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His eyes widened. “May I read it?”

“Please do,” she said. “I brought it to dinner so that each of you could offer me your feedback.” His brows drew together in a look that was all too familiar. Mentally replaying the vocabulary she’d used, she hurriedly offered an alternative for the problem word. “I mean, your assessment.”

Simon studied the paper. “The improvement in your penmanship is remarkable,” he said. “Well done.”

A glow, warm and bright, filled her chest. “Thank you. But it’s Martha who deserves the praise, not me.”

“Nonsense,” Martha said. “I have lost track of the number of hours you’ve devoted to this project.”

“Read it out loud, would you, Bancroft?” Lord Maidstone said.

“Of course.” Simon cleared his throat.

My Lord, I have a care for your preservation; therefore, I would advise you to devise some excuse to shift your attendance at the opening of this Parliament. God and man have concurred to punish the wickedness of this time, and you would be best served to retire to the country, where you may later learn of the events to come. For though there shall be no appearance of any stir, Parliament shall receive a terrible blow, and none shall see who hurts them. May God give you the grace to make good use of this warning.

He ended his reading and slowly lowered the letter.

“Merciful heavens!” Lord Maidstone breathed.

Simon stared at her. “Isla, this is a masterpiece!”

“You really think so?”

“I know so.” He glanced at the paper again. “How did you manage to articulate the warning so perfectly?”

“One of my political science reference books included the text of what was believed to be in the letter Lord Monteagle received. I’ve spent the last few nights desperately trying to remember what it said.”

Simon shook his head slightly. “Your memory is truly extraordinary.”

“May I?” Martha reached for the letter, and Simon relinquished it. She read it and then handed it to her husband. “I believe this is exactly what we need. Would you seal it and keep it safe until we attend Lord Monteagle’s dinner?”

“I shall take it directly to my office,” he said. “Have the staff bring in the first course. I shall return momentarily.”

He disappeared through the door, and Martha moved to take her seat at the table. “Lady Whitely was agog with the news of your betrothal this afternoon,” she said. “I confess, I had not expected that to be her first and most pressing topic of conversation upon entering the parlor.” She eyed Simon with a hint of concern. “It was unfortunate that you happened to be outside when she and the duchess arrived. I hope your meeting was not horribly uncomfortable.”

“It was sufficiently uncomfortable that I was glad when Sam and Will drew us back to our game,” he said. “But I would contend that Isla and I came through the experience remarkably unscathed.”

“Did you speak with the ladies, Isla?” Martha asked.

“I did.” Isla caught the twitch in Simon’s lips. Was he remembering Lady Whitely’s poorly veiled insult about her wild background, or was he mildly amused at her less-than-subtle retort about Dartmoor’s misty bogs?

“Well, you must have fared well under their scrutiny,” Martha said. “If Lady Whitely had had any suspicion that you were not exactly who you said you were, she would never have ceased her hounding.”

“Isla managed the situation perfectly,” Simon said. “And it is probably for the best that word of our betrothal reaches London ahead of us.”

“Will it?” Isla asked. How did people spread news that fast without mobile phones or email?

“If you remember,” Simon said, “we are speaking of Lady Whitely. Her love of gossip is surpassed only by her penchant for arrogance. I cannot tell you how it will be done, only that it shall be.”

“Really, Simon.” Martha’s tone held reproof, but Simon chose to ignore it, setting his sights instead on the footman entering the room with a steaming platter in his hands.

Lord Maidstone followed immediately behind the servant, and as the nobleman took his place at the head of the table, Isla leaned a little closer to Simon. “Is there braised eel on the menu this evening?” she whispered.

“I have not heard.” He raised his goblet and gave her a knowing look. “But if there is, my answer is yes.”

Isla smothered a smile. Maybe Simon’s long ride actually had helped erase any angst he may have felt over seeing Lydia again. If he was willing to eat a double helping of braised eel, at least the experience wasn’t affecting his appetite.

Chapter 12