“The advertisement?” whispered Tessa.
“The dowries. TheGentleman Sailors.”
They hadn’t discussed the advertisement in ten days at least. Letters had come by post, just as Willow had promised, but the majority of the applicants were unsuitable. If they did not invite caveats or stipulations, they proposed unsuitable ventures, everything from impractical to improbable to illegal. Illiteracy was rife and illegibility the rule. Willow had elected not to mention these to her friends. Where was the value in discussing thewrongapplicants until the correct applicants came along?
And now this.
“But have you arranged an interview already?” asked Tessa.
Willow shook her head. “There have been no suitable applicants to speak of. If this man has come about the advertisement, he is here . . . unprovoked.” Willow stared at the open workshop door. The butler would reach them any moment.
“But I don’t understand,” said Tessa. “I thought . . . ”
Just then, Abbott stepped into the open door, blocking the sunlight and scattering kittens.
“Begging your pardon, my lady,” intoned the butler, glancing with distaste around the workshop, “a gentleman from London has called.”
“A gentleman?” repeated Willow.
The butler grunted. “Regretfully, I did not ascertain the man’s name, but Mr. Fisk may know it.” Abbott cleared his throat. “I did learn that he requests an appointment with an individual he refers to as ‘W. J. Hunnicut’ . . . ”
Here he paused and stared pointedly. Willow blinked, one innocuously gentle bat of her lashes. Shock and wild fear exploded in her chest.
She continued to say nothing, and the butler was forced to go on. “Of his own accord, Mr. Fisk informed us both that ‘W. J. Hunnicut’ was in the falconry at present.” Abbott sneered at the confines of the workshop. “And then he suggested that the man wait in the blue room while ‘W. J. Hunnicut’ was summoned. I take it to mean that the illustrious ‘W. J.’ is you?” He added, “My lady.”
Willow smiled briskly. “Thank you, Abbott. You’ll forgive my oversight. As you may or may not know, W. J. Hunnicut is, in fact, a form ofmyname, Willow Joy Hunnicut. Mr. Fisk is correct.”
To this, Abbott had no response. It was now his turn to wait.
“Might I ask,” Willow went on, casually folding her scarf, “after the location of my mother?”
“Lady Lytton is on her afternoon ride, I believe.”
“Of course.” Willow’s mother and her grooms exercised chosen horses every afternoon. On a fine day, they had been known to ride the North Downs all the way to Dorking and back.
Willow checked the window. Three hours until the sun set, at least. By some miracle, time was on her side. Not a lot of time. Not enough to conduct any real business. But certainly it was enough time to ascertain whether or not this uninvited man was remotely suitable.
It would have to be enough.
She looked back to Abbott. “If Mr. Fisk has not already done so, please install the gentleman in my father’s library. I will attend them shortly.”
“I beg your pardon?” Abbott said carefully.
Willow turned her back to him to close the window. “The library, if you please, Mr. Abbott.” Her voice was firmer now. She glanced back and Abbott stared. His very posture projected,I will not.
“You may send Perry to attend to us,” Willow added, grasping at straws. Her lady’s maid rarely lent propriety to any given situation, but she would be another female in the room, and Willow was desperate. She added, “Mr. Fisk will linger as well.” In her head, she thought,Butyouwill not.
Abbott did not voice his objection so much as allow his silence to speak.
Willow did the same, dismissing him by ignoring him. When he was gone, she drew her first breath in what felt like five minutes. She glanced at her friend.
“Whatare you doing?” Tessa whispered. Her voice was somewhere between fear and awe.
I’ve no idea,Willow thought, but she said, “I’m getting married, and moving to London, and making all of my dreams come true. Just as I’ve said.”
***
Something, Cassin thought,is not quite right.
