Mr. Borerro was quick thinking. He picked up the plate and left the room.
Hattie hung her cloak and paused to check her hair in the small mirror in the entry to the kitchen, then carried on down the narrow hall, up the stairs, past the portrait of the lady with the tall white hair, and on to the study. On her way, she passed one of the footmen and complimented him on his Tudor pin with the only word she knew in Spanish that would suffice.“Hermoso!”she said, pointing at it.
The footman grinned. For all Hattie knew, he thought she was calling him lovely instead of the pin.
When Hattie entered the study, Lord Abbott was standing at his desk, brushing his hands over the plate Borerro had brought. He was still chewing when he glanced up at her.
“Aren’t they divine?” she asked as she curtsied. “I think they are the best I’ve ever tried.”
The viscount swallowed. “Where did you get them?”
“From Mrs. O’Malley, the confectioner? I keep her books, you may recall.”
“Yes.” He reached for another one.
“I visit her once a week. And every week, she sends off a batch of her bestselling treats with me. I’ve been taking them home, but I’ve discovered they are more appreciated here.”
He held up the plate. “May I offer you one?”
“Thank you.” Hattie had several at Mrs. O’Malley’s shop, but they weresovery good, she couldn’t resist. She crossed the room and took the last one from the plate and bit into it. “Goodness,” she said. “It’s even better than her last batch.”
“If you would—” Whatever he was about to say, he was interrupted by Mr. Borerro entering the room. Lord Abbott put down the plate and walked out from behind the desk.“Sí?”
As they discussed whatever it was in Spanish, Hattie went to her desk to deposit her things. When Borerro stepped out of the room, Hattie turned back to the viscount. “You were going to ask—”
But his lordship moved to the middle of the room just as a woman strode inside.
“Madam,” Lord Abbott said. “Bienvenidas.Welcome.”
“Thank you!” The woman curtsied. “It’s so good to see you again, my lord. I’ve been looking forward to our meeting—I have much to share with you.”
“Please,” he said, and gestured to the settee.
She was older than Lord Abbott by some years. She was pleasingly plump, with laugh lines around her eyes and a bag dangling from her arm out of which a leather-bound book was peeking. She sailed in, as if she’d been here dozens of times, talking as she went. “Have I said, I think your accent is lovely, and I can imagine the English ladies will find it quite charming. Thank you for agreeing to receive me—I thought I might have to resort to ambushing you on a walkabout!” She laughed at her jest, and when she did, so did Hattie, picturing this woman flying out of a bush somewhere to accost the viscount.
Her laugh clearly startled the woman, and her head jerked around to Hattie.
“Excuse me,” Hattie said, and curtsied.
“Oh. Hello,” the lady said. She looked...not entirely happy.
“May I present Miss Woodchurch,” Lord Abbott said. “She is my scribe.”
“Your scribe?” She looked so confused that Hattie thought perhaps she didn’t know the meaning of the word. But then she nodded. “Yes, of course. A pleasure, Miss Woodchurch.”
“And this is Lady Aleksander,” the viscount said to Hattie. “She is...a friend of my mother’s.”
“How do you do,” Hattie said.
“Very well, thank you,” she answered. “Your mother’s old friend, certainly. But I’m also here to provide some assistance.”
Assistance? Hattie wondered what sort of service the lady provided. Lord Abbott did not agree that she was more than his mother’s old acquaintance. He simply gestured to the settee. “Please,” he said.
Hattie began to gather her paper and pen to leave them.
“Miss Woodchurch, you may stay,” the viscount said.
Both Hattie and Lady Aleksander looked at him with surprise.
