Or she’d be vastly disappointed.
And Lord Tremayne would forever wonder why she was so presumptive as to disavow his presence two nights in a row by having the effrontery to order him to stay home.
As to that, the note to Lord Tremayne proved significantly more difficult to write than the brief missive to the respected clockmaker. When one has thousands of thoughts vying to be heard, how to select only a few to share? She managed well enough, or so she’d assured herself before superstitiously kissing the page (a good-luck gesture intended for the man who’d open it) and folding it shut with crisp, precise edges.
It was the third and last letter that her pen dithered over the most. The letter she’d composed in more than a cursory state of shock because when she’d arrived home hours before and crawled into bed, intending to commit Lord Tremayne’s address to memory, what should her eyes be greeted with upon pulling from her reticule the card Lady Elizabeth had surreptitiously given her just before departing the box?
Not a simple address—which it did have.
But the hastily scrawled-upon card also contained an additional note, one that rendered Thea wide awake into the night: Lord W is away most days from 10 until 6, often later. Please call upon me at your earliest convenience. ’Tis urgent.
Urgent? Something Thea might assist with?
After scant hours of fitful sleep haunted by rampant curiosity, not to mention persistent recollections of the lusty encounter she’d just indulged in, Thea awoke without an answer. How exactly did one respond to such a note?
She debated and deliberated, paused and pondered.
In the end, she sent Buttons to deliver the other two, asking that he come back straightaway, determined to have decided before his swift feet brought him home.
Simply put, invited or not, Thea couldn’t bring herself to show up at the woman’s house, and she was reluctant to ask Sarah’s advice. Thea was positive one never contacted the well-born sister of one’s titled protector, but assumed, as with tinkering with Mr. Hurwell’s cuckoo clocks, ’twould be easier to ask for penance than permission.
And perhaps, Lady Elizabeth enjoyed writing as much as her brother?
Lady Wylde—
Was that the proper address? Once upon a time, Thea’s mother had begun teaching Thea all she’d learned from finishing school, manners and etiquette and how to address those with titles, but the lessons had ceased when Mama became ill and crossed over to another existence.
Much worse than an incorrect salutation, what if the note was delivered to Lady Elizabeth’s husband first? Mr. Hurwell always insisted upon reading and approving any correspondence Thea sent or received, likely why she’d lost touch with her few remaining friends shortly after her marriage. She’d wondered more than once whether her letters even made it across the threshold.
Best assume prying eyes might, well…pry.
All right then…
Lady W—
If it is not overly presumptive, I would request that you visit me at your convenience. Since you indicated this was a matter of some urgency, I will endeavor to remain home for the next three days
Or should that be two days? That trip to Seven Dials Thea kept putting off weighed on her; her rent might be paid through the following weekend, but who knew whether Grimmett would honor it?
the next three two days (in their entirety) and you may call at your leisure. My household tends to rise early, so do not fear
“Thea,” she gritted out between clenched teeth, shaking her quill over the wordy missive and speckling it with ink, “keep it brief.”
Ever mindful of the expense, for paper was precious regardless that it was no longer her purse making the purchase, she folded, creased, and then carefully ripped the page free of her ink-blotched blathering.
Lady W—
Please call upon me at your convenience. Any day or time this week is agreeable.
T.H.
“Ma’am?”
As well he might, Buttons looked startled by her request upon his return.
Thea strove to appear calm and in full possession of her faculties. “Aye. This one is intended for Lady Wylde, Lord Tremayne’s sister.” Buttons just kept staring and Thea’s lips kept flapping. “If it helps, I met her last night and she asked me to call on her. I’m sending this instead.” Thea thrust the labored-over note into his safekeeping.
Diffident now, he nodded. “O’ course. Know jus’ where she’s at, not that you need bother explaining your actions to me. I’m just your humble servant.”
“Of course not,” Thea said dryly. “You tell me that after I’ve babbled a defensive explanation.”
With a wink, he was off, leaving Thea to debate anew whether she’d made the right decision.
Ah, well.
Time would tell.
Time that moved wretchedly slowly as every second seemed to expand the longer she waited for a reply. Surprisingly, it was that dot-easy missive that caused her the most unease. Would Mr. Taft remember her? Would he be willing to accommodate the unusual request?
And how many more times could she circle her small entry before wearing through the floor and finding herself instantly dropped into the kitchen? Fortunately it was not a question she’d answer today, for at just that moment, not only did her brazen cuckoo clock gong, bong, chime and chirp, but the knocker on the front door sounded. One of her notes bearing fruit, perhaps?
After receiving Lady Elizabeth in her sedate morning room (hoping the woman had turned a blind eye to the decor on the way), pouring tea and exchanging pleasantries, Thea thought she’d be treated to the reason for this most unusual visit.
Only Lady Elizabeth seemed more inclined to relive last night’s adventure, speaking vibrantly of the ballet dancers, the opera (which was odd, given how her husband ushered her out shortly after it started), the crowds, her most “prodigiously
