Page 45 of The Trick of It

“I overslept,” she answered with a shrug of her delicate shoulders, clad today in a jaunty canary yellow overcoat with a large amber brooch over her heart. “And I needed to speak to the two of you.”

Seph tried to speed along without looking as though she were exerting the effort, shuffling along the pebbled path ahead of the coach until she came up to Rhys’s side, opposite Mrs. Winterstone.

The other woman looked up at her, her eyes shaded by a starched bonnet of yellow and black, and grinned widely. “I’m Lavinia Winterstone,” she said. “You can call me ‘Nini.’ And you are Rhys Caradoc and Persephone Boswell, yes?”

“Yes,” Rhys agreed, his tone sounding a bit wary. “We are.”

“You are the only ones who will not accept Merlin’s invitation to stay at his estate,” she informed him. “I am here to talk you into a change of heart.”

“What?” said Seph. “You’ve spoken to the others?”

Nini shook her head, her grin still in place. “I haven’t.”

Rhys glanced at her with a lift of his dark brows, as though to say, I told you so.

“We might not be able to, madam,” Seph said politely. “I’ve a shop to run in Brighton, and my associate Mr. Caradoc is bound by … erm, prior obligations.”

“Find a way,” Nini suggested, her tone breezy and light as though she were simply suggesting they try a particular canape when it passed by. “It is important to him. More important than he’ll say. And this is the only chance we’ll have to do right by him.”

Rhys turned back to her at that, his eyes narrowing. “How did you get out here?” he asked. “How did you know where our carriage would be?”

“How do you think?” she answered, mimicking his squint. “What do you think I did?”

Rhys frowned. “It is rude,” he said, “to go rummaging around in minds that didn’t invite you.”

Nini Winterstone laughed, shaking her head and dropping her hands on her hips. “I took my own coach,” she told him. “It’s waiting around the bend. And this is the only road that goes directly to Brighton, Mr. Caradoc. I’m afraid it was only simple deduction and a fast horse.”

“Right,” said Rhys. “And knowing who will say yes and who will say no?”

“Wouldn’t you love to know?” the lady said, dropping her akimbo pose and turning to walk away, back toward her awaiting transport. “I’ll see you at the estate,” she called over her shoulder as she went. “Come tomorrow if you can, day after at the latest.”

“Mrs. Winterstone!” Seph cried, taking a step after her, but Rhys stopped her, his hand flashing out and wrapping around her bicep.

She turned to look at him curiously and he only shook his head.

“What’s the point?” he said. “She’ll know every argument you’re going to make before you get the words out.”

“Rhys,” Seph groaned, pressing her fingers into the bridge of her nose.

“Never argue with a wealthy widow,” he told her. “Trust me on that one. Come on, we can discuss it further on the road.”

“Fine,” said Seph.

At least now the silence was broken.

*

Rhys had instructed Mr. Cagney to drive them to the Lanes as soon as they returned to Brighton. He reasoned that the first step before any decisions could be made, he’d have to check in with the bloody barrister to make sure he was allowed to consider it in the first place.

It made him feel like a child again. Like he needed to ask permission to go on a lark.

Annoying.

But Harcourt was a sensible sort. It was, as far as Rhys could tell, one of his only traits. So, he felt optimistic about the proposal, despite his offense that he had to make one at all.

“Do I really need to be with you for that?” Seph asked. She was curled up on her side of the carriage so tightly that she looked like a napping cat in winter, tail tucked, ears down, paws hidden.

He tried not to smile at the vision she made.