Calvin shrugged. “I received another letter from Emma. She detests school. Can hardly wait for her Season. The usual.”
“A Season already? I still think of Emma with a dirt-scuffed face and tangled hair full of twigs from running through the woods.”
“She’ll make her bow at eighteen, but she’s already wailing as if I’m holding her back. This is my last year to enjoy myself before I need to be the adult in the family and beat all the scoundrels off with a stick. Lord knows my father won’t be of use there.” Calvin sighed, taking a drink. “Lady Agatha Dalrymple leased the house across the lane. From what I hear, she’s having some rather extensive remodeling done to her home. Now she’s deigned to grace our neighborhood with her presence, instead of merely managing the next street over.”
Ethan grinned. “Ah, Lady Agatha. I’ve always enjoyed her. Can’t say the feeling is mutual, though. She’s given me the cold shoulder since that blunder with Lady Charlotte. If I remember correctly, Lady Agatha is her godmother.”
Cal wiggled his eyebrows, grinning at Ethan.
“Wait. Are you telling me she’s next door? Lady Charlotte is the new neighbor?” A shiver ran up his spine, and he had no idea if it was excitement or instinct warning that everything was about to change.
“Unless you know of another buxom, dark-haired woman who looks as if she’s gone a few rounds in a boxing ring, then yes.” Cal’s expression was far too smug.
Both men stared out the window at the gray stone facade of the house in question.
“London just got more interesting, aye?” The woman who’d been running circles through his thoughts had moved in across the lane from his best friend. What a small world. If he was given the opportunity to see her again, would his disturbing dreams die down? Perhaps his body was telling him there was unfinished business with the brunette. “Uh, you may choose tae read more into this, but brewery business may bring me tae Town more often before the Season. Connor informed me before I left that we need a new brewmaster.”
“My guest room is available for your use, as always. Stay as long as you like. I enjoy the company. The Puppy shows up in the mornings to fence in the gallery and shuffle papers about on the desk over there. But once he leaves, I rattle around the place with only Higgins for conversation,” Cal said.
“I can’t believe you call Hardwick the Puppy. Some friend you are.”
“It fits. You know how he’s all legs and floppy feet? Puppy. Hardwick’s a good sport. Besides, I pay his salary, so I can get away with it. The lad is wet behind the ears but solid.” No doubt the young steward in charge of a small forest Cal refused to do anything with tolerated the name in exchange for a paycheck. “Between the two of you, I might not die of boredom before the Season.”
“So what you’re saying is, you keep me around for the entertainment value.”
“Never doubt it, my friend.”
Chapter Seven
What a pleasure to see you again, Lady Charlotte.” Lady Bartlesby greeted her like a long-lost friend while Lottie struggled to find a single memory of their hostess. “I heard someone saw you shopping with your godmother, so of course I couldn’t resist inviting you to dine with us. Thank you for accepting my invitation on such short notice. I planned this dinner at the last minute, but it simply would not have been the same without you.”
A sense of foreboding struck Lottie. Overly friendly strangers usually had an agenda of their own—and she was almost certain this woman was a stranger.
“Our numbers weigh heavily on the side of the gentlemen this evening. We ladies will have to soldier on while surrounded by some of the finest men in London.” Lady Bartlesby winked.
“That may not be saying much with the lack of company in Town. But keep an eye out, girl. Your dream wastrel may be present this evening,” Agatha teased Lottie in a whisper.
In their hostess’s warning that the numbers were uneven, she did not clarify that the only women present besides Lottie and Agatha were herself and a daughter of marriageable age. Naturally. Because why wouldn’t she throw her innocent daughter into this den of hungry bachelors. Although as dens of hungry predators went, this was a small gathering. For that Lottie was thankful. Agatha stopped to greet an acquaintance while the lady of the house towed Lottie along in her wake.
“You’ll remember Lord Bartlesby, of course.” Her hostess gestured to an older gentleman with the beleaguered air of a man used to swallowing his opinions with copious libations. Lottie had never seen him before. The alcohol fumes surrounded him in a noxious perfume.
Lord Bartlesby gestured to a man at his side. “May I introduce Mr. Leopold Lurch, youngest son of Baron Ellery.”
Mr. Lurch’s eyes were a lovely shade of blue, with lush thick lashes sure to be the envy of any woman. A few excessively long, lonely strands of hair attempted to cover his shiny bald pate in a swirling pattern held in place with pomade. His nose had an unfortunate upward tilt at the tip, giving him an undeniably porcine air, with perpetually flared nostrils. Mr. Lurch’s eyes were sharp, leaving Lottie with the feeling she’d already been scrutinized and found wanting. A strong odor of onions came from him as he muttered something about being charmed and kissed the air above her fingers. Thank goodness for evening gloves.
When Lottie and her hostess turned away, Lady Bartlesby leaned close. “Quite a decent catch, if you ignore the nose. Good family.”
There was bitter truth in Agatha’s earlier teasing. Could she stomach adding Mr. Lurch to her list
