, from all the marriageable young ladies.” Matt had friends who attended only the entertainments they must. Even then they left early and did their best to avoid the more forward of the young ladies. In fact, her cousin Merton had almost fallen into a lady’s trap.

“And marriage-minded widows. You can’t forget them. They can be more ferocious than the matchmaking mamas.”

She wanted to let out a peal of laughter, but contained her mirth to a light giggle. “I shall make sure to keep you safe.”

He gave her a considering look, and she wondered if she had been too rash. “I shall hold you to your word.”





Chapter Seventeen


Burt had had to wait three days in Biggleswade for the London guests to show up at the White Hart where his landlord said the nob in the big house took his guests. For the past two days, he’d watched the group of toffs swill ale, but there was no sign of Lady Charlotte or the gent. Where the devil could they have gone?

Two yallow-haired whores went around behind the inn, and one of the gents called out, “Braxton, I’ll trade you for a day.”

The game pullet sittin’ next to the man punched his arm. “Don’t think you can share me. I stick with the gent I come with.”

“I’m satisfied with what I have,” the man called Braxton said.

Braxton. That was the name of the gent who took off with Lady Charlotte, but the one here didn’t look like the nob at the inn.

Bloody hell! Burt swore under his breath. He’d been gammoned. And he didn’t have a clue where to find her ladyship. Miss Betsy weren’t going to be happy about that.

“Did you hear Kenilworth is getting leg-shackled?” a toff with red hair asked.

The rest of the gents perked their ears up.

“Thought it would be years before he became a tenant for life. Who’s the female?”

Red called for another round of ale. “Lady Charlotte Carpenter. Worthington’s sister-in-law. It’s her first Season.”

“I could have told you that,” Braxton groused. “I saw them the morning of the fight I attended before I came here. Looked smoky to me, then I saw Lady Bellamny was there too.”

Fight? Bloody hell. He’d been that close to catching her in the village he’d passed through.

“Well, if she was around, it’s all right and tight,” another gent said.

“Wonder how Lady Charlotte snared him.” A man with a purple coat tossed coins at the serving maid. “He always said he didn’t like them young. Maybe I should have taken a look this year.”

“I wonder if his mistress is looking for someone new,” a tall man said.

The gent called Braxton scowled. “Not yet, she isn’t.”

“Asked her, did you?”

Braxton turned red and the rest of the crowd laughed at his expense.

Days wasted following around the wrong man. Burt didn’t even know where she’d be. He waited, hoping he’d hear something useful, but someone started talking about horse racing and they lost interest in Lady Charlotte.

Bugger all. Burt was tired of listening to them. He finished his beer and stood. There had to be some way to get to the lady.

He walked back to the tavern he’d been staying at. By the time he returned to London, Miss Betsy would know how bad he’d cocked up. He was on Queer Street now.

He should have listened to himself when he’d thought no gentry mort would be at a party like this one. What was worse, Miss Betsy’d know it too.

Burt paid his shot at the inn and started back to London. He’d have that square watched for a day or so. If he couldn’t find Lady Charlotte there was nothing for it but to write to Miss Betsy and tell her what happened.

*

It did not take long for Con to discover Charlotte had gone walking with Harrington during the Grand Strut. Fury was not an emotion Con was used to, but it was all he could do to keep himself from flying into the boughs now.

He had arrived at Stanwood House certain he would find his betrothed at home. Instead he was met with the information that she had gone out. Royston, the Carpenter butler, stood impassively waiting for Con to hand over his card. Yet, the sound of children began to fill the silence, and an idea came to him. “Whose permission must I have to take the children to Gunter’s for ices?”

For the briefest moment, he thought he saw a canny look enter the butler’s eyes. “Lady Worthington, my lord.” The servant stepped aside, allowing him to enter the hall. “If you give me a moment, I shall see if she is at home.”

“Certainly.”

A few moments later Royston returned. “She will see you, my lord.”

Con was escorted to a room on the opposite side of the house from the morning room and announced. Sitting behind a large desk covered with documents and ledgers, Lady Worthington waved him to a straight wooden chair with a leather seat, in front of the desk. His father’s study had a chair like this, and he had never enjoyed sitting in it.

Once he’d taken a seat, she folded her hands on the desk. “I understand you wish to speak with me.”

Resisting the urge to fidget, he nodded. “I would like to take the children to Gunter’s for ices.”