He had his mother to thank for that, apparently.
Before Danielle could respond, the coach jerked to a halt. Andrew glanced out the window, relieved to see they were in Bruton Street. Relieved to see the townhouse was fairly well maintained, even if the black window boxes beneath the ground floor windows didn’t have any flowers in them. All the black shutters appeared in working order, as did the red front door, which featured a brass mermaid knocker.
“Where are we?” Danielle asked as the driver opened the coach door. Anticipation had flutterbies tumbling about in her stomach. Never before these past two days had she allowed a young man to escort her somewhere without the benefit of a footman or a lady’s maid. She wouldn’t have been allowed.
She rather doubted she was allowed now, except she was quite sure she had spotted her father watching the coach from the other side of the street.
“Number twenty-five, Bruton Street,” Andrew replied. “The park is but a few streets that way,” he said as he pointed west.
Danielle gingerly stepped down, allowing the driver to help as her gaze darted about. For the first time since they had left Carlington House, she worried who might see her in the company of a man.
Andrew offered his arm, and she quickly threaded hers through his elbow. “Have you met your neighbors?” she asked, her gaze going to where she was sure she had seen her father.
No one was there, though.
Andrew shook his head. “Not yet,” he admitted. Given the townhouse’s proximity to Grovesnor Square, he sorted that most in this neighborhood would be members of the peerage or wealthy merchants and bankers. “Shall we?”
Danielle once again glanced around. “Please,” she whispered.
The front door opened even before they had a chance to employ the mermaid knocker.
“Parker?” Andrew guessed, recalling his mother’s mention of the servant’s name.
The butler bowed slightly. “I am, Mr. Comber. We’ve been expecting you.”
Andrew’s eyes rounded before he realized his mother had probably sent word that he’d be occupying the property. “Ah, very good. I expect we’ll be staying at least the night and possibly another. It will depend on her ladyship,” he said as he nodded toward Danielle. “If she finds the accommodations satisfactory or not.”
“Very good, sir,” Parker said as he stood aside to let them in.
About to put voice to a protest—she had no intention of spending the night—or two—Danielle realized she couldn’t counter his words or the butler might jump to conclusions. Realize they weren’t married. Or think she was Andrew’s mistress.
“If we could have tea brought to the parlor in say... half an hour?” Andrew suggested.
“Of course, sir.”
“And dinner at seven.”
“Very good, sir. In the dining room? Or...?”
Andrew swallowed, realizing they weren’t in possession of dinner clothes. He hadn’t thought to bring any luggage. “The dining room will be fine,” he replied, well aware Danielle was on the verge of protesting. “In the meantime, I’ll take her ladyship on a tour of the house.”
He watched Parker hurry off to the kitchens before turning his gaze onto Danielle. Her attention was on the hall, though, her eyes round with wonder. “Where would you like to start?” he asked, relieved she no longer seemed so nervous. Or about to protest.
Danielle scoffed. “What are you about?” she asked in a whisper.
He shrugged. “I merely wish to show you where we would live should you agree to marry me,” he replied.
“Dinner?” she countered. “Touring a house won’t take fourhours.”
He winced. “True,” he hedged, wondering if he should tell her everything her father had told him he should do. At some point, he would have to tell her he had kidnapped her.
But not just yet.
