Page 124 of A Duke in the Rough

Honoria shot from her seat, a strand of hair caught in the hairbrush and pulling against her scalp. “When did it arrive?”

“Just this morning. Came all the way from London. It talked about her fall from the horse and how gallant Mr. Merrick was. How do you expect it knew?”

Indeed. Perhaps Miranda’s suspicions were correct and the instigator of that atrocious rag was among them there. “That is a very good question, Susan.”

More importantly, whoever the source was didn’t have the most current information. Not that that was a surprise.

“Is it true then?” Susan asked.

“Hmm?”

“About Mr. Merrick and Miss Weatherby?”

Honoria shook her head. “No. She broke off their attachment last night.”

Susan visibly relaxed. “Oh, thank the stars. I’ve heard he fancies you, my lady.” She blushed. “His valet said he didn’t believe his master loved Miss Weatherby and that his heart was set on another.”

Unbidden, a smile tugged at Honoria’s lips.

“Oh, my lady! Itisyou, isn’t it? Archie said he thought it might be.”

“Who in the world is Archie?”

“Mr. Merrick’s valet, Mr. Dawson. Although he said I could call him Archie. He’s ever so nice.” Susan broke into a wide grin.

“Why, Susan, have you developed a fondness for Mr. Merrick’s valet?”

Susan’s blush deepened. “I know it can’t come to anything. But I was hoping if you and Mr. Merrick . . .”

Champagne bubbles, more glorious than anything she had ever drank, effervesced in her veins. Oh, how she wanted to tell someone of her news. But could she trust a gossipy servant?

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Honoria said, averting her eyes from Susan’s interrogating gaze. “Please bring some hot water for a bath, and I think I’ll wear the green sprigged muslin today.”

Once she’d bathed, finished dressing, and her hair had beenfashioned—which took longer than expected thanks to Susan’s chattering about Mr. Dawson’s fine qualities—Honoria made her way down to the small dining room for breakfast.

Relieved to find it practically empty, she helped herself to a piece of toast and some tea.

“Good morning, Lady Honoria. I trust you slept well.”

Honoria spun around.

Burwood leaned in the doorway, a shoulder resting lazily against the frame. He straightened and stretched his arms over his head, emitting a rather raucous yawn. “I, for one, did not.”

Her insides chilled even though her face burned.

“Is a cow dying?” Charlotte gave Burwood the side-eye as she brushed past him into the room. She stopped short and jerked back, staring at Honoria. “Why is your face red?” She spun back toward Burwood. “What did you say to her, you oaf?”

“Never mind.” Honoria tugged Charlotte toward the dining table. “My maid told me a copy ofThe Muckrakerarrived this morning.” She leaned in, lowering her voice. “With news of the house party.”

Charlotte’s dark brows lifted. “Really?” She motioned for a footman standing near the sideboard. “Fetch me a copy of that scandal sheet.”

The footman nodded and raced off.

“Good of you to order my staff around like that. You could have at least said ‘Please.’” Burwood took a seat sideways on the chair, stretching out his long legs, and glowered at Charlotte, who ignored him.

Charlotte narrowed her eyes at Honoria. “There’s something different about you this morning.”

“Ha!” Burwood chortled.

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