“That, er…ah,” Rosamund began, shifting uncomfortably on her seat, “I suppose you might…that is to say…we never…we wouldn’t. We absolutely wouldn’t.”
But Lottie was no fool. She knew a lie when she heard one, and she also knew her friend well enough to understand that she was prevaricating.
Lottie pressed a hand over her mouth, shocked. “I don’t believe it,” she murmured quietly, lest her voice carry to the servants moving silently through the halls beyond. “You havebeddedthe Duke of Camden.”
Rosamund said nothing, her cheeks flaming, a telltale giveaway.
“How?” she asked, then shook her head, her mind suddenly a vast jungle from which there seemed no escape. “When?”
“In the customary way, I suppose,” Rosamund said quietly, biting her lower lip as if something deep within her pained her greatly. “As for when, it matters not, does it?”
Megs chirruped and then whistled. “Matters not. Bedded Camden.”
“Megs,” Rosamund gasped, eyes going wide. “You must not repeat that.”
“Gormless shite,” Megs said, blinking.
Lottie bit her lip to stifle her chuckle. “Is Megs speaking about the duke, perchance?”
“She isn’t Camden’s greatest devotee, I’m afraid.”
Megs fluffed her feathers as if in affirmation but remained where she was on her perch.
It occurred to Lottie with sudden clarity that both she and Rosamund were experiencing the same misgiving. Just as Lottie feared she had begun to like Brandon too much, Rosamund feared she could grow to care for Camden. They were both scared of becoming too vulnerable. Of having their hearts broken.
But unlike Rosamund, Lottie would be spared that fate, because she wasn’t marrying Brandon. Someone else was.
As she and her friend continued their tea, Lottie decided that the odd heaviness in her chest was caused by relief. Nothing more.
“Why haveI yet to see a betrothal announcement inThe Times, Brandon?” Grandmother demanded without preamble.
“My dearest darling Grandmama, it is lovely to see you as well,” he drawled, bowing over her proffered hand.
She looked august as usual this afternoon in black silk, her countenance pinched into an omnipresent expression of displeasure, as if all the world around her and everyone in it was a source of great disappointment. He had been thoroughly nettled by Lottie’s refusal of his invitation to tea this afternoon, and the unexpected arrival of his grandmother meant that his day was going from dreadful to worse.
“Do you dare to mock me?” she demanded coolly.
“Never, dear lady.” He tucked her gloved hand into the crook of his elbow and guided her to a nearby settee, noting that she had brought a gilded cane with her and she was leaning more heavily upon it than she ordinarily did whenever her arthritis particularly pained her.
She favored her left leg, using him for support as well as the cane. “Don’t lie to me, Brandon. I’ll box your ears.”
He didn’t doubt she would.
“I wouldn’t dream of lying to you,” he prevaricated, tongue in cheek.
She seated herself on the settee with a harrumph that told him she hadn’t believed his protest for a moment. “Where is the girl child?”
“Pandy?” He was surprised that his grandmother asked after her, for despite her family’s lineage, she was a stickler for propriety. He hadn’t known whether Grandmother would ever even mention Pandora again.
Grandmother’s silvery eyebrows snapped together. “You’ve a pet name for her now?”
He seated himself with ease opposite her, intentionally beyond reach of any ear-boxing he might receive. “Pandy suits her best, I believe.”
His grandmother’s eyes narrowed shrewdly. “You haven’t sent her away, then?”
The very notion of sending his Pandy girl anywhere else made his chest tighten. “Naturally not. I am her father. She belongs with me.”
“Not if you are to find a bride, she doesn’t.” Grandmother frowned, thumping her cane on the floor for emphasis. “No gently bred young lady will come to live in a house where you are keeping your bastard. The scandal would be far too great.”
