Page 39 of Lady Louisa and the Carriage Clock
“Very good, Acker.”
A few sips of dreadful coffee and a bite of burnt toast later, Cecil rose from his chair and locked the door of the drawing room. After retrieving his clock from its hiding place, he deposited it in an open wooden box, covered it with a linen napkin, and placed several books on top of the timepiece.
Unlocking the door to the room, he made his way to the entry hall of the narrow house, the box under one arm. Once he donned his greatcoat and beaver hat, he accepted his walking stick from Acker.
“Where does one purchase flowers?” he asked the elderly butler.
“Covent Garden, my lord,” the man replied smoothly, a twinkle in his eye, before he added somberly, “Although it’s so early in the season, you will need to acquire flowers from a hothouse rather than a flower market.”
Hothouse? Nathaniel had an orangery. Cecil left the house without another word. Acker probably assumed his employer was courting. He sighed. Most of London would probably think the same. Cecil would hope his name didn’t make it into the society pages. His mother had the papers sent from London; he wouldn’t wish to get her hopes up that he’d made a match.
“Grosvenor Square,” he called to his driver as he entered the coach.
Edith could help him with the flowers. She had to. They were the price of admission to Carstairs.
* * * * *
Louisa did indeed sleep in and felt well-rested when she opened her eyes. A maid must have seen to the coals in the grate as a low fire glowed in the hearth. The drapes in her room were open, and she saw a cold, dreary day.
She stretched and propped herself up on the pillows behind her. A moment later, Lucy peeked inside the bedchamber.
“Good morning, my lady. A tray?”
“Yes, Lucy.”
Soon after, the maid returned with Louisa’s chocolate and buttered toast. It was her favorite breakfast and had been since she was a child.
“What dress for the morning, my lady?”
She thought a moment. “The new light green.”
“Are you expecting visitors? It’s the prettiest of your morning dresses.”
“One never knows,” she replied with a quick smile, sipping her chocolate.
“I hope you don’t mind me saying, my lady, but the countess is in a dreadful mood.” She added in a low voice, “The patronesses didn’t issue either her or you a voucher for Almack’s.”
She wasn’t surprised. One of Almack’s patronesses, Lady Cowper, wanted the squat baron for her plain niece and was not best pleased that the gentleman continued to fawn over Louisa.
“I’ll keep well away from her bedchamber,” she replied with a grin.
Breakfast finished, Lucy helped her dress.
“Let’s try my hair in the upswept fashion you pointed out in Ackermann’s most recent issue,” she said, meeting the maid’s eyes in the dressing mirror.
“It is so daring! You will look very stylish, my lady. Not that you aren’t already the most fashionable lady in society.”
The maid was proud of her mistress’s looks and wasn’t afraid to say so. Louisa let her chatter on as she thought about Lord Wycliffe’s visit.
A thought gave her pause. “Are my brothers at home?”
“All except Leopold,” the maid replied, shaking her head. “I overheard James say he expected the house to be flooded with callers.”
He did? James couldn’t know of the viscount’s visit.
There was a knock at her bedchamber door. “Come!”
Louisa’s mother opened the door and entered the room. She smiled widely, her color high. “My dear, make haste. The drawing room is bursting with gentlemen callers.”
