She took a sip of her wine and hid her smile behind her glass, twirling it by the stem. “I am terribly proud of you, Devon.”
“Proud of myself. Defeating the patent offices is the most difficult thing I’ve ever done.”
“Now Frederick’s will be the only coffeehouse with a perfect cup of coffee.”
He burned a little pink in the cheeks. “It might taste a tad of metal.”
“But no grounds. You can always experiment with flavors to cover the metal up.”
“Pumpkin?”
She shivered and scrunched her nose. “Never. You will have the finest coffee around and the most business. Good thing you opened the rooms upstairs.”
Devon chuckled. “Had to. The philosophers were running everyone off. Needed a corner of their own.”
“Have you heard from Freddy and Emily lately? Have you written them to tell them about the patent?”
“I have. I’ve done better, too. I’ve made him a machine of his very own. I think once the season ends, we should visit Bath and give it to them.”
“Perfection.”
“For now,” Devon said, “I think our guests should go home. Most of them already have, including my dear brother and his bride.”
“They sneaked off without even saying goodbye,” Lillian grumbled.
“I suspect their intentions are as mine are. They’ve no time or patience for idle chatter.” He spun her about and nudged her toward the wallflowers. “Go on, then. Send the ducklings on their way.”
She grinned at him over her shoulder. “When did you stop comparing women to goddesses and begin comparing them to waterfowl?”
His eyebrows jumped high on his forehead. “It’s no insult. Ducklings are cute.” He held out a hand in the direction of the young girls. “They are adorable.”
“I cannot argue with you. On anything you have said tonight. I agree to it all. It is time for everyone to make their way home.”
They gathered the ducklings and shepherded them toward their mamas, who knew, thankfully, how to interpret a dismissal when they saw one.
Devon and Lillian followed their guests outside to say goodbye and were greeted with the sight of the Abbington coach parked in front of the townhouse, rocking. The windows were fogged, and a hand jumped up out of nowhere. No, two hands tangled together, one on top of the other, slapping a palm against the glass of the window.
So, that’s where Jane and George disappeared to. My.
The mamas gasped and hugged their daughters tight, shielding their eyes from the sight. Devon jumped into action, parking himself before the window and making his shoulders as broad as he could to block the steam, the palm, the tangled fingers. There was no hiding the rocking.
Lillian dove for the servants’ entrance, holding tight to the green gate and careening around it and down the stairs. The Abbington coachman stood just inside, flirting with a kitchen maid.
“Do you have any idea what they’re doing up there?” she demanded.
He snorted. “What they do most of the time, I’m sure. Steaming up the place.” He turned slowly to look at Lillian. When he saw her in the dim evening light, his eyes widened, and he stepped away from the maid. “L-Lady Pennworthy! My apologies. I’ll just—”
“Take them elsewhere.” She rushed back up the stairs, coachman in tow.
He jumped atop the coach and whipped the conveyance into movement.
Lillian turned to the mamas. “I do apologize. I had no idea. I would never willingly subject your daughters to—”
“Save your apologies,” one Mama said. “It’s romantic. Wish Rupert would tup me in the carriage.”
“Mama!” a duckling cried on a gasp.
“Tut tut. You’ll understand when you’re married.” The mama smiled at Lillian and Devon and pushed her daughter toward the coach rolling to a stop in front of the townhouse. “Thank you for a lovely evening. Lisabeth has been so much more confident since befriending you.”
