A Week to Be Wicked (Spindle Cove #2)(42)

“Once I learned to read,” she said, “they couldn’t tear me away from books—still can’t. But I’d already outgrown the fairy tales.”

“Well,” he said, sounding drowsy. “That was a fine bedtime story. Downtrodden girl. Kindly nursemaid. Happy ending. The fairy tales are pretty much all like that.”

“Really? I was under the impression most of them feature a handsome, charming prince.”

The silence was prolonged. And miserable.

“Well, yours does have a knight,” he finally said. “Sir Alisdair the Colleague.”

“I suppose.” Hoping her voice didn’t betray any disappointment, she curled her fingers in the bed linens, drawing them close.

His weight shifted beside her. “You know, I’ve been wondering something. If that diary that so rhapsodically extolled my charms was the false one . . . what on earth did the real one say?”

Chapter Eleven

Kate Taylor cringed into her water goblet. This just didn’t seem right.

Across the dining table in the Queen’s Ruby, Charlotte flipped through a small leather-bound book. “This and that . . . something more about rocks . . .”

“Keep looking,” Mrs. Highwood said. “It’s Minerva’s only diary. She must have mentioned him somewhere.”

Mrs. Nichols, the rooming house’s aging proprietress, directed the servants to serve dessert. As an apron-clad serving girl placed dishes of syllabub before each plate, Kate exchanged glances with Diana. She knew they had to be sharing the same mix of curiosity and mortification.

Naturally the elopement had been the talk of Spindle Cove, and Kate was as eager as anyone to learn the particulars of Minerva’s unlikely romance. But reading her diary aloud at the dinner table? It did seem rather tasteless.

“Really, Mama,” Diana put in. “Is it necessary to read Minerva’s journal? Aloud? Shouldn’t she be allowed some privacy?”

Mrs. Highwood considered. “Ordinarily, I would never snoop. Would I, Mrs. Nichols?”

Mrs. Nichols shook her head. “Never, Mrs. Highwood.”

“But in this case, the circumstances justify some investigation. Don’t they, Mrs. Nichols?”

“Of course, Mrs. Highwood.”

“That Corporal Thorne keeps insisting he should chase after them, or at the least, alert Lord Rycliff. He seems to be under the mistaken assumption that Lord Payne is up to some sort of devilry. But I would never believe that of him. Would you, Mrs. Nichols?”

“Absolutely not, Mrs. Highwood. He’s an excellent young man. Always praises my pies.”

“Oh, here. Here’s something about a grand discovery,” Charlotte announced, opening the journal wide to a middle page.

Everyone at the table perked.

Charlotte scanned a bit further. “Never mind. It’s about lizards.”

“Lizards!” With a groan, Mrs. Highwood pushed away her serving of syllabub. “I don’t know how in the world she managed to snag him.”

“She didn’t snag him, Mama. I keep telling you, she’s been snagged.” Charlotte flipped another page. “If she liked him, wouldn’t she have confessed it to her own diary? I know I’d fill whole books with poetry if a man so handsome as Lord Payne took a fancy to me.”

Kate accepted a slender glass of cordial from a serving tray. “Perhaps Minerva just isn’t given to poetry.”

“But she ought to say something favorable, at least. See, look. She only just mentions him here, halfway through. And clever as she’s supposed to be, she can’t even spell his name. P-A-I-N, she has it.”

Kate smiled down at her lap. Somehow, she doubted Minerva had written it that way by mistake.

“Never mind about the spelling, child,” Mrs. Highwood urged. “Just read it. What does she say?”

Charlotte sipped her lemonade in preparation. “ ‘As today was Thursday, we were made to suffer Lord Payne’s presence at dinner. I don’t know whether to attribute my acute indigestion to his presence, Mother’s fawning, or Mrs. Nichols’s eel pie. It was a most disagreeable evening, all around.’”

“Is that dated last summer?” Diana asked.

Charlotte shook her head. “Last week.”

Kate knew this would be the moment to defend poor Mrs. Nichols’s eel pie. But really, the stuff was indefensible. By mutual, silent agreement, everyone took a spoonful of syllabub instead.

Then a sip of cordial.

Then syllabub again.

“Well, there must be more.” Mrs. Highwood waved her spoon at Charlotte. “Read on, dear.”

“I am reading on.” Charlotte flipped through the remainder of the diary pages. “There isn’t much else to read. It’s all rocks and shells and lizard prints. The only man she mentions regularly is some scientist. Sir Alisdair Kent. She seems to admire him a great deal. When she spares a word for Lord Payne, it’s never kind.” She snapped the journal closed. “I told you she doesn’t love him, Mama. She’s been taken against her will. You must allow Corporal Thorne to find them.”

Mrs. Highwood reached across the table. “Give it here, child.”

She took the journal from Charlotte, flipped it open to the last written page, held it at arm’s length, and peered at it. Her frown of concentration quickly melted to an expression of delight.