Say you will join me on a drive in Rotten Row at the fashionable hour, else I shall perish.
Yours in bilious despair,
Brandon
A chuckle stole from her.The absurd man. She ought to deny him. What good would come of being seen in his carriage by polite society? He needed a bride, and she most assuredly would not be it. What was he thinking, inviting her? Surely Lady Lavinia would make a better accompaniment.
“Will you send an answer, my lady?” Jenkinson inquired.
“I suppose I must.” Huffing a small sigh, she hastened to her writing desk, dashing off her reply.
O Duke of Bilious Despair,
I should never forgive myself for denying you the cure you seek. Although I must caution that you would be better served in finding a suitable lady to join you on Rotten Row, your elegant pleading has persuaded me to accept.
Yours,
Lady Grenfell
She had finishedwith hertoilettewhen the next note arrived.
My dear Lottie,
There is no lady more suitable than yourself. Fear not, a new nursemaid has been procured. Pandy and her demon shan’t be accompanying us.
Your faithful servant,
Brandon
Lottie couldn’t helpbut to smile as she scrawled her response.
Brandon,
I admit that I prefer the company of Miss Pandora and her beloved spaniel to most people. Consider me gravely disappointed that she and Cat will not be joining us.
Yours,
Lottie
At the last moment,she realized she had signed with her name instead of her title. A telling slip. She must gird herself against him better. For although she had been as intimate with him asa man and woman could be, she had been doing her utmost to maintain a necessary distance.
Lottie,
Would that you were mine.
Yours,
Brandon
The last missivequite took her breath. She didn’t know how to respond, and as it was soon time for their drive in Hyde Park, Lottie decided to maintain her silence.
Brandon detesteddrives in the park.
He loathed Rotten Row, the fashionable hour, and the notion that he must be seen.
He couldn’t abide by the simplistic courtship rituals so beloved by polite society.
But none of that mattered one whit as he drove a matched pair of Bays toward the park. Because the woman at his side made all the rest of it fall away. Of all the barouches in London she might have seated herself in this fine day, Lottie, the Countess of Grenfell, had chosen his.
