Right there in the viscount’s breakfast room, God smiled. So did Edmund. And why not? Last evening, Miss Woolsey had begged off early with a headache, which had given him time alone with Ami as he’d walked her to her room after dinner. Today, Gil was scheduled to sell the Egyptian collection to Mr. Harrison as per Edmund’s instructions in the contract they’d finalized before he’d left town. Tonight, Lord Bastion would publicly announce his sponsorship for Edmund’s political run. And here in this moment, Ami stood at his side, pouring him a cup of Darjeeling.
Indeed. Life couldn’t be any better.
Setting down the teapot, Ami peered up at him while handing him his tea. “Are you ready for the big announcement this evening? It will be a life-changing event, I should imagine.”
“Of course he is ready, aren’t you?” Violet swept through the breakfast room door and entwined her arm with his—which jostled the tea in his cup.
He frowned at the liquid on his shoe. “I’d like to think I’m prepared.”
Ami snatched a cloth from the sideboard, then bent andswiped away the offense. Thoughtful on her part—endearing, actually—but far too humbling a stance ... especially in front of Miss Woolsey.
He pulled away from Violet and guided Ami upright with a light touch to her elbow. “Please don’t trouble yourself on my account.”
“No trouble at all.” She smiled as she set the soiled cloth onto the sideboard.
Violet merely scowled. “We have servants for that, you know.”
Undaunted, Ami grinned at her as well. “I trust you are feeling better this morning, Violet?”
“Much, but even if I weren’t, I wouldn’t miss tonight’s big event were I at death’s door.” Once again she coiled her arm through his.
And once again he pulled away. Had the viscount not yet spoken to his daughter about his refusal to marry her? The man had had plenty of time to do so ... unless Edmund was wrong and this was some sort of way for Violet to intimidate Ami. Which of course wouldn’t work. A mummy come to life wouldn’t daunt Ami.
He faced Violet. “Did your father have a chance to speak with you about our agreement, or lack of one, I should say?”
“La.” She flicked her fingers. “Father always drones on about everything, which can be very tedious at times.”
He studied her a moment, trying to decipher such a cryptic answer.
“Well, I am famished. Shall we join my father?” Ami tipped her head toward the table.
Whatever Violet had meant, now was not the time for further discussion. He’d have to quiz her later—if there was time. He took the place setting at the foot of the table, Violet at his right and Ami sitting at his left, next to the professor.
Her father eyed him while slathering jam onto his toast. Though no doubt the fellow had every toiletry London could offer as a courtesy in his guest room, the man’s hair had yet to meet with a comb. “As you know, Price, I stopped by the BritishMuseum yesterday. A providence, that, for just this morning I received word my friend—the curator of the Egyptian collection—had dinner last night with the director. He’s very interested in your artifacts and may be able to offer a higher sum than your Mr. Harrison.”
Edmund reached for his own piece of toast from the rack on the table. “I appreciate the effort you went to on my account, Professor, but I am sure Mr. Fletcher will close the deal today—if he hasn’t already.”
“That would be a shame.” Ami’s father took a bite, chewing thoughtfully. “Perhaps you could send a telegram to confirm the sale? And if the deal hasn’t been finalized, then send another one to delay it?”
He shook his head. “I’m afraid the time for negotiations is finished.”
“Such dull conversation!” Violet rapped her knuckles on the table, then smiled at Ami—a little too felinely for his liking. Clearly she was up to something.
“Your gown, Ami?” she purred.
“Oh dear.” Ami dipped her chin, glancing at her bodice. “Have I spilled something?”
“No, darling. I meant I should like to hear about what you are wearing to the dance tonight.”
Aha. So Violet was trying to bully Ami, and it pleased him far too much when Ami merely dished a large spoonful of scrambled eggs onto her plate, completely impervious to the wiles of the viscount’s daughter.
Ami enjoyed a bite before facing Violet. “Oh, my mistake. I brought my best gown. It’s green, mostly. Though I suppose the trim isn’t. Nor is the sash. Neither are the sleeves, come to think of it.” She scooped another forkful yet allowed it to hover over her plate. “At any rate, it really is a dazzler. I got rid of the traditional bustle and added a peacock feather arrangement at the back, cascading from waist to hem.”
Edmund’s gaze immediately shot to Violet’s face, and he wasn’t disappointed. She looked positively nauseous. Just waituntil she saw Ami in the fabric creation with her own eyes. He stifled a grin with his serviette.
Violet cleared her throat. “I thought as much, which is why I have a little gift for you.” Raising her hand, she wiggled her index finger.
The footman stationed near the door stepped briskly to her side, giving her a little bow. “How may I be of service, miss?”
