“What was that, Lady Weston?”
Lyra’s head jerked toward Alister. His left brow was lifted slightly.
Drat.She’d been thinking out loud again. “I didn’t say anything, Your Grace.”
“Didn’t you?” He tapped a finger against his chin. “I could have sworn you mentioned something about a particular hat…”
“It was a bonnet, actually,” she corrected without thinking, then silently berated herself when the edges of his mouth turned up in amusement. He had been intentionally baiting her, and she had fallen right into his trap.
When he tapped on the roof of the carriage, Lyra looked at him in horror. “Why are we stopping?”
“I thought you might wish to have a memento of today,” he replied. “My treat, of course.”
Her mouth dropped open. “You mustn’t!” she cried. “Unless it is black crepe, which it most certainly wasnot, I’m not allowed…”
His gaze held hers. “Then you can wear it when you are free.”
Lyra was temporarily struck speechless as he climbed out of the vehicle and strode through the door of the establishment. With a snort, she leaned her head back against the squabs.There is no way he could possibly know which…
She watched in disbelief as the store clerk took the very item she’d been admiring out of the store window: a dark purple bonnet trimmed with lilac silk and matching roses.
“Impossible man,” Lyra muttered, but when Mrs. Birdwell answered her, she realized she really had to work harder to keep her musings to herself.
“The duke is a kind and true gentleman,” the older woman said. Her wise gaze was direct but not condemning. “The lady who wins his hand will be lucky indeed.”
“I couldn’t agree more. Perhaps when he is done acting as my guard, he can turn his focus in that direction.”
Mrs. Birdwell merely smiled knowingly as she watched Alister coming out of the shop with a round hatbox tucked securely under his arm. As he handed off the item to his tiger so the boy could put the purchase in the vehicle’s boot, she murmured, “You don’t think that he’s already found her?”
Lyra frowned. “The duke and I are only friends. He believes he owes my brother a debt, which is the only reason he’s here now.”
“I meant no offense.” Fanny patted her hand. “I was merely pointing out that if you gave him some encouragement, I surmise that you could be a duchess by this time next year.”
“Perhaps I don’t wish to marry again.”
“You’re too young to live the rest of your days alone,” her companion replied gently.
Lyra mulled this over as Alister climbed back into the carriage. As they set off once more, she chided, “That really wasn’t necessary, Your Grace. Not to mention highly improper of you to buy me such an extravagant gift. Especially now.”
“A simple ‘thank you’ would suffice,” he countered dryly as his eyes flashed mischievously. “Besides, perhaps I’m tired of doing things the proper way.”
Lyra couldn’t keep her lips from twitching. He had cornered her quite effectively as he used her words against her. “How very correct you are, Your Grace. In that case, thank you very much for the lovely bonnet.”
“You’re quite welcome, Lady Weston.” Satisfied, he sat back with a grin on his face, and if Lyra wasn’t mistaken, a similar one also graced Mrs. Birdwell’s wrinkled features.
After a moment, Lyra frowned slightly. “Shouldn’t we be heading back to Weston House?”
Alister’s gaze twinkled. “I thought we might make a brief stop at Gunter’s first.”
Mrs. Birdwell instantly clapped her hands together like an excited child. “Oh, I do so love their ices! Did you know that they’ve been in a time-honored establishment since my grandmother was young, back in 1757? Of course, it was called the ‘Pot and Pine Apple’ at that time, but when James died and his son Robert took over, naturally it was renamed to honor the family…”
Lyra and Alister exchanged a smile as they let her drone on about the popular teashop. After they arrived, he offered to procure their treats so that they might wait in the comfort of the carriage. Lyra ordered the lemon ice, preferring the tart flavor, while Mrs. Birdwell requested a cherry sorbet.
The two women had only been waiting for a few minutes when they overheard the sound of raised voices outside. At first, Lyra thought there must be some sort of riot or protest to cause such a commotion. Concerned for Alister’s safety, she drew back the curtain over the coach window, only to wish she hadn’t.
A condemning finger suddenly pointed toward where she sat. “That’s her! That’s the woman who killed my brother!”
Lyra gasped in horror, instantly feeling a numbing cold from the inside out, a sensation that had nothing to do with the chilly December wind. She hadn’t seen her brother-in-law, Richard Coventry, the newly minted Lord Weston, since Roger’s funeral. But never had he displayed such open animosity or hatred toward her as he did now.
