“Oh, I say,” a man called. “Lemon cakes are my favorite. Ten pounds.”
Flora’sone season had been brief, providing few suitors, and she feared her state of mourning offended the highest sticklers. Would she have many offers? When some tentative bids, from Lieutenant Branson and Beau Fishingworth among others, began to push the price upward, she sighed with relief.
Will smiled down at her. “Fifty pounds,” he called.
“Seventy-five.” For a heart stopping moment it sounded like Lord Ethan Alcott’s voice, but of course that was impossible. Flo turned this way and that, looking for the source while Lord Henry called for more bids.
“Eighty,” her brother called with a devilish grin and a wink. Flo’s jaw dropped.
“One hundred and fifty.” A collective gasp came over the crowd.
“Another generous bidder!” Lord Henry laughed.
Chadbourn smirked, “More than I expected.”
It wasn’t the highest bid that day, but far more than most. Flo felt her face heat. She barely heard Lord Henry close bidding. With one hand on her brother’s shoulder, she craned her neck to see who came forward.
Lord Edmund Alcott, Viscount Penrhyd sauntered toward the table to pay and collect her basket. No wonder she thought she heard Ethan! He sounded much like him.
“Lady Flora, Chadbourn,” the grinning viscount greeted them.
Flo sank into a proper curtsey, eager to thank the viscount for his generous bid and equally eager to ask him about his brother’s wellbeing.
“Chadbourn, would it be acceptable for me to escort your sister out of the marquee? I have something to show her.”
Flo saw the twinkle in her brother’s eye and peered from one to the other.
“Of course, Penrhyd. I will follow in due time.” Will winked. He actually winked.
Bemused, Flo let herself be led away.
* * *
Ethan watched through a break among the tents as Lady Flora—his Flora— took his brother’s arm and exited the marquee housing the Venetian Breakfast. Edmund led her down the makeshift street toward the landau where Ethan waited with escalating frustration. Bundled in blankets and swathed in shawls like some damned infant, Ethan sat across from his father who examined him from the rear-facing seat as if he feared Ethan might fall ill at any moment.
“I won’t collapse, I promise,” he muttered.
“This is a fool's errand, Ethan. We can invite the earl and his sister to dinner, and she may thank you then,” the old man grumbled. “I’m grateful to her for bringing you back to us; I’m happy to assist her in any way, but not at the expense of a relapse.”
Ethan ignored him and shifted once more toward his brother and the woman on his arm. He had planned this carefully, sending Edmund as his surrogate, demanding the open landau, and requesting her maid who sat meekly in the far corner, for propriety’s sake. He wouldn’t quit now.
Flora and Edmund approached two open cafés; she glanced about with obvious confusion when they passed them, and seemed to be on the verge of asking questions when they reached the front of the landau.
Her brows rose as if to ask, you brought me to see a carriage? When she peered up at the coachman her eyes widened.
“John?”
The biddable one-eared footman spoke up. “I’ve had a promotion, Lady Flora. His lordship offered me work as coachman like I’ve always wanted.”
“Does my brother know?”
“The earl said as how I should better myself, and that it opened a position for another man in need of one.”
Flora’s smile warmed Ethan more than the hot bricks his father had placed beneath his feet. Unfortunately, she smiled at Edmund not Ethan. “Well done, my lord. I suspect your tiger is new as well,” she said, indicating the man who had clambered down prepared to open the landau’s door. She couldn’t have missed the man’s pronounced limp.
Edmund cleared his throat. “We’ve made a start, my lady,” he said, “but that isn’t why I brought you here.” He drew her to the side of the landau, looking past her at the passengers in the vehicle, and she turned her head in response. Ethan unwrapped his face to smile back at her.
Her gasp almost choked her. “You shouldn’t be here!”
