“I came to Hatchard’s to purchase a book Lord Bolton, not review lists,” she argued.
“Then I will call on you and we can discuss the matter over tea.”
“You really are most persistent.”
“You were a dear friend before you married, and I trusted you then, as I will trust your opinion now.”
They flirted and danced and were friendly but not friends. But, as that was twelve years ago, it was likely nobody would remember anything of what they may have shared during that Season.
“How long is this list?”
At least she was playing along even though she couldn’t have any idea what list he was talking about.
“I have already scratched off a third of the names, so you need not worry about those. It is the others that I wish to ask you about. When one is considering a wife, one cannot be too careful.”
Her eyes widened ever so slightly. “There are others more suited to be your matchmaker, Lord Bolton.”
“I do not trust them as much as I trust you.”
“Very well, join me for tea and I will review your list, but that is all I will agree to for now.”
She then turned away from him and strode to the counter where she purchased her book.
Angelo simply stood there grinning, and then walked to the door. The matrons were watching him with a mixture of perplexity and curiosity in their eyes.
“Matchmaking,” one whispered to the others.
“Yes, well, as she will not consider me for herself, then I must seek her counsel if I am to wed by Christmas.”
He then walked out of Hatchard’s and right into pouring rain.
“Bloody hell!”
He was not going to walk to his home in St. James in this downpour and would need to hail a hackney.
Angelo stepped closer to the road and waved one down just as Octavia stepped out of the bookshop.
“Oh dear!”
“Where is your carriage?” he asked. The least he could do was have it brought closer to the entry.
“I walked.”
The hackney pulled beside him, and Angelo opened the door. “Come along. I will see you home.”
“I am not certain that is at all proper.”
“By the time the newssheets are printed tomorrow, all of London will think you are my matchmaker.”
“How can you be so certain?” she asked as rain flattened the curls she once possessed.
“Because those three matrons are some of the busiest gossips in London,” he informed her. “Now come along before you catch your death from becoming chilled.”
Octavia bit her tongue and then sprinted for the open carriage door. He helped her inside then joined her. Both were now soaked to the skin, but he no longer minded.
“Where to?” the driver called down.
Angelo started to give him the address of where the duke resided, but Octavia quickly corrected him with the address on Bolton Street.
