And then they’d all entered the drawing room for music, coffee, and general postprandial relaxation, and things had become—
“Worse than formidable. There wereparlor games.”
Georgiana’s mouth quirked. “Did you have to sit on someone’s lap and meow like a cat?”
Lydia blinked. “What kind of parlor games—no, never mind. I don’t want to know. No, I merely had to propose a riddle, except Jas—” She stopped, arrested. “Oh! You’ll never guess who arrived at Kilbride House today.”
Georgiana’s expression went slightly smug. “I already know. Mr. Joseph Eagermont, an investor—though no one seems to know quite in what.”
“They wouldn’t. Because Mr. Eagermont isJasper.”
Georgiana stopped in her tracks, still several feet short of the bedchamber door. “Is that so? Your brother Jasper?”
“The very one.”
“Under an assumed name?”
“Indeed. I played charades with him as Mr. Eagermont for the last two hours. Fortunately, he will not reveal my true identity to anyone here, since he cannot admit our connection without compromising his own facade. However—ah, if you encounter him, you should know that he believes I am the actual Countess of Strathrannoch.”
Georgiana’s expression was unreadable. “Are you not?”
“I—what? Of course not.”
But Georgiana was not attending. Her pale blue eyes had taken on a terrifying glint. “Secret identities. Unintelligible writings. You must realize this scenario is more Gothic than my last three novels.”
“I suppose I had not considered it.”
Georgiana turned on her heel back toward the hall, away from Lydia’s chamber. “You don’t need my assistance to retire, do you?”
“I’ve managed the last twenty-six years without you. You know you are not actually my maid?”
“Just so. I think—I think I should like to see what I can findout about this Mr. Eagermont.” She appeared slightly glazed—dreaming, no doubt, of Scottish mystery novels with very large print runs.
Lydia waved a hand. “Go. Enjoy yourself.”
Georgiana was already halfway down the hall. Lydia gazed after her friend until Georgiana vanished down the servant’s staircase—truly, it was remarkable how she couldwatchGeorgiana transform into her role, her hair tugged up into a hasty twist, her shoulders curving to hide her height—and then pushed open her door.
Whereupon she took one look at her bedchamber and emitted a single, quickly stifled scream.
Chapter 15
Dearest, I’ve no doubt you’re acquitting yourself brilliantly in Scotland. By the by, did you intend to write “Lady Strathrannoch” four or five times at the bottom of your note, or was that merely a slip of the pen?
—from Selina to Lydia
It took Arthur nearly an hour to come upstairs after Lydia’s abortive attempt to enter her own bedchamber. Luckily, his door across the hall had not been locked, and so, in an abundance of caution, she had elected to spend that window of time waiting cross-legged upon his bed.
When he finally deigned to return to his room, Lydia heard muffled Scottish swearing and the rattle of the handle from outside the door. She crossed the room, threw open the latch, and let him in.
His eyes widened at the sight of her. “Och,” he said, “I’ve lost my head, it seems. I thought this was my chamber, but I suppose I’ve—”
He was backing swiftly out of the chamber, but she caughthis hand and dragged him inside. “Thisisyour chamber. Hurry in. Good heavens, are you drunk? You smell like a whisky still.”
He gazed down at her, looking stupefied but thankfully clearheaded. “I’m starting to think I must be. But no, ’twas only Thibodeaux, the right wee idiot, spilling his brandy all down my best shirt.”
Indeed, she could see, at this proximity to his chest, a pungent and spreading brown stain beneath his cravat.
“What are you doing in here?” Arthur went on.
