“I certainly hope it does,” Lady Foxworth said, her teacup clattering loudly against its saucer as she set it down a touch harder than usual. “And there is no need for you to find them annoying as long as you keep an open mind.”
To Mary’s way of thinking, any man who would try to convince her to do something that she had no desire to do—like marry, in this case—was bound to be annoying. To her chagrin, Rotridge had even managed to make her go boating later, in spite of her protests. Signor Antonio would never have tried to force her like that. Her heart trembled a little at the thought of him and of what she intended to do.
“What are your plans for the day?” Mary asked her aunt when they were done with their meal and had exited the dining room.
“Lady Duncaster tells me that Mr.Thomas Young will be arriving today and she has very kindly offered to introduce me to him.”
“That will be exciting for you,” Mary said, aware of her aunt’s admiration for the scientist. “I suppose you will be discussing his wave theory of light?”
“Oh yes. That, and his theory on color perception, which I find most fascinating.”
“I am simply dumbfounded by all the languages he can speak. Ten, is it?”
Lady Foxworth raised her eyebrows. “Twelve,” she said.
“That is incredible,” Mary remarked.
“And useful too, as proven by his successful efforts in translating the demotic text of the Rosetta Stone.”
“He did that as well?”
Lady Foxworth nodded. “I believe he is still working on the hieroglyphs, though I have every confidence that he will eventually decipher those too. How about you, Mary? What are your plans for the day? I know you have your boat ride with Rotridge later this afternoon.”
“Yes. I received a note from him this morning, suggesting that we head down to the lake together after luncheon, which allows me some time right now in which to see to my correspondence.”
“Then you have a busy day ahead of you as well, it would seem. I shall leave you to it then,” Lady Foxworth said as she started to turn away. “Perhaps you can join me for tea on the terrace after your boat ride?”
“I would love to,” Mary said, happy to have an excuse to extricate herself from Rotridge’s company if it became necessary for her to do so.
Returning upstairs to her bedchamber, Mary seated herself at her escritoire, prepared a piece of foolscap, readied her quill, and proceeded to write two letters—one to her brother, Lord Carthright, and the other to her bank, informing them to transfer the necessary funds to her brother upon his request. Sealing the letters, she sat back in her chair, pondering the idea that had been forming in her mind since the previous evening. “Amy,” she said, drawing her maid’s attention from across the room.
“Yes, my lady?” She’d been mending a loose ruffle on one of Mary’s chemises, but paused in her task and raised her head, giving Mary her full attention.
“I have been thinking about what you said last night—about giving my mystery man a chance.” Amy said nothing, but her curiosity was clear due to her arched eyebrows. “The problem is that I do not know where to find him.”
“There must be something for you to go on.”
“He called himself Signor Antonio.”
“Perhaps it is a clue,” Amy suggested. “His real name might be Anthony. Do you know of a peer by that name?”
“A couple of gentlemen come to mind, but one is not here and the other is married, so I doubt it can be either of them. But what if...” Biting her lip in contemplation, Mary drummed her fingers casually against the surface of her desk. “What if I were to write to Signor Antonio and leave the letter on the silver salver in the foyer. I doubt the butler will know who to deliver it to, so he will probably ask Lady Duncaster, and then she will have no choice but to help me.”
“She will be duty bound to deliver the letter,” Amy said, her eyes brightening with excitement.
“Yes. And then it will be up to Signor Antonio to decide what to do with the proposition that I intend to make him.”
“You will be going against Lady Foxworth’s wishes,” Amy pointed out.
“Are you trying to dissuade me now, after everything you have said? This was practically your idea.” Shifting in her seat, Mary reached for her quill. “Besides, it is a well-known fact that a good romance has a dragon that must be slayed in order to allow for a happily-ever-after.”
A choked sound escaped Amy. “I hope you are not referring to your aunt.”
Pressing her lips together, Mary tried not to laugh as she set her quill to the piece of paper in front of her. “Of course not,” she managed. “I am referring to the situation as a whole.”
It was just after noon when Mary descended to the dining room. She’d entrusted Amy with the tasks of posting her letters and discreetly placing the note for Signor Antonio on the salver in the foyer. Entering the dining room, she was met by Rotridge who looked as though he’d been standing guard in anticipation of her arrival.
He smiled broadly and offered her his arm. “You look just as lovely today as you did last night,” he said as he guided her toward a vacant spot at one end of the table.
