“Her grace is not receiving this morning.”
“Perhaps Lady Lorelei is available then?”
“I’m sorry, sir, she is not.”
“She’ll be at the Peachornsby rout this evening?”
“I couldn’t say sir.”
Another thread of the rope snapped loose.
Ten
L
orelei made it to her bedchamber before the dam of tears broke. She didn’t manage to keep the door from slamming. Why was Aunt Isobel in such a hurry to marry her off? True, she teased the duchess unmercifully, but she seemed to take it with gruff affection, and on occasion, even reveled somewhat in the attention. But Aunt Isobel had gone too far. Shufflebottom would never tolerate Brandon, and Lorelei would not stand for her brother being mistreated. More than that, he needed a sponsor for his art.
She paced off her anger until the tears dried and she could think coherently. She blew her nose and studied her red-rimmed eyes in the mirror. What the devil was she to do?
Someone tapped at the door. Quickly dropping her linen handkerchief, she walked to the window as the door opened.
“Lore?”
She spun around. “Oh, Brandon. Come in.”
He looked behind him then entered, dragging a case behind him.
“What—”
“I’m not staying here. I’m going back to Spixworth.”
For the second time in a day, she was stymied, left with her mouth gaping.
“She hates me. I’m a viscount. I have a home, and I’m going back. I don’t care what anyone says.”
Lorelei went to Brandon and wrapped him in a hug, warmed when his own arms tightened around her. She stepped back and, taking his hand, led him to the settee in front of the fire blazing in the hearth. “How will you get there?”
“I have funds.”
“Brandon, Spixworth is three days from here.”
“I don’t care. I’m leaving. Today.”
Lorelei studied this half-man, half-child before her, with his gangly limbs and awkward height he hadn’t quite accustomed himself to. “What garnered this decision, Bran?”
“I heard the old battle-axe. She plans to sell you off to that popinjay. She even called him a scoundrel and doesn’t give a damn.” His voice cracked, in another sign of his shift to adulthood.
She gasped. “Brandon, your language.”
He lifted a stubborn chin. “She doesn’t like you any more than she likes me. And that’s a fact.”
Lorelei stared into the fire. Perhaps he was right. Slowly, her gaze moved back to him. “What if… what if I went with you?”
Hope flared in his face but quickly faded. “You’ll never be able to get away.”
“How much funds do you have?”
“Sixteen shillings.”
