Graham glanced at Miranda’s vision, not impressed with the reality of the row of plain townhomes standing there. “I don’t see it.”
Francis snorted a loud laugh before coughing into his fist to cover it.
Miranda scowled at Graham. “I said droll was approved, not cynicism.”
“I knew I had crossed a line somewhere,” he relented before he could stop himself. “Not quite sure which time, though.”
Francis shook harder with his laughter, making Graham smirk.
“Ugh!” Miranda groaned, tossing her hands in the air. “Men!” She leveled a finger at Graham, and his smirk faded. “I am not giving up on this, Radcliffe. I know a very capable artist, and once I describe Merrifield to her, you will completely comprehend the vision I have.”
“I’ve seen Merrifield in the spring, Miranda,” Graham assured her. “I simply don’t understand the need for others to.”
“Don’t you?” Miranda asked, folding her arms to glare at him properly.
Graham stared back, his mind spinning. He had just been considering an invitation to Merrifield, but he hadn’t spoken the idea aloud to anyone. Hadn’t been convinced he would do so. Or could do so.
Now someone was demanding he follow through with the idea, unaware it was already a possibility?
Perhaps he didn’t like Miranda Sterling all that well after all.
Or perhaps she would prove herself to be accurate with tarot cards and fortune-telling. His guests would enjoy that.
Slowly, Graham’s brows rose as he realized what he had thought.
His guests.
He made a face in reluctance. “I’ll consider it, Miranda. And if it comes to pass, you will, of course, be invited.”
“So I should hope,” she told him without any gratitude. She did wink, however, and give him a smile. “Now, Francis, I think you may continue to escort me. I’m feeling rather satisfied. Rufus, come, my darling.” On cue, the dog rose from his prone position and went to the side of his mistress obediently.
Francis offered his arm with a long-suffering sigh as he looked at Graham. “Now you’ve done it.”
Graham shrugged. “Did I have a choice?”
“Not really,” Francis admitted as he and his aunt continued to walk, “and that, I fear, is the worst of it.” He tapped the brim of his hat with a smile, leaving Graham alone once more.
Graham exhaled to himself and continued on his way as well, though for the life of him, he couldn’t remember his course or his reason.
If any of that mattered in London.
“Mistress…”
Edith turned away from her enjoyable tea with Amelia, finally getting close to discovering the identity of her friend’s secret love, all warmth evaporating through the tips of her fingers. She knew that tone.
“No…”
Owen nodded tightly. “Afraid so, mistress.”
“No what?” Amelia demanded looking between the two. “What is it?”
“Sir Reginald,” Edith murmured, looking back at her friend with a mixture of regret, resignation, and, she would admit, fear.
Owen cleared his throat. “He’s in a right state, mistress. Verra upset.”
“Of course, he is.” Edith sighed, putting a hand to her brow. “Amelia, go upstairs, I won’t have you present for this. Owen, have a message sent to Hensh. At once, if you please. I’ll want him here quickly. Do we know where Lachlan is?”
“Nae, mistress. He hasna left his London address for us yet.” Owen made a face, which echoed Edith’s sentiment.
Lachlan had visited semi-regularly, but he hadn’t found a lasting residence to his liking. It seemed her brother was changed with regards to his actions towards her, but his nature was not so changed as to render his life vastly different.
No matter.
Edith shook her head. “We’ll deal with that later. For now, Hensh will do, and with Amelia hidden away…”
“No.”
Owen stepped into the room, his hands going to his hips. “Miss Perry…”
Edith was on her feet and beside him in an instant. “Amelia, you must hide.”
But Amelia shook her head very firmly, her jaw set. “No, to both of you. If Lachlan can take a stand despite his injuries against you, then I, your friend, can certainly do so. I may not be an imposing Scot, but I think my own will may surprise us all.”
“I canna let ye see him,” Edith insisted, her heart leaping into her throat.
“You will,” Amelia told her without concern. “He has no reason to harm me or to cause me difficulty. If he knows anyone in Society, he will realize the danger I present. I think you might be too close to the situation and take too much upon yourself.” She stepped forward and took Edith’s hands. “Hide yourself upstairs and let me take control of the situation.”
Edith shook her head frantically, unable to voice her objection, but needing to refuse adamantly somehow.
Amelia gave her quite a stern look. “Edith, from what I can tell, Sir Reginald wants you, not me. He takes care to have you be alone when he comes, despite his claims of going public, because he knows how to unnerve you. You have dealt with him on your own up until now and have done most admirably. Now please, let me try my way. Owen will ensure I am safe.”
Owen grunted once and crossed to Amelia, stepping behind her in a show of support.
Edith could only gape at her friend, who suddenly possessed more mettle than she did, then looked to Owen, who only inclined his head towards the stairs.
Unable to fight anyone at all on this, Edith did as they suggested, but not before writing a quick note to Hensh and sending Simms out with it.
Edith bit her lip as she heard Owen go to the door and sat herself on the floor of the corridor above, staying close enough to hear what transpired below. If anything happened, if Sir Reginald did not behave appropriately with Amelia, Edith would rush down and give herself up. She could hardly do otherwise.
“Took you long enough to admit me,” Sir Reginald grumbled as he was let in. “Is Lady Edith growing particular as to her guests?” He chuckled at his own words, and Edith could hear the sound of his walking stick hitting the floor in time with his shoes.
Why did that sound so ominous now, rather than the ridiculous charade it always was?
The clicking suddenly stopped, as did the feet.
“Who are you?” he demanded.
“Miss Amelia Perry,” Edith heard her reply in a calm tone.
“Where is Lady Edith?”
“Not at home.”
Edith could hear his snarl from her position. “I don’t believe you. You would not receive callers if she were not at home.”
“Lady Edith is a generous benefactress, and said I may receive callers without her, so long as Owen was close.”
Edith smiled to herself, imagining how Owen must have looked standing there as a chaperone. She covered her mouth to keep from laughing nervously.
“Your benefactress?” Sir Reginald asked. “How can she be so when she has nothing?”
“She has connections and gentility, sir, which is all I have need of.”
“When will she return?” he demanded.
“I don’t know, sir. She did not say.”