Page 60 of Wicked Again
“You’ll take me? Even after Aunt Flora comes to stay?” Jordana shook her head. “She won’t understand how important it is to me. But you do, don’t you, Marissa?”
“Yes.” And she meant it. No matter what happened with Haddon, and at the moment things didn’t look promising, Marissarefusedto leave Jordana floundering about. She couldn’t.
But yet you will sacrifice Miss Higgins.
Reggie again, whispering in her ear, reminding Marissa of what she meant to do. Her hand trembled as she pushed away the half-eaten biscuit on her plate.
“Marissa?” Jordana leaned close. “You are very pale. Do you have one of your headaches?”
“No, dear. I’m only just realizing how tired I am. Shall we head home now?”
They left the coffee shop, arms linked, and walked in the direction of Marissa’s waiting carriage. The footman, arms full, followed closely behind. The poor lad was loaded down with an assortment of boxes, his head barely visible over the top.
I should have sent him back to the carriage earlier. He’s bound to drop something.
The hour had grown late, the day beginning to wane by the time the carriage came into sight. She had underestimated Jordana’s fascination with the apothecary shop.
“I can’t wait to return to visit Mr. Coventry.” There was a tiny dot of chocolate above Jordana’s upper lip as she grinned, blissfully happy, Marissa was sure, to have spent at least part of her day discussing the ingredients for a childbirth poultice. “You may even have to return next week for your special dye.”
“Jordana, I thought we discussed the need for discretion.”
“Mr. Coventry wrote down the name of a book he consults when mixing various medicinals and the like. But it’s in French. I suppose I should have paid more attention to my governess.” She gave Marissa a rueful look. “But truly, I’d no idea I would ever need to know French.”
“Possibly you should have made more of an effort to know Madame Fontaine or one of her assistants.” Marissa laughed. “As it appears now you will have use for them.” She looked up as the carriage came into view. “Finally.”
Spending the entire day on Bond Street had been wonderful but exhausting. She wanted nothing more than to sink into a hot bath with a glass of whisky and think of Haddon.
Marissa was at war with herself. She had no idea how to proceed.
Glancing down the street, Lady Stanton and her daughter appeared, weaving through the well-dressed ladies and the few gentlemen clogging the sidewalk. The pair paused, admiring something in a shop window before Lady Christina turned with an exclamation of surprise on her pretty face. She began to wave her gloved hands in an excited greeting to someone further down the street that Marissa couldn’t quite see.
A flash of evergreen moved in the direction of Lady Christina and her mother. A gentleman, tall and lithe, appeared. There was no mistaking the magnificent bone structure of his handsome face nor the way his beautiful mouth formed a devastating smile as he greeted the pair.
Damn it.
Lady Christina giggled, placing a hand over her lips as if suddenly shy, batting her lashes flirtatiously at the gentleman, doing everything but leaping into his arms.
That girl needs a lesson in comportment.
Marissa had little experience with envy, so it took her a moment to recognize the twist of her heart. As the daughter of a wealthy and powerful duke,Marissawas envied. But seeing Haddon’s attention on that little puff of a girl in peach stole the breath from her chest.
She glared at Haddon, willing him to look her way.
Her young footman struggled mightily, with the help of Marissa’s driver, to secure the packages she and Jordana had accumulated today on the top of the carriage.
Jordana, oblivious to the fact Marissa was distracted and her father was just down the street, leapt into the carriage without an ounce of decorum.
How many times must I remind her that ladies do not jump?
The carriage rocked, jostling the idiot footman, who was doing his best to lash the packages to the top.
Marissa’s driver jumped nimbly aside, catching one of the boxes before it could slide from the lad’s hands.
Marissa stepped away, stumbling a bit, to avoid both of the men. She would need to speak to Greenhouse. The lad was clearly not ready to advance to the position of footman as evidenced by his inability to complete a simple task. She turned to admonish Jordana, who was hanging out the carriage window, watching the young footman’s efforts with a dubious look on her face, when Marissa realized she couldn’t lift her leg. She pulled back her skirts.
Of all the rotten luck.
Her left foot was lodged into a small hole. A wiggle of her ankle did not produce the desired result of freeing herself.
