Page 86 of Honor Unbound

“It’s rude to ask a lady’s age.” I patted her curved side. Yes, the color was a bit faded, but some new paint would take care of that. “Can you see to that last step, though? It’s a bit wobbly.”

Ernest’s shoulders dropped. “Yes, Lady Mary.” He looked down at Southey. “You want to help me? Can you bring me tools?”

“A good idea.” I nodded. “He’s been acting a bit peaky. He needs the fresh air after all he ate.” I would have to stop taking him to the club. Or train him to stop taking food from strangers. I left the carriage house, the late-afternoon sunlight slanting into my eyes.

The side door to my house opened before I could reach it, one of my footmen greeting me.

“Good afternoon, John.” I peeled off my lace gloves. “Do you know where Mr. Stavers is?”

“I believe he’s polishing silver in the front parlor.”

I nodded and made my way to the room. Soft snores greeted me as I entered.

Stavers was reclined on one of the settees, his right hand clutching a cloth, the other dangling near the floor.

I backed out of the room and looked at the side table in the hall. There wasn’t anything on it I wouldn’t miss if it broke, and perhaps if I just….

I knocked my hip into the table, the vase rattling against the mirror it sat upon. “Fiend seize it,” I called loudly. I rattled the painting hanging above the table against the wall a couple of times for good measure.

The snores stopped. There was a bit of snuffling. Heavy footsteps. Then Mr. Stavers toddled from the room. “Lady Mary, are you all right?”

“Just clumsy.” I made sure everything had settled. “I walked into the table.”

“You must be more careful.” He ran his fingers through his thinning hair. “Did you just arrive home?”

“Just now,” I reassured him. “Mr. Stavers, do you still have the latest round of invitations somewhere?”

He straightened as best as his stoop would allow. “Are you finally going to accept one of them? How lovely.”

I ground my teeth. He made it sound as though I were a recluse. I followed him to his desk and took the thick bundle. “Thank you. I’ll look at these in my room.” I slowly climbed the stairs, feeling those few bruises I’d demurred to Mr. Ryder. I sat at my dressing table and flipped through the envelopes. There were many, though not as many as the daughter of an earl and aunt to a duke normally received. I was too strange to be to everyone’s liking.

I found one with a name I actually knew and liked. Mr. and Mrs. Hammond were inviting me to a ball. As it was being held in three nights’ time, I assumed Mr. Stavers had already sent my regrets. But Mrs. Hammond was a member of my club and a friend. She wouldn’t mind my capriciousness if I accepted now.

I pulled out my stationery and penned her a letter. I also asked if she could invite a few more people. Mrs. Trent would nominally be in mourning, so it was pointless to invite her, but if Mrs. Hammond could send an invitation to Mr. Driscoll Gray and Mr. George Platt, I would be in her debt.

I took my letter downstairs to a footman to send. Gray and Platt would know that they hadn’t been first choices for the guest list, receiving an invite at this late date, but I didn’t think that would matter to them. Mr. Hammond was a successful man of industry, and I couldn’t imagine Mr. Gray not wanting to meet that host. And Mr. Platt seemed like he was always ready to obtain a free meal.

The footman scurried off, and I wandered down to the kitchen, hoping for a preview of my meal tonight. Several members of my staff had the same idea. Burton and Marie were noticeably absent, and I figured I knew what they were up to.

I had just convinced cook to give me a small taste of the stew when Ernest tromped inside. He gently lowered Southey onto his bed in the corner of the kitchen and came back to me, grimacing.

“So.” He took off his cap and scratched his head. “About that new carriage.”

I lowered my spoon. “We’ve discussed this already.”

“Yes’m, but along with a new axle and repairs to the roof, you’ll also need to get the seats recovered if you keep your old coach.” He shot Southey an apologetic look. “The dog lost the contents of his stomach all over your crushed velvet.”

Chapter Thirty-Five

Brett

The stringed quartetplaying at the ball was good, and Brett couldn’t help but hum along. Lady Mary had given him access to Mr. and Mrs. Hammond’s house as a temporary footman for the event, and his job was to make discreet passes through the ballroom collecting the empty glasses and plates abandoned by the guests.

It wasn’t a bad job. He was able to catch glimpses of Marie, who looked ravishing in her borrowed gown. He could sneak tidbits of good food when he was back in the kitchens. It also allowed him to eavesdrop.

Lady Mary’s friend had agreed to include Mr. Gray in this night’s festivities. Mr. Platt had already been invited. Brett made a point of keeping an eye on the two men’s positions, a task made difficult by the increasing numbers crowding the room.

Lady Mary was chatting with Mrs. Hammond by the punch table. Brett’s heart stuttered. It did every time he caught sight of the woman next to Lady Mary. Marie’s gown was green, and made her matching eyes shine. The bodice was snug against her breasts, and Brett swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. He was torn between wanting to drag her away and rip the bloody thing off of her, or swaddle her in his coat so no one else could appreciate her charms.