Scandalous Regency Secrets Collection. Кэрол Мортимер

      Ah, and now, finally, they were where Dany wanted to be.

      “I couldn’t agree more. That’s why I wanted to be certain you were all right. Because the duchess has asked me to dinner, and possibly to spend the night, as she believes her guest, Miss Clarice Goodfellow of the Virginia Goodfellows, you understand, is pining for home and could use some female company more her own age. Are you certain you’d be all right here, on your own?”

      “I’m surrounded by people, Dany,” her sister said, actually sounding reasonable. “Besides, how does one, especially one with no prospects or dowry of any import, turn down an invitation from a duchess? No, no, that’s not possible.”

      Dany was already heading for the door. “Are you certain?”

      Mrs. Timmerly herself entered the chamber, carrying a silver tray holding a china bowl filled to the brim with pickled cucumbers in cream sauce.

      Mari sat up, all excitement, and fairly shook in anticipation of her treat.

      “What? Oh, yes, yes. I’m sure. Just go. Ahhh,” she said, all attention turned to the tray placed in front of her, employing her fingers to lift one round slice and hold it in front of her eyes. “Heaven.”

      Dany didn’t wait to see the dripping thing disappear into her sister’s mouth. As far as she could remember, Mari didn’t even like pickled cucumbers.

      Within an hour, fresh from her bath, her short hair hopefully attractively mussed and blessedly dry, a stuffed bandbox already handed over to a footman—and assuring herself that Harry was resting in the servants’ quarters—she was standing in the foyer, awaiting the arrival of the earl’s town coach.

      “Miss Foster?”

      She turned about, to see Timmerly descending the staircase, a worried look on his face and a folded letter in his hand.

      “Yes? Does my sister want to see me?”

      The butler shook his head. “No, Mrs. Timmerly is with her. I don’t know if you are aware, Miss Foster, but longtime retainers, such as myself, are privy to information one might think withheld from them. Such...such is the case with her ladyship’s current dilemma. Not that I would say that I...snoop, but there are moments when it may be necessary to...”

      Dany had been watching Timmerly’s hand, and the broken seal on the letter he held in that hand. “Give it to me.”

      “Oh, thank you, miss. It arrived this morning, but Mrs. Timmerly said her ladyship is already too overset to...”

      “‘My dearest wife,’” Dany read out loud, holding out her hand for silence. “‘I’ve left my luggage and the others to follow, frustrated by their slow pace when all I wish is to be home, to see your beautiful face again. Expect me within a day of receiving this. With loving affection...’ Oh, my God!”

      “Yes, miss. Mrs. Timmerly is doing her all to soothe my lady’s, um, complexion. But it won’t do to overset her ladyship in her current condition.”

      “Her splotches? Ah, Timmerly, if only that were her sole problem. Is the coach outside? I must get to the duchess to, um, assist her and her other guests with a small project.”

      And to hopefully find out Coop’s plans for the evening, as they were sure to involve confronting Ferdie.

      Ten minutes later, she was being ushered into the private sitting room of the Duchess of Cranbrook.

      The duchess was already there, she and all her flounces and filmy draperies. As was Coop’s mother, the infamous Minerva, dressed much more severely and in her clearly favored purple. Clarice Goodfellow, blond curls hanging, was sitting at a writing desk, quill in hand, as the older ladies stood on either side, bent over her.

      None of them appeared to have heard Dany being announced, and all the butler did was look at her, shrug and retire from the room, closing the double doors behind him.

      “No, that’s not it, Minerva. Clandestine is spelled with two d’s, I’m certain. Clan...des...dine.”

      “Did you hear that, Clarice? You shouldn’t. You should be clapping your hands over your ears, rather than to be exposed to such nonsense. The woman doesn’t even know how to pronounce it. Clan...des...tine. Go on, strike it out, write it correctly.”

      “Yes, Minerva,” Clarice said, dipping the quill pen and attacking the page once more. “But what does it mean? What is a clandestine assig—assig—nation?”

      The two older women exchanged glances, and the duchess put out her hand, indicating that her friend should answer.

      “It means, my dear, meeting—lovers most usually—in secret, for reasons of amorous...exploration.”

      “Oh, like when you sneak out of the house after midnight to meet up with the cook’s son and do the naughty behind the barn. Why can’t you just say so?”

      “You warned me I should be careful of my language around her,” Minerva said accusingly.

      The duchess fussed with one of her ruffles. “It wasn’t the girl I was thinking might be embarrassed if you were to in any way encourage frankness, Minerva. And you’re blushing, aren’t you? Clarice is wise beyond her years. We just don’t like to think about that.”

      Dany’s unleashed laughter had all three females turning to look at her, and she hastened to approach, curtsy first to the duchess, then to Coop’s mother, and then to simply grin at Clarice.

      “Your pardon, ladies. Please believe I wasn’t purposely— Oh, yes, of course I was. Purposely eavesdropping, that is.”

      Minerva Townsend looked at Dany from overtop an impressive pair of spectacles. “Does my son know you’re here?”

      “Oh, yes. He sent to me to help, as a matter of fact.”

      “He did not,” Minerva told the countess. “She lies well, doesn’t she?” She turned back to Dany. “But only when left with no alternative, I’ll wager, while I look at lying as a pleasurable hobby. Do you know where he is?”

      “You don’t?” Dany seated herself in the nearest chair, feeling as if all the air had suddenly been knocked from her. “I had so hoped you would. I came to see you, Clarice. Rigby couldn’t keep a secret from you if he tried. Do you know? Somebody has to know. After what happened.”

      Minerva came around the desk, the other two close behind her. “What happened? I haven’t seen my son since he left the Pulteney, having turned down Ames’s offer of breakfast. Come on, gel, speak.”

      Dany spoke. Stronger people than herself would have broken beneath Minerva Townsend’s stare.

      She told them about Ned Givens. She told them about Darby’s visit to Geoff Quinton. She told them about the assassination attempt on the roadway.

      She did not tell them Coop’s secret that he was only keeping for someone else, nor did she mention her own sister’s dilemma.

      She most certainly did not tell them about...well, about.

      “Someone shot at my son? My son?” She dropped into a chair with a thud. “Viv, I need a restorative. Quickly!”

      Clarice moved first. “I’ll ring for some vinaigrette. Or we could burn some feathers.”

      “Unnecessary,” the duchess said, walking over to a gilt-and-mirrored cabinet and opening the doors, extracting a decanter and two glasses. “Gin, Minerva? I believe it was once your favorite.”

      Minerva nodded, keeping her head down even as she shot out her arm, her fingers opening and closing until the glass was in her hand. She downed its contents in one loud gulp, and then held out the glass again. “The first for its effect, the second to help me think.”

      Suitably fortified, Minerva leaned forward on her chair, elbows on her knees, and Dany sat back as far as she could on her own.

      “From