Indignant cries and retaliatory curses followed him to the door.
Outside the Wicked Duke, what had begun as an overcast day had sunk into a dreary, foggy afternoon. Precisely the sort of weather that encouraged lazy fireside debates with one’s inebriated friends, rather than quixotic ventures in search of fairy-tales.
Nonetheless, Thad hoisted himself into his gig and directed his horse toward the heart of fashionable Mayfair.
On the way, he passed a flower girl selling daffodils by the bunch. Impulsively, he paused to purchase a half-dozen. They were small, but pretty. The sort of gift that said “Truce?” rather than “parson’s trap.” He hoped it would do the job.
The edges of his mouth quirked. When Diana had imparted Miss Weatherby’s direction last night, Thad had held no intention of using it. Yet his surprise would no doubt be eclipsed by Miss Weatherby’s own—as well as that of her fine neighbors.
Despite a one-horse gig being the most ubiquitous carriage in all of England, none would be owned by the residents of Grosvenor Square. Such a conveyance was too common, in every sense of the word.
His bay was respectable, but neither a thoroughbred nor a matched pair. While he could afford a flashier ensemble, Thad had purposely chosen not to.
Since he did not yet have a wife to lavish attention and money upon, Thad had been saving half of his income in a special account. One day, he would share everything he owned with his wife. Until then, the accumulating nest egg would allow him to spoil her with something special right from the first.
Unfortunately, this had the effect of making him seem only half as flush as he actually was.
The stratagem repelled more than fortune-hunters, Thad realized as he pulled to a stop before the grand Weatherby residence. Someone used to a certain level of comfort would be understandably loath to lose it.
It didn’t matter, he reminded himself. This was what he had and who he was. He would forever regret if he did not at least try to mend broken fences with Miss Weatherby, but if she rebuffed his olive branch, Thad would not be making a fourth attempt to be friends.
A footman rushed from the townhouse to the street, not bothering to hide his obvious shock upon encountering a visitor such as Thad.
“Do you mean to call upon the Weatherbys?” the lad asked in wonder.
Actually, no. Thad had been so focused on Miss Weatherby that he’d quite forgotten other Weatherbys would no doubt also be present.
Perhaps the daffodils were a bit much after all. He didn’t want to give the wrong sign.
He turned to tuck the yellow flowers beneath his seat when he realized the weather had changed. In the brief moments since his arrival, the fog had mostly lifted, revealing blue skies overhead. Blue skies, and—
“A rainbow,” he breathed, staring at the Weatherby townhouse in disbelief.
Rain and sun caused rainbows, any schoolboy knew as much, but it had materialized overhead just as Thad had considered ditching the flowers, and its luminescent ribbon of color seemed to terminate on the Weatherbys’ very roof.
What had the baronet said just before Thad left? Pay attention to the signs?
“Sir?” the footman ventured.
“Yes,” Thad said firmly, and swept the daffodils to his chest. “I mean to call upon the Weatherbys.”
After leaving his horse and gig in the care of the footman, Thad made his way up the precisely manicured walk to the townhouse’s front door.
The butler’s wonderment at Thad’s presence was even greater than the footman’s. The poor man seemed at a complete loss for words.
“Mr. Middleton to see Miss Weatherby,” Thad prompted helpfully, handing over his card with his free hand. “If the lady is at home.”
The dazed butler made no move to enquire.
“I don’t care if it’s Guy Fawkes at the door,” called a wavery voice from within. “Of course Priscilla’s receiving.”
The butler visibly collected himself and stepped aside to allow entry. “If you’ll follow me to the parlor, please.”
Thad stepped across the threshold, suddenly less certain he’d correctly interpreted his odd welcome.
For all its grandness, the Weatherby townhouse was dark and full of shadow. Even the air was still and thick, as though the front door had not been used in a hundred years. Thad swallowed.
Perhaps the sorceress had beaten him here.
