Those had been the plans…until Mrs. Kent threw a wrench into them.
There’d been a knock on the door just as they sat down to breakfast. A Chinese man with a long braid, beard, and wiry figure had entered. Introducing himself simply as Ming, he’d announced that Mrs. Kent had sent him to escort them to the meeting. When Rhys had stated that he would be going alone, Ming had returned, “Mistress will see woman and girl, too. All come—or none.”
Seeing Rhys’s countenance darken at the ultimatum, Maggie had taken him aside and convinced him to go along with Mrs. Kent’s plans. Thus, the three of them had been conveyed to the Kent residence, which turned out to be a Palladian mansion on a leafy Mayfair square. At present, Maggie was seated on a napped velvet divan in the sitting room, Glory beside her, and Rhys standing behind them both. Light streamed in through the tall windows, glinting off the gilt-framed landscapes and mahogany furniture.
What kind of woman is this Tessa Kent?Maggie wondered.How can she be mistress of such an elegant house…and belong to the criminal underclass?
Curiosity brimming, she wished she’d had time to milk more information from Rhys about their mysterious hostess.All he’d told her was that Tessa was considered royalty amongst the London underworld and that her husband was some sort of scientist.
The door opened. Maggie got to her feet, Glory doing the same.
The woman who ambled in was not what Maggie expected.
In her head, she’d conjured up a fiercer-looking, older woman. An Amazon who could wield a sword and defend her territory. Instead, Mrs. Kent looked to be in her mid-twenties, around Maggie’s age. She was slight, her maize cashmere walking dress accentuating her tiny waist and diminutive figure. With her ebony hair arranged in ringlets and decorated with silk leaves, she was a pretty contrast to the tall, athletically-built gentleman at her side.
His unruly dark hair and spectacles gave him a scholarly air. The scientist-husband, obviously. His would be an earnestly handsome, pleasant sort of face—if he weren’t directing a fierce scowl at Rhys.
Rhys stepped forward. His expression was a smooth mask, and his eyes were wary.
He bowed. “Mr. and Mrs. Kent. Thank you for receiving us.”
“If I’d had my way, I would have received you in a back alley,” Mr. Kent growled.
Maggie swallowed. What was the source of their bad blood?
“Now, Harry, we discussed this,” his wife reminded him. “Let me take care of this, please?”
After a smoldering glare at Rhys, Harry Kent turned to his wife. Then his look was smoldering in a different way, and despite the situation, Maggie felt a little swoony seeing the obvious attraction between the two. Kent kissed his wife’s hand, and her cheeks turned rosy.
“All right, sprite. But one misstep,”—he aimed another warning look at Rhys—“and I’m calling the bastard out.”
“Now that that’s settled,” Mrs. Kent said brightly, “introductions are in order, are they not?”
She came up to Maggie and Glory, her clear jade eyes regarding them with frank interest. Maggie was glad that she’d worn her new lilac carriage dress. It had fit her perfectly out of the box; when she’d asked Rhys how he knew her measurements to the inch, he’d merely given her a rakish grin. The stylish garment had full bishop sleeves and a draped flounce. Bertha had tamed her hair into a fashionable chignon, securing it with a pair of ivory combs.
“Good day, ma’am. I’m Margaret Foley. This is my daughter, Gloriana.” Maggie dropped a curtsy, but Glory failed to follow suit. She nudged her frozen daughter, whispering, “Mind your manners.”
“But, Mama,” Glory said, her eyes wide, “there’s somethingmovingaround her neck!”
Maggie blinked because her daughter was right. Out of nowhere, a length of champagne-colored fur had appeared, circling itself around Mrs. Kent’s neck like a muff. When it stopped moving, she saw that it was a…a ferret?
“This is Swift Nick Nevison,” Mrs. Kent said, as if presenting ferrets was a perfectly normal thing to do. “Say hello to everyone, Swift Nick.”
His paws on his mistress’s shoulder, Swift Nick had inquisitive eyes that peered out of a dark, mask-like strip of fur. A second later, his head bobbed in a distinct bow.
“Aren’t you the cleverest?” Giggling, Glory curtsied in return. “I’m pleased to meet you too, Swift Nick.”
The animal visibly preened. Then it looked in Rhys’s direction…and bared its fangs.
“Still haven’t traded him in for a spaniel, I see,” Rhys said dryly (and, Maggie thought, somewhat cryptically).
“Swift Nick is an excellent judge of character. Neither he nor I have forgotten your distaste for ferrets.” Mrs. Kent’s pretty eyes turned flinty. “Shall we have tea and discuss the matter at hand?”
Refreshments were brought in. Mrs. Kent gave Glory a dish of liver biscuits to feed Swift Nick, and the girl and the ferret were now “having tea” in a far corner of the room while the adults faced off around the coffee table. Mrs. Kent had gestured for Maggie to take the seat beside her while the men occupied adjacent chairs.
“Now to business,” Mrs. Kent said. “You have something to ask of me, Ransom?”
Rhys straightened his shoulders, as if bracing for something unpleasant. “Indeed. But first, if I may, I’d like to offer my sincere apologies for any past,”—he cleared his throat— “misunderstandings.”
