“It’s probably someone with something for the gazette,” Donovan said. “You’ve handed those calling cards to everyone, haven’t you? You’ve asked for news. You might at least hear what the person has to say.”
Hollis groaned. “I’m not prepared to receive callers. And what could it be, really? I already know that Lord Farstowe is having an affair—everyoneknows Lord Farstowe is having an affair. Except Lady Farstowe, of course.”
The knock came again, only louder, as if the caller wasn’t at all certain his first knocks had been heard.
“It might be Lady Farstowe herself,” Donovan said. “I’ll just have a look.”
“Wait!” Hollis urged, but Donovan was already walking from the room.
With a groan, Hollis fell back in her chair. She pulled her wrap tightly around herself and hoped that Donovan dispatched whoever it was. The hot toddy had muddied her thoughts a little.
It seemed forever before Donovan returned to the room. “You’ve a caller, madam,” he said, rather formally. “A gentleman.”
“Agentleman!” Hollis stood up so quickly that she knocked over her footstool. “At this hour?”
“For you.”
“I’m in my stocking feet! Who is it?” She put a hand to her hair—she’d tugged out the tight curls hours ago. “Wait. I don’t care who it is, send him away. I can’t receive anyone like this.”
“He has your calling card,” Donovan said.
“Yes, yes, I gave them around to everyone, as you said. I even gave one to Mr. Ket—” She suddenly gasped. “It’s nothim—”
“Not him. I would have tossed him out on his arse. This gentleman is drenched and said that you gave him the card at the costume ball.”
“At the ball?” Hollis had to think about that. “I didn’t give my card to anyone. Caro would have had my head if—” She suddenly gasped and her hand went to her throat. “But Idid, Donovan! How could I have forgotten it? I gave it to Mr. Brendan!”
“Well, the curt and impossible gentleman has come to call, Hollis. Best you hear what he has to say after accusing him of plotting a coup, aye? Better here in your stocking feet than in a dark alley when I’m not there to watch over you.”
Hollis pressed her hands to the sides of her head. “Why did I not think to put calling hours on my card?” She sighed and dropped her hands. “Very well. Bring him.”
“I will. But I’ll not leave this room. Don’t try and dismiss me, do you hear? This one looks a wee bit hard around the edges, he does.”
Mr. Brendan did. And Hollis liked it.
As Donovan went out, Hollis grabbed her glass and drained the last of the toddy, wincing at the heat and the bitter taste. She put down the glass, whirled about, and ran to the window, frantically seeking even a shadowy reflection of herself. She tried to smooth her hair, but it was useless.
She was trying unsuccessfully to knot her hair at her nape when Mr. Brendan entered the room behind Donovan. Hollis dropped her hands. Half her hair fell and the other half stubbornly remained in some sort of loose bun. Donovan’s eyebrows rose up his forehead at the sight of her before he announced like a proper butler, “Mr. Brendan calling, madam.”
There was no point in trying to affect any dignity now. “Mr. Brendan. Good evening. What a pleasant surprise.” She started forward to greet him, and the rest of her unruly hair tumbled down, one thick tress covering half her face. She brushed it aside and said, “I’m afraid you’ve caught me unawares, sir.”
His amber gaze scraped down her body to her stocking feet, then traveled up again, settling on her mouth for a slender moment. His expression was entirely unreadable, and yet thewayhe looked at her made a thousand tiny shivers run down her spine. She was, quite unnecessarily and ill-advisedly, titillated by this call.
But then Mr. Brendan took a small step backward and said, “It would seem that I have, indeed. I’ll not keep you a moment longer than is absolutely necessary.”
At that point, Hollis was only mortified.
CHAPTER TEN
One of our most trustworthy onlookers at events in London has reported that four Weslorian soldiers arrived Wednesday past on a Scottish vessel. Our observer thought it highly unusual, particularly as there were two Weslorian ships that came to port very recently. One cannot help but wonder at the reason for sailing in under a Scottish flag.
How strange it is to dine at a certain lord’s home when all of his guests know of his affair, and his lovely wife seems blissfully unaware. Or is she merely indifferent?
Look for an abundance of large, colorful bows to grace the gowns worn this Christmas season.
—Honeycutt’s Gazette of Fashion and Domesticity for Ladies
THEHOUSESMELLEDSWEET,like perfume. Like Mrs. Honeycutt. Marek pictured her gliding through these halls and leaving her scent behind.
