The Viscount Who Loved Me (Bridgertons, #2)(32)
After a few more moments of polite chatter, Mary and Kate left Lady Bridgerton to greet the rest of her guests. They were soon accosted by Mrs. Featherington, who, as the mother of three unmarried young women herself, always had a lot to say to Mary on a wide variety of topics. But as the stout woman bore down on them, her eyes were focused firmly on Kate.
Kate immediately began to assess possible escape routes.
“Kate!” Mrs. Featherington boomed. She had long since declared herself on a first-name basis with the Sheffields. “What a surprise to see you here.”
“And why is that, Mrs. Featherington?” Kate asked, puzzled.
“Surely you read Whistledown this morning.”
Kate smiled weakly. It was either that or wince. “Oh, you mean that little incident involving my dog?”
Mrs. Featherington’s brows rose a good half inch. “From what I hear, it was more than a ‘little incident.’ ”
“It was of little consequence,” Kate said firmly, although truth be told, she was finding it difficult not to growl at the meddlesome woman. “And I must say I resent Lady Whistledown referring to Newton as a dog of indeterminate breed. I’ll have you know he is a full-blooded corgi.”
“It was truly of no matter,” Mary said, finally coming to Kate’s defense. “I’m surprised it even warranted a mention in the column.”
Kate offered Mrs. Featherington her blandest smile, fully aware that both she and Mary were lying through their teeth. Dunking Edwina (and nearly dunking Lord Bridgerton) in The Serpentine was not an incident of “little consequence,” but if Lady Whistledown hadn’t seen fit to report the full details, Kate certainly wasn’t about to fill the gap.
Mrs. Featherington opened her mouth, a sharp intake of breath telling Kate that she was preparing to launch into a lengthy monologue on the topic of the importance of good deportment (or good manners, or good breeding, or good whatever the day’s topic was), so Kate quickly blurted out, “May I fetch you two some lemonade?”
The two matrons said yes and thanked her, and Kate slipped away. Once she returned, however, she smiled innocently and said, “But I have only two hands, so now I must return for a glass for myself.”
And with that, she took her leave.
She stopped briefly at the lemonade table, just in case Mary was looking, then darted out of the room and into the hall, where she sank onto a cushioned bench about ten yards from the music room, eager to get a bit of air. Lady Bridgerton had left the music room’s French doors open to the small garden at the back of the house, but it was such a crush that the air was stifling, even with the slight breeze from outside.
She remained where she sat for several minutes, more than pleased that the other guests had not chosen to spill out into the hall. But then she heard one particular voice rise slightly above the low rumble of the crowd, followed by decidedly musical laughter, and Kate realized with horror that Lord Bridgerton and his would-be mistress were leaving the music room and entering the hall.
“Oh, no,” she groaned, trying to keep her voice to herself. The last thing she wanted was for the viscount to stumble across her sitting alone in the hall. She knew she was by herself by choice, but he’d probably think she’d fled the gathering because she was a social failure and all the ton shared his opinion of her—that she was an impertinent, unattractive menace to society.
Menace to society? Kate’s teeth clamped together. It would take a long, long time before she’d forgive him that insult.
But still, she was tired, and she didn’t feel like facing him just then, so she hitched up her skirts by a few inches to save her from tripping and ducked into the doorway next to her bench. With any luck, he and his paramour would walk on by, and she could scoot back into the music room, no one being the wiser.
Kate looked around quickly as she shut the door. There was a lighted lantern on a desk, and as her eyes adjusted to the dimness, she realized she was in some sort of office. The walls were lined with books, although not enough for this to be the Bridgertons’ library, and the room was dominated by a massive oak desk. Papers lay on top in neat piles, and a quill and inkpot still sat on the blotter.
Clearly this office was not just for show. Someone actually worked here.
Kate wandered toward the desk, her curiosity getting the better of her, and idly ran her fingers along the wooden rim. The air still smelled faintly of ink, and maybe the slightest hint of pipe smoke.
All in all, she decided, it was a lovely room. Comfortable and practical. A person could spend hours here in lazy contemplation.
But just as Kate leaned back against the desk, savoring her quiet solitude, she heard an awful sound.
The click of a doorknob.
With a frantic gasp, she dove under the desk, squeezing herself into the empty cube of space and thanking the heavens that the desk was completely solid, rather than the sort that rested on four spindly legs.
Barely breathing, she listened.
“But I had heard this would be the year we would finally see the notorious Lord Bridgerton fall into the parson’s mousetrap,” came a lilting feminine voice.
Kate bit her lip. It was a lilting feminine voice with an Italian accent.
“And where did you hear that?” came the unmistakable voice of the viscount, followed by another awful click of the doorknob.
Kate shut her eyes in agony. She was trapped in the office with a pair of lovers. Life simply could not get any worse than this.