Page 65 of A Lady Most Wayward
Philippa exhaled through her nose and retrieved the fan from her skirt pocket. She had missed it the night before and found satisfaction in thwacking it against her leg. She would find more satisfaction in flicking it open and using the sharpened edge to threaten her butler with immediate decapitation if he didn’t tell her exactly where Olivia was at this moment. Exercising extreme self-control, Philippa chose conversation over carnage.
‘Out where, Stokes?’ This was hardly the time for her to be flitting about London. The last thing they needed was for her to be spotted out and about. The gossip that would inevitably sprout if she were seen by a member of the beau monde would make it back to her brother, and then what? Of course she would be instantly recognised. Olivia was impossible to miss with all of her glorious, bright locks, her emerald eyes sparkling with mischief, her bee-stung lips begging to be kissed.
Philippa blinked and tried to pull her thoughts back into focus.
‘She took Master Callum in the brougham. She said she needed to complete some errands.’
‘Is she mad? What if she’s seen?’ Philippa’s voice was becoming shrill. Again.
Stokes curled his lip and sniffed. ‘She’s far more clever than that. She promised to stay in the carriage with the shades drawn. Master Callum is acting as her footman of sorts and will be the only one leaving the carriage. You really should give her more credit, Your Grace.’
Philippa thwacked the fan harder, taking perverse pleasure in the sting on her leg where the metal weapon disguised as a harmless feminine accessory smacked her through her silk skirts. ‘It seems she has managed to win over your very selective regard. Quite a feat.’
Stokes cleared his throat and stretched his neck in lieu of an answer.
‘I do give her immense credit. Not that I need to explain myself to you. She is in danger. I only want to ensure she is safe.’ Why was she telling Stokes any of this? He was her servant, not her friend.
‘One can’t protect those they love from every danger, Your Grace. She has Master Callum with her, and she promised she would be careful. She has been trained by one of the most fearsome fighters in all of England, has she not? Have some faith.’
‘Who are you, and what have you done with my butler? He’s a stodgy, dour, stiff corpse of a man who would never think to compliment me.’
‘We are all capable of change, Your Grace.’ Clipping his heels together, Stokes executed a sharp turn and walked to the door. ‘Even stubborn, arrogant, self-satisfied duchesses.’
‘Ah, there you are. I thought you’d been replaced by a much kinder doppelganger.’ Philippa shook her head as the man quietly shut the door behind him.
Olivia hadn’t returned by the time Philippa needed to leave to meet with Lord High Chancellor Hardgrave. She told herself that, wonder of all wonders, Stokes was right. Olivia was smart. She was becoming, if not skilled, at least a proficient fighter. And Callum would protect her with his life, of that she was certain. It was silly to worry after her. But still, the weight of dread in her belly only increased as she climbed into the phaeton and took the ribbons, turning the horse toward 216 Strand.
* * *
This was probably a terrible idea. But it wasn’t Olivia’s worst idea. Her worst idea was falling in love with the Duchess of Dorsett, even though the stubborn woman was determined to ignore the fact that she also loved Olivia in return.
But I am far more resolute than you think. I shall not give up, Philippa.
She had woken with renewed hope. After all, most great love stories encountered innumerable challenges. And this was Olivia’s great love story. She knew it to the marrow of her bones. She would not give up after one setback during a dinner party.
But first, she needed to attend the meeting between Philippa and her brother to assure herself Cedric didn’t do anything completely unhinged. Like kidnap and kill the Duchess of Dorsett.
She knew Callum felt as restless as she did, so she devised a plan to enlist his assistance. He had brilliantly agreed to help her obtain the perfect costume to infiltrate their meeting. She could hardly arrive at Twinings in her usual attire or even dressed in the less conspicuous clothes of a maid. Her brother – and half the beau monde – would recognise her in a flash. But disguised as she was now in the finery of a young gentleman, her breasts bound, her hair trapped underneath a jaunty top hat, her eyes obscured with a pair of wire glasses, she barely recognised herself. In an inspired moment, she’d even drawn on a thin moustache. Reading had given her the idea the night before. It had occurred to her as she watched him meticulously cut his poached turbot that his features danced between the lines of feminine and masculine. She wondered if that was why he insisted on maintaining his whisper of facial hair. But more importantly, she believed she could pull off a similar look, and this meeting between Philippa and her brother was the perfect opportunity to test her theory.
‘Remember, it’s not just your clothes. You have to walk with your shoulders back, hands at your side. Keep your chin up and look down at everyone. If someone steps into your path, don’t pause. They make room for you, not the other way ’round.’ Callum spoke low as they walked side by side through the teahouse.
Olivia took a shallow breath. The bandage binding her breasts was almost as tight as her corset. ‘There he is. At the corner table by the window.’
Callum paused to scan the crowded teahouse. ‘Right. There’s a table just to his left.’
‘As long as Philippa doesn’t see you, we should be grand.’
‘Me?’ Callum burst into a sharp laugh. ‘It’s you we need to worry about. This is madness. Why did I agree to this?’
‘Because you want to rescue Hyacinth as badly as I do. And you don’t value being dismissed as a nuisance when you are far more valuable than that.’
His neck turned a mottled red as he wound around the crowded room. Stopping at a table that was diagonal to where her brother sat, he nodded at the seat facing away from the Lord High Chancellor and took the chair opposite. It was the perfect location, allowing her to listen to their conversation while her back faced their table. Her brother was busy reading a paper as they arrived. Olivia nearly collapsed in a heap when he looked up, his eyes – as green as hers, but hard like a stone – making direct contact with hers. He blinked, dismissing her as easily as he might a gnat. And to the Lord High Chancellor, she was of no more significance than an insect. Just another feckless young lordling like half the other patrons at Twinings.
Olivia sank into her seat and breathed a sigh of relief. It was a brief reprieve as no sooner had she ordered tea for the table than the duchess arrived.
No matter where she went, Philippa caused a stir. Tables grew silent as she passed, then immediately burst into a flurry of whispers. The Duchess of Dorsett was at Twinings. Meeting with none other than the Lord High Chancellor. Queen Victoria herself might have caused less of a fuss. Olivia wondered if she ever grew tired of such constant scrutiny.
No wonder she pulled back her hand last night. The last thing she wants is more attention.
