His mother scoffed. “Now is not the time for a joke, Timothy.”
“I disagree,” Tim replied as he greeted their mother with a kiss on her cheek before sitting on the settee. “Tense moments are always the time for a joke. It reduces the tension and forces people to breathe.”
“Did Mother tell you why you have been summoned?” Oliver asked, still on his feet. He had far too much nervous energy to sit.
Tim held up a piece of paper. “She sent me Aunt Fulbourn’s letter.”
After snatching it from his brother, Oliver skimmed the missive. Sure enough, his aunt was offering congratulations. She’d heard the news from someone who had heard it from Mrs. Childs herself. What could possibly motivate Miss Childs’ mother to spread such blatantly untrue information? She was just as likely to damage her daughter’s reputation as anything else. Then it hit him.
He looked between Tim and their mother. “Is she trying to trap me?”
“I do not know Mrs. Childs,” Tim admitted, “but I doubt Miss Childs would do such a thing. We all know she cannot stand you.”
Oliver glared at his brother. “Thank you for that.”
“While Lady Sampson adores Miss Childs,” Lady Diana chimed in, “she is unimpressed with both the character and wit of her mother.”
After three laps around the small sitting room, Oliver finally dropped down next to Tim. “What are the odds this will go away on its own?”
“If nobody knew the source of the information, perhaps.” Lady Diana had dropped all signs of her society mask, and her eyes held nothing but concern. “With her mother involved, I think it highly unlikely.”
“If I go to London, I could be trapped into marriage.” Tim and their mother both nodded. “But if I stay here, I could be labeled a cad who abandoned her.”
“If she is involved, the latter might be the better option.” His mother sounded thoughtful. “Marriage is a long commitment, and her reputation is not your responsibility if she is in the wrong.”
“I agree with Tim, she is not the one trying to trap me.” Oliver was not sure how he knew, but he did. She put on the polite mask of a society debutante, but there was more to her. He was sure of it. He stood once again. “I need time to consider before I make a decision.”
“Just don’t take too long,” his mother suggested. “These things can get out of hand rather quickly.”
With nothing else to say, both brothers bid their mother good day and left the room. “Are you really willing to risk being forced to marry Miss Childs?” Tim asked once they were far enough down the corridor for their voicesnot to carry back.
Oliver looked around to make sure they were truly alone. “It depends on which version of Miss Childs makes an appearance. I thoroughly enjoy the version from the circulating library, and behind the pot.”
Tim pulled Oliver to a stop. “Behind the pot?”
Blast, had he said that aloud? With no other option, he gave his brother a quick summary of their first meeting at Aunt Fulbourn’s soiree.
“Can you please stop?” Oliver demanded after his brother bent over in peels of laughter. “This is a serious situation.”
“I apologize.” Tim set a hand on Oliver’s shoulder and let out one last chuckle before sobering. “Only, this explains so much about why her society mask bothered you. You had already been given a glimpse behind it.”
“Precisely,” Oliver admitted. “I’ve met countless debutantes with perfect society masks. But with Catherine Childs, I want to peel hers off.”
“I need to send a note to the curate in Faringwood to cover for me. It appears that we are going to London.”
“We?” Oliver clarified.
His twin almost looked hurt. “Do you really believe I would let you face this on your own?”
Kitty leaned back against her pillow and turned the page of her gothic novel. She had not stepped foot out of the townhouse since her arrivalthe previous Saturday. Without her frequent trips to retrieve books from her father’s old study and sneak food from the kitchens, she would not have left her bedchamber at all. Her occasional escapes were the only reason she even bothered to get dressed each morning. In truth, she was beginning to feel stir-crazy. But not so much as to be willing to face the gossip of London society.
A soft tapping sounded at the door. It was more than likely a servant. Her mother had given up her visits after Kitty’s third day of voluntary isolation. “Come in.”
Edwin, the senior footman, stepped inside with a silver platter in hand. “You have a message from Lady Sampson, miss.”
Lady Sampson? She’d not heard from the baroness since they’d arrived in London. Kitty had idly wondered what she thought of all the gossip, but she’d not had the courage to write and ask. After breaking the wax seal on the folded missive, she read the most perplexing note.
My dearest Kitty,
