It was precisely what she’d hoped for Harriett, and yet somehow, she couldn’t work up the proper enthusiasm. Something was niggling at her, like a pebble caught in her half boot, stabbing at her with every step. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but her mind kept returning to that odd comment Kit had made tonight after she’d told him scandal seemed to chase the Templetons wherever they went.
Bad luck, he’d said in reply, but then he’d muttered something under his breath about the Prestwick family knowing all about bad luck. It had seemed a strange thing for him to say, as the one thing everyone in London seemed able to agree on was that the Earls of Prestwick did as they pleased, and never troubled themselves much about what anyone else thought about it. They were, more than any other aristocratic family she could name, utterly unapologetic about their wickedness.
Except Kithadseemed troubled. A dark shadow had passed over his face when he said it, and then he’d quickly changed the subject.
“Lord Prestwick said something odd this evening, Harriett.”
“Lord Prestwick?”
Harriett sounded surprised, as if she’d never heard the name Prestwick in her life, but Tilly swallowed back her impatience. Ladies in love were selfish creatures, after all.
“Yes. It was just an offhand comment, something about the Prestwick family having a history of bad luck, but it struck me as odd.”
“Oh, I daresay he’s referring to the curse.”
“Curse?” Tilly propped herself up on her elbows and peered at Harriett through the darkness. “What curse?”
“You’ve never heard of the Prestwick curse?”
“No, not a word.” Heavens, how could she have missed something as fascinating as that?
“I daresay it’s because you’ve never to London before. The gossips claim that an ancient curse shadows the Prestwick sons. The way I heard it told, some wicked medieval ancestor broke his promise to wed an innocent young lady he’d compromised, and the girl’s grandmother laid a curse on him as punishment.”
“What sort of curse?”
“The very worst sort! Every subsequent Prestwick son is fated to die in a duel until the Prestwick line is extinguished forever. Fantastical, is it not?”
“That’s ridiculous!” But was it, though? Was it any more ridiculous than believing scandal was stalking the Templetons?
“Yes. I daresay it’s all nonsense, though it must be said that quite a few Earls of Prestwick have met their ends at the edge of a blade or, more recently, with the strike of a pistol ball.”
A curse, of all things. Why hadn’t Lady Fosberry mentioned anything about this curse?
Hariett’s coverlet rustled as she rolled over in her bed. “Goodness, I’m tired! Good night, Tilly.”
Dear God, how could Harriett possibly fall asleepnow? “Er, good night.”
She fell back against the bed, her head spinning so wildly it threatened to fly off her—
Neck. Oh, dear. Not the best analogy, perhaps.
It couldn’t possibly be true, of course. There was no such thing as ancient curses.
Although…well, the world was filled with unexplainable things, wasn’t it? And really, didn’t the truth of the thing matter far less than whether or not Kit believed it to be true? And what did Harriett mean by ‘quite a few earls.’ How many earls?
She lay on her back on her bed, one hand buried in the warm fur of Lucifer’s neck, the other pressed over her eyes in an attempt to keep them closed, and invite sleep to take her.
No, it was no use. She couldn’t sleep. Not a single wink, until she knew the whole of it.
She waited until Harriett’s breathing turned deep and even, then crawled out from under the coverlet and slid from the bed, pausing to throw her cloak over her night rail before gathering Lucifer into her arms. “Come along, Lucifer, and attend to your business. It’s been ages since you’ve been out.”
And if Lucifer happened to run over to Prestwick Cottage, as he was inclined to do, well…there was nothing she could do but follow him, was there?
Lucifer let out a sleepy growl of protest, but she pressed her hand over his mouth. “Hush, you wicked thing. It’s time to make yourself useful, for once.”
Oh, but this was a dreadful idea. Of course, it was. If scandal truly was haunting the Templetons, she was tempting it with every step she took toward her bedchamber door. Yet she didn’t return to bed, as she should have, but slipped out into the corridor, a squirming Lucifer tucked under her arm.
* * *
