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“Thank you.”
“It’s my pleasure,” Moira said. “Although might I be so bold as to ask who they’re for?”
“Captain Colter and myself,” said Miss Gibson. “I’m afraid I can’t elaborate on why.”
“I understand. Dealing with spies has never been a particularly enlightening pursuit in my experience.”
“We are inclined toward secrecy,” said Miss Gibson with a smile. “Why do you ask?”
Moira sighed and adjusted the handle of her cup so it sat unambiguously at three o’clock. “I had hoped that Lavinia and Captain Colter might find their way back to some sort of understanding.”
“Oh, they have,” said Miss Gibson.
Moira looked up sharply. “They have?”
The young lady blushed. “That is to say, they’ve indulged in each other’s company.”
A grin spread across the older woman’s face. “Is that right?”
Moira knew something of Lavinia’s history with Captain Colter. Oh, her reticent friend hadn’t done anything so direct as to speak about the relationship openly, but over the years she’d been able to piece together the basic framework of Lavinia’s tragedy. Engaged young. Left alone. Married off. The one time they’d all stood in her drawing room not two weeks before had been enough to see the tension between the two had been unmistakable. That sort of energy only appeared between couples who’d known each other intimately.
“I don’t think Andrew is particularly happy about the consequences,” said Miss Gibson.
“Consequences?”
“He can’t possibly allow this to continue. Not when the prince’s life is at stake.”
Moira studied the young woman for a long moment. “That’s a very practical approach, Miss Gibson.”
“It’s the truth.”
“Then you’re not romantic?” Moira asked.
A flash of panic flitted over the young lady’s face. “How did this become about me?”
“Indulge the curiosity of your elder. Have you been fortunate in finding love?”
Miss Gibson shrank under her scrutiny, refusing to look her in the eye.
“There’s nothing wrong with a woman deciding that this isn’t the right time in her life,” Moira said softly. “But if you ever were to want help . . .”
“I should probably take my leave. I have a great deal of work to do,” said Miss Gibson, carefully putting down her cup of tea.
“Of course. I’ll send word as soon as I’ve secured the invitations.”
Miss Gibson hesitated but then stood, drawing her shoulders back as though preparing herself to make a grand pronouncement. “Mrs. Sullivan, I hope you won’t take offense, but the last thing I wish is to become one of your matchmaking clients.”
Moira laughed. “I understand.”
The young lady nodded once, as though that sealed their understanding, and then excused herself. Moira stared after her long after the door shut. Her instincts told her to hold back, that Miss Gibson wasn’t the sort of woman to be pushed, but she couldn’t help her curiosity.
With a shrug she turned back to her Sickert. Miss Gibson would come around eventually. They always did.
Chapter Eighteen
IT WAS RIDICULOUS to be nervous about seeing Andrew, but when Lavinia saw the flash of his boot around the hedge in the park her excitement bubbled up again. It had been just a few hours since they’d woken up next to one another, but she couldn’t stop the smile that spread over her face.
As he drew closer, only the reminder that they were in public kept her from launching herself into his arms. He was a picture of barely tamed ruggedness poured into a morning suit. She wanted to tear his jacket off, lick a line down his neck, and then bite gently at the skin exposed when she undid the buttons of his shirt.
