Sidney’s tone was too smug to be ignored, and Malcolm raised his brows in challenge. “So you told your wife all about the time we visited that coffee shop in White Chapel, which turned out to have quite a different reputation than was advertised—”
With a sharp clearing of his throat, Sidney gave his friend a hard glare, but Molly turned her attention from the window.
“Oh, I am well aware of what you found there,” replied Molly. “I know all about it.”
Sidney turned to stare at her.
“I always know, my love,” she murmured with an arched brow.
Taking her hand in his once more, he placed yet another kiss on her knuckles. “That you do.”
And Sidney’s tone made it clear he rather enjoyed that fact. For a brief moment, the world around the pair seemed to dim, as though they saw only each other, leaving Malcolm entirely superfluous. Invisible, in fact. Neither husband nor wife moved or said a word. Their gazes simply locked upon one another, a silent discussion passing between them that, though Malcolm couldn’t interpret, caused a flush of heat to fill his cheeks. His eyes darted to the window, and he cleared his throat.
With a huff, Sidney seemed to come back to himself.
“What precisely happened when you delivered the carriage?” asked Molly. “While he told me everything, I am not certain I trust my husband to relay all the details without his own interpretation coloring it.”
Malcolm didn’t care to dredge it all up again, but as it was firmly lodged in his brain, it was better to simply say the words once more. Perhaps describing it again would afford him some peace at last. Besides, Molly was a lady and would likely have far better insight into the inscrutable female mind than Sidney.
Thankfully, their destination was on the opposite side of town, giving them enough time for him to relay the whole mess. Sidney seemed to nod off at times, but Molly’s attention remained fixed on Malcolm as he laid out every detail. Even the ones he’d prefer not to share. Molly likely knew the worst of it because, like any good friend, Sidney was bound to have shared those most embarrassing moments. More likely, he’d expanded on them.
“This all seems ridiculous to me,” said the fellow, seeming to rouse himself from his slumber. “I can understand her reticence after the farce—heaven knows that was badly done—but to call you a poor master is ludicrous. Not only is it a poor reason to reject a man, but you treat your servants well. You pay them handsomely—some would argue you are too generous in that respect—and you hire far more than you require. What about that makes you a poor master? It’s nonsense.”
Molly’s brows pulled together, and she turned a contemplative look toward the passing scenery. It took no great leap in logic to see something was on her mind, but she said nothing.
Turning his gaze to his friend, Malcolm considered that. “I suppose that is true. I am not happy with the deception, and I certainly didn’t intend for my servants to feel threatened by my request. Perhaps I stepped a little beyond the bounds of what I ought to have done, but that doesn’t make me a villain.”
Sidney huffed. “I would say it was nothing at all. What harm did it do for them to carry on with the pretense? They are servants, paid to do your bidding. If they were truly unhappy with the work to be done, they would find some other profession. There are plenty from which to choose.”
Malcolm’s hand bobbed with the sway of the carriage as he considered that. A movement from Molly had him glancing at her once more; she was sitting stiffly on the seat beside her husband.
“Is something amiss?” asked Malcolm.
“Not at all,” said Molly.
Sidney seemed not to notice, but there was something in her tone that felt as though those three words were as much a lie as the ones he’d given Miss Leigh. But Molly’s brittle smile warned him not to press the issue further.
Thankfully, the carriage pulled to a stop, and thoughts of the coming picnic stole away their attention. Sidney and Malcolm emerged, but the former turned back to help his wife descend. Not releasing her hand, he threaded it through his arm, and Sidney smiled in such a way that Malcolm couldn’t help but grin as well. Even if Molly weren’t loveable of her own accord, Malcolm could forever adore the lady who brought his friend such joy.
“Mr. Tate!”
“Hang it all,” hissed Malcolm beneath his breath, and though no one else would’ve overheard his verbal misstep, Molly’s brows rose.
“My apologies,” he whispered.
“None needed. Your choice of words is quite restrained considering…” Molly’s words drifted off as she nodded towards the flurry of petticoats bearing down on them.
“I had heard you were attending this afternoon,” said Miss Goddard as she came to a stop before him.
“As is most of Greater Edgerton,” said Malcolm with a polite bow before turning to move past her.
“I do apologize for being so beastly,” she said with a tittering laugh, turning her gaze to the Bracegirdles. “I fear I haven’t been properly introduced, though Mr. Tate has spoken of you quite warmly.”
Malcolm’s spine stiffened, and he glanced at his friends before turning his eyes to the heavens, as though pleading for strength. It wasn’t as though he and Miss Goddard had spoken much concerning any subject, let alone concerning his dearest friends. Why she thought speaking in such familiar terms would endear her to him was a mystery, but as many young ladies had attempted such ploys before, Malcolm knew it was not unique to her.
“And he has spoken of you, Miss Goddard,” replied his snake of a friend.
Sidney glanced at him, but Malcolm couldn’t find it in the slightest bit amusing. The fellow knew just how little encouragement it took for young ladies to imagine a tendre, and Miss Goddard had already proven herself to be as sticky as a burr.
