“Mind you be gentle with Mr. Kettle. He’s got tender feelings, that one,” Donovan reminded her.
Hollis rolled her eyes as Donovan settled the cloak onto her. He rested his hands on her shoulders, leaned over close to her ear, and said, “Quite taken with the Weslorian gent, aren’t you?”
She tried to twist about, but he held her in place. “What are you talking about?”
“Admit it. You esteem him.”
It was amazing how quickly heat could rise in her neck, and she slapped his hand from her shoulder. “Don’t be absurd. Why would you even think it?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Running off to pay a call to Mr. Kettle after you said you’d never darken his door again. And you were a bit flirty with him last night.”
“Flirty!”
“Aye, flirty. Leaning forward to speak to him. Smiling and twisting your hair around your finger.”
“You’re ridiculous,” she huffed and fastened her cloak.
He grinned and opened the door. She stepped out. But she turned back. “What I—” Hollis lost her train of thought, as a gust of cold wind hit her and very nearly lifted her off her feet. “Oh!” she cried.
“Have a lovely day begging Mr. Kettle to give you even the slightest reason to send word to Mr. Brendan.”
“Donovan, you—”
He laughed and shut the door before she could rail at him.
He was teasing her. She had not beenflirty.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Observers say an earl of ill reputation has come to London from Leeds, daring to subject a town with his presence in the event a vote is needed in the Lords on the peace accord. The gentleman hasn’t been seen since last summer, when a soiree in Belgravia resulted in a duel that left two men badly wounded and a woman disgraced. We look forward to his vote.
Ladies, if you or a loved one suffers from the disease of freckles, Dr. Herbert’s Complexion Cream is guaranteed to remove all spots and leave your skin with a decided glow.
—Honeycutt’s Gazette of Fashion and Domesticity for Ladies
MR. KETTLEWASmulling over the grim portions in his lunch pail. A slice of bread—one of his last—and two thin carrots. It was enough to nearly bring a tear to his eye.
Mrs. Kettle had gone to stay with her father in the country, marching out of the house and shouting from the street that he could do his own cooking. As if he could do that! It was all very embarrassing and noted by more than one neighbor.
It had been four days since she’d left, and Mr. Kettle felt as if he was withering away, turning into a ghost of his former self. He had learned, through the fiery trial of marriage, that when left to his own devices, he could hardly scrape a meal together.
He removed the bread and tore off a hunk. Tonight, he planned to enter the public house at the corner of the street on which he lived. He did not like to spend money on food in public houses, as the better value could be found at the markets. But he thought if he didn’t do something soon, he might very well pass away. That would serve Mrs. Kettle right, to come home and find him dead as winter on the floor of the kitchen.
He had just stuffed the bread into his mouth when he happened to look up and see Mrs. Honeycutt. “Oh dear,” he mumbled through a mouthful. She was walking into his office. He hadn’t seen her in a week and thought he was done with her, but here she was, her fine looks and intense blue eyes fixed on him.
Lord.Now what? His mouth was full and his stomach was growling. He chewed frantically and looked around as she advanced on his desk. In a moment of panic, he spit the half-chewed wad of bread into his waste bin. He looked down at the glob and a queasiness filled him. It was as if a piece of his soul had just left his body. He had only one more bite of bread and two carrots. How would he manage?
“Good morning, Mr. Kettle!” Mrs. Honeycutt said brightly. She walked right up to his desk and leaned over it, peeking into his pail. “Oh. Very lean today, isn’t it?”
He pressed both hands to the desk and rose. “Mrs. Honeycutt.” He looked past her, his eyes seeking her personal Adonis. But instead of him, Mr. Kettle’s gaze landed on an attractive young woman with brown hair and a delightful figure. Where was Adonis?
He scowled at Mrs. Honeycutt. “I am rather surprised to see you again. I thought I was very clear about the matter the last time you were here, wasn’t I? If there is any doubt of it, I brought the matter up to Lord Palmerston, and he has said there is no reason anyone should see the manifests of the Weslorian ships.”
“Oh.” She smiled pleasantly. “Well, then, I suppose that settles it, doesn’t it?”
That was not the answer he was expecting, and he found himself momentarily speechless.
“Out of curiosity, did his lordship mention Scottish ships?”
