She touched his hand. “Don’t bother, my lord. We both know it was to end at some point. Now is as good a time as any.”
The breath went out of him. She was right. He wanted nothing to ruin his opportunity with Lorelei. Consciously or unconsciously, he’d made his decision. His purpose for calling on Rowena the next day was to give her his parting gift, and that was just as easily accomplished by courier.
Nine
W
hen Lorelei descended the stairs in Aunt Isobel’s house the next morning, she was assailed by the fragrance of roses. It was not subtle, it was a message. One that had her heart thudding violently against her ribs. Everywhere she looked were roses. All red. Her favorite. Her insides turned to mush. Lord Kimpton had been busy.
“Lorelei!” Aunt Isobel’s voice sounded raspier than was usual.
She hurried into the drawing room. “What is it, Aunt? Are you all right?”
Aunt Isobel was in the throes of a coughing fit.
Lorelei strode over and poured fresh black tea in her aunt’s cup. “Drink this.”
After a moment, the duchess got her wind. “That tea is abominable without sugar and milk.”
“Yes, but it works better plain to keep you from choking to your death. Now, what has you in such a tizzy?”
Aunt Isobel cleared her throat. “Shufflebottom has asked for your hand.”
“Pardon?”
“You heard me. I think you should accept.”
The oxygen left Lorelei’s body in a blinding rush. She fell into a nearby chair. “Goodness, Aunt, I’ve only just come out. One ball, and one evening at the theater. Is that all I’m allotted? Why should I accept the first proposal issued?”
“He’s offered to send that brother of yours to school. He’ll attend Eton, then Oxford, get a proper education behind him. Put all that art nonsense out of that fool head of his.”
The red haze didn’t just blur Lorelei’s vision, her body burned inside out with frenzied furor. “Brandon is an extremely talented artist, Aunt. Nothing you nor anyone else says will dispute that.” Her voice trembled with her anger. “I won’t marry that dandy. There’s something off about him.”
“I warned you at the Martindales’ ball if you were late coming back I would accept the first scoundrel’s offer for you, and as it turns out, he was the first. You’ll do as I say. The first banns shall be called on Sunday.”
Lorelei gaped at her aunt, unable to snap her jaw shut. She literally had no words. It was untenable what she was hearing. Her fingers wrapped the locket about her neck, but it brought no comfort.
“Now, take yourself off, I am weary.”
Rising on trembling legs that somehow did not buckle beneath her, Lorelei made her way out of the room.
Another coughing fit hit Aunt Isobel, but Lorelei closed the door behind her, shutting out the duchess’s suffering. “Tibbs, please send someone in to assist her grace. I fear she’s not well.”
T West’s Goldsmith’s jewelry shop of Ludgate Hill was quiet, thankfully. “Sign here, my lord.”
Thorne signed his name with a flourish. “The emeralds go to Cavendish Square, directly to Miss Rowena Hollerfield,” he said. The other box, he stuffed in his pocket. “My thanks, sir.”
“Did you wish to include a note for Miss Hollerfield?”
“It’s unnecessary.” Thorne strode out of the shop and tossed a coin to the street urchin who held the reins to his horse.
In a practiced move, the boy bit down on it. “Thanks, guv.”
Thorne kicked his horse in the direction of Grosvenor Square. He couldn’t quite dispel the image of a guillotine suspended above his neck, rats gnawing through one of the last threads of a thick rope. He wanted to see Lorelei—no, he needed to see her.
Shufflebottom was striding down the street by the time Thorne reached sight of the duchess’s mansion. He hung back until the dandy moved from view, then went up the wide steps and dropped the knocker.
Thorne handed the butler his card. “Lord Kimpton to see the Dowager Duchess of Lewkes.”
