Lottie bobbled her tea and sent it raining down her silk skirts to pool on the Axminster underfoot. “Oh drat.”
“Spilled tea, spilled tea,” Megs chirped. “Hell’s bells, hell’s bells.”
“Good heavens, Megs,” Rosamund scolded. “I told you that you were to be on your best behavior today, and you agreed that you would.”
“What a good little bird,” Megs chirped. “Good little bird.”
Lottie might have found mirth at the ridiculousness of the scene—she covered in tea, Rosamund attempting to admonish her wayward feathered companion, and the gray parrot seeming to be laughing at them both. But all she could think about was Brandon offering her marriage. Brandon dismissing her offer of a night in her bed.
And everything began to make perfect, horrid sense.
Little wonder he hadn’t seduced her further in the emerald salon. He likely hadn’t wanted her at all. Rather, he had been seeking out a mother for his bastard daughter. The utter nerve of the scoundrel! She had spent the last few days turning his behavior over in her mind, utterly perplexed, wondering what was wrong with her. And here was her answer.
Nothing was wrong with Lottie.
The Duke of bloody Brandon was the problem.
“Lottie? Shall I ring for a maid to sop up the mess?”
Rosamund’s concerned voice broke through Lottie’s whirling thoughts. She blinked, disconcerted by the way the parrot on her friend’s shoulder continued to eye her frankly, as if the bird could see into her soul.
“I shall do it, of course,” she said, recalling that she was the hostess. “You mustn’t trouble yourself for a moment.”
Rising, she strode to the bellpull with determined steps, yanking on it with more force than was necessary. She wasn’t angry with the domestics or the corded bellpull or even herself for spilling her tea. No, indeed. She was furious with the Duke of Brandon. What a liar he was, flirting with her, leading her on a merry dance, and all the while, he had been searching for a wife to mother the child who had been born on the wrong side of the blanket.
“I don’t suppose he would take responsibility for such a child,” she said. “Not in truth. No, he must be seeking a wife upon whom he can foist the girl so that he can carry on with his cavorting.”
“Carry on with cavorting,” Megs said. “Fucking, fucking.”
Lottie’s eyes went wide.
Rosamund bit her lip. “Pray excuse her. She knows not what she is saying.”
“You know me, my dear. Candid speech is always preferable to subterfuge,” she reassured her friend, not offended by the parrot’s language in the least, merely surprised.
Although it was not the first occasion on which her friend had brought Megs to pay a call, Lottie had never heard the parrot swear before. How amusing to think Megs might blurt such coarse language before a stern matron. Little wonder Rosamund preferred to keep to the periphery of polite society.
“You mustn’t say naughty words, Megs,” Rosamund cautioned the parrot sternly.
“Naughty words, naughty words. Fuck, fuck.” Megs blinked, looking distinctly unapologetic.
“Perhaps we ought to ignore her,” Rosamund suggested. “She seems to be having one of her moods. Have you heard from Hyacinth recently? I expected to see her at Brandon’s ball.”
Ah, so Lottie wasn’t the only one concerned about their friend’s recent absence from gatherings.
“She wrote to me that she is indisposed.” Lottie sighed. “But it’s been far too many days now. I believe I’ll pay her a call to be certain nothing is amiss.”
Rosamund nodded. “Capital idea. Please do let me know how she is faring. I’ve missed her.”
A maid gave a discreet knock at the door then, indicating her arrival. Lottie bid her enter and directed her to the tea spill, hoping Megs would at least behave herself before the servant. As if sharing Lottie’s concern, Rosamund distracted the parrot by feeding her another slice of apple. The maid hastily completed her task and left the room.
Lottie waited for the door to close before recalling her conversation with Rosamund at Brandon’s ball. “Speaking of the Duke of Brandon’s fête, did you ever speak with Camden?”
She had been dreadfully curious since that night, she couldn’t lie. But Lottie also wanted to distract herself from all thoughts of a certain handsome, green-eyed duke.
“I did,” Rosamund said enigmatically.
“And?” Lottie pressed. “What have you decided?”
