Tomorrow, he vowed silently, the words carving themselves into his bones.Tomorrow he would ask for her hand.Tomorrow he would tell Henley.Tomorrow he would burn the past to ash if that was what it took to keep her safe.
But tonight, Lord Carver’s hand was still on Lady Devon’s waist, and the ghosts of old betrayals howled around Hawthorne like a winter wind, and for the first time in years, he was terrified that history was about to repeat itself after all.
Chapter Nineteen
It was nearlynoon when Peregrine concluded that Lord Hawthorne’s definition ofsoonbelonged to an entirely different dictionary than her own.With a huff she rarely permitted herself, she swept into the library, seized her needlework, and punished the fabric for a full half hour before ringing for tea.
Anna glided in behind the maid.“I was on the verge of ordering tea myself.You will not mind sharing, I hope?”She plucked a biscuit from the tray with impish grace.
“Perish the thought,” Peregrine replied, pouring with exaggerated care and exhaling in a manner that would have sent her mother reaching for the smelling salts.
Anna’s brow arched.“Such theatrics.To what do we owe the performance?”
“I am impatient,” Peregrine announced to her teacup, watching the steam curl like a lover’s promise.
“You?Never say!”
“Your kindness quite overwhelms me.”
Anna grinned, unrepentant.“And precisely what are you impatient for today?”
“I am not always impatient,” Peregrine protested.A beat.“Only usually.”
“My mistake.”Anna flourished a dramatic hand.
Peregrine nibbled a biscuit, choosing her next words like ammunition.“Tell me—how long did it take Henley to offer for you?”
Anna’s eyes softened.“You will recall he was not the one courting me in public at first.”
“Exactly—”
“Yet his intentions were never in doubt.The delay, dear Peregrine, was entirely mine.”
“Drat.”Peregrine sighed.“It would be infinitely easier if I were not the impatient one.”
Anna hid a smile behind her cup.“Fear not.Hawthorne matches your haste stitch for stitch.”
Peregrine’s heart performed an unseemly somersault.“How can you possibly know?”
“Because,” Anna said with triumphant relish, “he sent a note to your brother at the scandalously early hour of nine.They have been locked in conference ever since.”
Peregrine froze, teacup halfway to her lips.“I saw no sign of him.”
“He did not come here.Henley went to him—two hours ago.”
A smile broke across Peregrine’s face before she could school it.“You might have told me!”
“You never asked.I assumed you already knew.”Anna tilted her head.“Though you appear vastly more serene now.”
“Vastly.”Peregrine took another biscuit and savored it like victory.“Now I may simply be impatient for Henley’s return.”
“Unless,” Anna said innocently, “you chose to fetch additional gowns from your mother’s.One never knows when an announcement may require the perfect ensemble.”
Peregrine’s pulse quickened.“Brilliant.Needlepoint is a poor rival to anticipation.I shall finish my tea and depart at once.I may even discover when Edwin intends to descend upon us like a plague of locusts.”
Anna laughed.“I doubt even Edwin would arrive in such a way, he will likely be wishing to avoid detection by the ton, at least for a while.”
“If it served his purpose…” Peregrine let the words hang, drained her cup, and rose.“Send the carriage when Henley returns, will you?I intend to transport an indecent quantity of gowns.”
