Hermia cleared her throat. “Then it is a good thing you two have met again. Now, let’s get to the juicy bits. Why are we going to Weymouth? And what has this trip to do with the Framptons?”
Once again, Florence turned to Trajan. He caught her aunt up on all that had happened.
“Fascinating,” Hermia said when he’d finished his report. They lingered at the dining table, finishing a lemon syllabub that had warmed and melted over the course of their conversation. “So, you think Lady Frampton is innocent in all this?”
“Well, she stole those papers from Lady Simmons,” Florence remarked. “I’m sure her husband scared her into doing it. Did she look like a thief to you?”
Hermia pursed her lips. “No, but you are about to steal them back, and you do not look like a thief either.”
“That is different,” Florence grumbled.
“How so? Because you are doing it for a good cause? Lady Frampton may believe that advancing her husband’s stature is also a good cause. I mean, Florence, you are not saving orphans here. You are reclaiming lurid love letters between a married lady and her lover,who is probably also married.”
“I am doing it for the Princess of Wales…and Lady Simmons.”
Hermia rolled her eyes. “You are doing it to save your worthless brother and hoping your parents will love you for it. He won’t be saved and your parents won’t love you.”
Trajan knew he liked Hermia for a reason. Florence’s aunt, now that she had set aside her dithering façade, was sharp as a tack and had a way of getting to the very heart of the matter.
But the matter of Florence’s parents was a raw and gaping wound for her. He wished Hermia had shown a little more mercy toward her niece.
He reached over and took Florence’s hand.
She cast him a wobbly smile. “I’m all right. Everything my aunt has said is true.”
Yes, Hermia had said a mouthful about Florence’s family situation. More important, she had been around long enough to know the true story behind her family’s resentment of their own daughter.
While Hermia probed further into their plans for Frampton and those purloined letters, Trajan resolved to take her aside and ask her what she knew about Florence’s history with her parents. Because there was something definitely off about their treatment of Florence.
She was bright and beautiful. And a girl like that should have her father’s pride and her mother’s warmth.
So, why did Florence’s mother hate her?
Chapter Eleven
Trajan spent thehour-long ride to Weymouth sitting across from Florence and wishing they were alone so he could kiss her.
But that was never going to happen while Hermia rode with them.
Florence did not even wish to sit beside him.
This was understandable, because he had broad shoulders and would take up most of the seat bench, while her aunt was the size of a pea and took up no space at all.
However, having to sit across from Florence and look upon her was not helping matters. She grew prettier by the day.
Her expressions were endlessly fascinating, which made his thoughts revert to the bedchamber, because there was just something about her that aroused him and left him appallingly distracted.
“Weymouth. Stationery,” he muttered, determined to get his mind off Florence and the wicked things he intended to do with her when he finally got her into his bed.
“I’ve brought the parchment sample and a measure of the silk ribbon,” she said, the amber flecks of her eyes sparkling as they were caught in sunlight.
“Let’s hope the stationer has the matching paper,” Hermia remarked, ever practical because their plan relied entirely on this. “I’m sure the ribbon will be less of a problem. Any haberdasher or ladies’ shop will have ribbons in all colors and widths.”
“They had better, or we’ll have to come up with another plan,”Florence said.
Hermia arched an eyebrow. “Or scrap the plan altogether, especially if the surprise Lady Frampton has hidden for you in the rose cuttings turns out to be something other than those letters.”
“We have come this far,” Florence insisted. “We are not scrapping any plans.”
