“I suspect,” Clarice said, “that she thought you might be able to avoid Letitia, but you wouldn’t be able to slide around all three of us.”
Clarice glanced at the other two, who returned her regard, then all three pairs of feminine eyes turned on him.
He raised his brows. “Your message?”
It was Letitia who answered. “You are hereby warned that unless you do as you intimated and announce your duchess-to-be forthwith, you will have to cope with a fleet of carriages turning up at your gates. And, of course, the occupants of those carriages won’t be the sort you can easily turn away.” She shrugged. “Their version was rather more formal, but that’s the gist of it.”
Penny frowned. “Actually, it seemed as if you have quite a few people in residence already-and more arriving.”
“My sisters are hosting a house party coincident with the local parish fair. It used to be a family tradition, but lapsed after my mother died.” He focused on Letitia. “Is there a time limit on the grandes dames’ threat?”
Letitia glanced at Clarice.
“We got the impression the limit is now.” Clarice widened her eyes at him. “Or more precisely, your period of grace expires at the time a missive from us confirming your noncompliance reaches Lady Osbaldestone.”
He tapped a finger on his blotter, letting his gaze sweep their faces again. Lady Osbaldestone had chosen well; with these three, intimidation wouldn’t work. And while he might have been able to divert-subvert-Letitia, with the three of them reinforcing each other, he stood not a chance.
Lips firming, he nodded. “You may report to the beldames that I have, indeed, chosen a bride-”
“Excellent!” Letitia beamed. “So you can draft an announcement, and we can take it back to London.”
“However”-he continued as if she hadn’t spoken-“the lady in question has yet to accept the position.”
They stared at him.
Clarice recovered first. “What is she? Deaf, dumb, blind-or all three?”
That surprised a laugh from him, then he shook his head. “It’s the reverse-she’s too damned insightful for my good. And please do include that in your report-it will make her ladyship’s day. Regardless, an announcement in the Gazette at this point could well prove inimical to our mutual goal.”
All three ladies fixed intrigued gazes on him. He regarded them impassively. “Is there anything else?”
“Who is she?” Letitia demanded. “You can’t just dangle a tale like that before us, and not give us her name.”
“Actually, I can. You don’t need to know.” They’d guess very quickly; he had as much confidence in their intelligence-individually and collectively-as he had in their husbands’.
Three pairs of eyes narrowed; three expressions grew flinty.
Penny informed him, “We’re under orders to remain here-under your feet-until you send a notice to the Gazette.”
Their continued presence might well work in his favor. Their husbands weren’t all that different from him-and Minerva had been starved of the companionship of females she could trust, confide in, and ask for advice. And these three might be disposed to help his cause.
Of course, they’d probably view it as assisting Cupid. Just as long as they succeeded, he didn’t care. “You’re very welcome to stay and join the festivities my sisters have planned.” Rising, he crossed to the bellpull. “I believe my chatelaine, Minerva Chesterton, is presently out, but she should return shortly. Meanwhile I’m sure my staff will make you comfortable.”
All three frowned.
Retford arrived, and he gave orders for their accommodation. They rose, distinctly haughty, and increasingly suspicious.
He ushered them to the door. “I’ll leave you to get settled. No doubt Minerva will look in on you as soon as she returns. I’ll see you at dinner-until then, you must excuse me. Busi ness calls.”
They narrowed their eyes at him, but consented to follow Retford.
Letitia, the last to leave, looked him in the eye. “You know we’ll hound you until you tell us this amazingly insightful lady’s name.”
Unperturbed, he bowed her out; they’d know his lady’s name before he reached the drawing room that evening.
With an irritated “humph!” Letitia went.
Closing the door, he turned back to his desk.
And let his brows rise. Lady Osbaldestone and the other beldames might just have helped.
Returning from her ride, Minerva walked into the front hall to discover a handsome gentleman ambling about admiring the paintings.
He turned at the sound of her boot steps, and smiled charmingly.
“Good morning.” Despite his country-elegant attire, and that smile, she sensed a familiar hardness behind his faзade. “Can I help you?”
He bowed. “Jack Warnefleet, ma’am.”
She glanced around, wondering where Retford was. “Have you just arrived?”
“No.” He smiled again. “I was shown into the library, but I’ve studied all the paintings there. My wife and two of her friends are upstairs, bearding Dal-Wolverstone-in his den.” Hazel eyes twinkled. “I thought I ought to come out here in case a precipitous retreat was in order.”
He’d nearly said Dalziel, which meant he was an acquaintance from Whitehall. She held out her hand. “I’m Miss Chesterton. I act as chatelaine here.”
He bowed over her hand. “Delighted, my dear. I have to admit I have no idea whether we’ll be staying or-” He broke off and looked up the stairs. “Ah-here they are.”
They both turned as three ladies preceded Retford down the stairs. Minerva recognized Letitia and smiled.
Beside her, Jack Warnefleet murmured, “And from their frowns, I suspect we’re staying.”
She didn’t get a chance to ask what he meant; Letitia, seeing her, dispensed with her frown and came hurrying down to embrace her.
“Minerva-just who we need.” Letitia turned as the other two ladies joined them. “I don’t believe you’ve met Lady Clarice, for her sins Lady Warnefleet, wife of this reprobate.” She flicked a hand at Jack, who merely grinned. “And this is Lady Penelope, Countess of Lostwithiel-her husband is Charles, another of Royce’s ex-operatives, as is Jack here.”
Minerva touched hands with the other two ladies. “Welcome to Wolverstone Castle. I gather you’re staying.” She glanced at Retford. “Rooms in the west wing, I think, Retford.” The other guests were mostly in the south and east wings.
“Indeed, ma’am. I’ll have the ladies’ and gentleman’s bags taken up immediately.”
“Thank you.” Linking arms, Letitia leaned close. “Is there somewhere we can talk privately?”
“Of course.” Minerva glanced at Retford. “If you would bring tea to the duchess’s morning room?”
“At once, ma’am.”
She looked at Jack Warnefleet. “Sir?”
He smiled. “Jack. And I believe I’ll follow the bags and find our room.” He inclined his head to them all. “I’ll catch up with you at luncheon.”
“You’ll hear the gong,” she assured him.
With a salute, he started up the stairs in the wake of two footmen hefting a trunk.
Minerva waved the ladies up, too. “Come up, and we can be comfortable.”
In the duchess’s morning room, they sank onto the sofas, then Retford arrived with a tray. After pouring and handing around the cups and a plate of cakes, Minerva sat back, sipped, caught Letitia’s eye, and raised her brows.
Letitia set down her cup. “The reason we’re here is that the grandes dames have lost patience and are insisting Royce announce his betrothal forthwith.” She grimaced. “Of course, he’s now told us that the lady he’s chosen has yet to accept his suit. Apparently she has reservations, but he refuses to tell us who she is.” She fixed her brilliant hazel gaze on Minerva. “Do you know her name?”