Scandal in the Regency Ballroom: No Place For a Lady / Not Quite a Lady. Louise Allen

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СКАЧАТЬ drooped unconvincingly into a chair next to Rosa. ‘I’m just being brave. What’s for breakfast?’

      ‘What you see! If you want anything else, then ring for it. Oh, and there’s a letter for you.’

      ‘Who from?’ Piers forked up the last of the bacon and stuck it inelegantly between two slices of toast.

      ‘Uncle George, I think.’ Bree squinted at the handwriting as she passed it over. ‘Not his usual tidy hand.’

      Piers put down his toast and slit the seal. ‘Yes, Uncle George it is.’ He read steadily, taking occasional bites of bacon, then stopped eating, his hand still in mid air.

      ‘Piers, for goodness’ sake, if you can’t mind your manners for me, do think of poor Rosa with your breakfast waving about under her nose,’ Bree chided.

      ‘What? Sorry, Rosa. Look, Bree, this is da—I mean, very odd. The old boy doesn’t sound himself at all. He rambles on about the farm, not saying anything of any purpose. Then he asks if we are all right and the business is doing well. And then he says what a good thing it is that I am growing up and can manage my half of the company, and that’s a great weight off his mind. And then there’s something scrawled, which I can’t make head nor tail of.’ He passed the sheet back and Bree peered at it.

      ‘Neither can I. He’s crossed the sheet to save paper.’

      Rosa got to her feet. ‘I will go down to the Mermaid—you will want to discuss this in private.’

      ‘No, please don’t. You are one of the family.’ Bree flashed her a worried frown. ‘I don’t understand this at all. Rosa, can you read this? You might be more used to bad handwriting.’

      ‘It looks like, never forgive myself. Excuse me, but is Mr Mallory an elderly gentleman? Could he be becoming confused? It does happen.’

      ‘He is only sixty-five,’ Bree protested. ‘Oh, dear, perhaps I had better go down and see him.’

      ‘Me too.’ Piers perked up.

      ‘Either you are well enough to go back to Harrow or you are still convalescent and must stay here and help Rosa with the business. I can take the Aylesbury stage—Mr Hearn’s Despatch goes daily from the King’s Arms.’ Bree frowned and looked at the clock over the mantel. ‘It goes at two o’clock, I think. It’s only at Snow’s Hill at the end of High Holborn,’ she explained to Rosa. ‘I can go up tomorrow, spend the night and get the morning coach back if it is just a false alarm.’

      They all sat looking at the folded letter as though expecting it to speak and solve the riddle of Uncle George’s odd ramblings. Rosa gave herself a little shake. ‘If we can just go through my list of queries? Then I’ll get off to the inn. Do you still want to go shopping this afternoon?’

      ‘Oh, yes,’ Bree said with a confidence she was far from feeling. ‘I’m sure it’s just a storm in a teacup and I can come back directly. If there are any problems, I’ll write at once and stay down there.’

      They worked through a list of queries about the intricacies of the ticketing system, whether it was worth trying a different printer for waybills, how livestock was priced and why turkeys were not carried—’Unless dead’, as Piers helpfully added—and what to do about the unsatisfactory behaviour of one of the ostlers. Then the others departed, Piers quizzing Rosa about the mystery of the fodder bill.

      Bree wandered into the drawing room, sank down on the sofa and regarded the empty fireplace blankly, worrying about her uncle. Should she go down today? No, she decided. He might just have been down in the dumps and there’ll be a letter tomorrow saying so. And he’ll be mortified if I go haring off down there because of that. I’ll give him twenty-four hours.

      But it would be good to have someone to talk to about it. She felt Piers was too young, and she could hardly burden Rosa with family worries, but what if there was something seriously wrong with him? He was unmarried, a reserved, independent type who would hate it if they had to start interfering in his life, however good their motives and however tactful they were.

      If only Max were here. She could talk to him and he would be sensible and sympathetic and help her see it in perspective. No, perhaps not so sympathetic now, not since that stilted visit and the embarrassing encounter in Green Park.

      The sound of the knocker sent her to the window. There was a phaeton at the kerb, but she did not recognise the horses. Perhaps it was Max.

      ‘Mr Latymer, Miss Mallory.’ Peters stood waiting. ‘Are you at home?’

      ‘Oh. Yes, yes, I am. Peters, show him in and ask Lucy to come down, please. He can wait in here. I just need to get something from the breakfast room.’ After the incident with the gloves she had better be on her best behaviour, and that included chaperonage. Bree slipped out of the connecting door and went to collect the gloves from the table. When she got back Lucy was perched on a hard chair in the corner and Brice Latymer was studying the landscape over the fireplace.

      ‘Miss Mallory, good morning. I see you have received my little gift.’

      ‘Please, sit down, Mr Latymer. Yes, it arrived safely. The gloves are delightful, but I am afraid I cannot accept them.’ She held out the package, but he made no move to take it.

      ‘But the merest trifle, Miss Mallory, please, relent.’ The black eyes held a trace of the heat she recalled from the day before.

      ‘I must insist, sir. I cannot accept articles of apparel.’ She continued to hold out the gloves until he had no choice but to get up and take them.

      Bree knew she was blushing. Knew, too, that he could see that and that he knew that she knew the significance of the gift. It made her feel decidedly hot and bothered. ‘My chaperon is adamant, I am afraid,’ she added.

      ‘A pity.’ He folded them away into his pocket with a wry smile. ‘Perhaps I can persuade you to come for a drive anyway?’

      Bree shook her head regretfully. ‘I am sorry, but I would be poor company today.’

      ‘My dear Miss Mallory, are you in some distress? What can I do to assist you?’ His black eyes were sharp and interested.

      ‘A family matter, sir. A relative who seems … unwell. There is nothing you can do, but thank you for your concern.’

      ‘I can listen,’ he said softly. ‘Sometimes that helps. Is it a close relative?’

      ‘Yes, my uncle. My late father’s brother who lives near Aylesbury in Buckinghamshire.’

      ‘Mmm?’ He nodded encouragingly.

      ‘He is the co-owner with my brother of the stagecoach company, and breeds our horses.’

      ‘And Mr Mallory senior is unwell?’ Latymer prompted, leaning forwards with his forearms on his knees, sleek and elegant. It all seemed so easy, just to confide in him.

      ‘We had an odd letter from him today. He sounded—I suppose distracted is the word.’

      ‘How disconcerting. His family is looking after him, I suppose?’

      ‘No, he is unmarried. I intend to go down to visit him tomorrow. It is СКАЧАТЬ