question, Rolf could not fairly answer himself; he had only Regina’s assurance that the ploy would work. “Don’t it strike you as queer that after all these years Uncle Duke should decide to come home now ? After Papa stuck his spoon in the wall?”
Nikki considered this suggestion. “No,” she said. “You’d have acted similarly. So should I. In fact, anyone who knew Reuben wouldn’t have deliberately set out to encounter him again, unless—” She contemplated her stepson. “Are you referring to the succession? Were something to happen to you, would Duke inherit? The devil, Rolf! Surely you can’t think—”
At last Lord Sweetbriar could answer honestly. “Don’t know what to think.”
“I suppose it is just possible.” Nikki knitted her brows. “Duke always was a scoundrel. But I can’t imagine that he would do you harm.”
Nor could Rolf imagine such a thing. “Queer goings-on in Russia,” he hinted, all the same. “A man can change.”
“So he can.” Looking worried, Lady Sweetbriar nibbled at her knuckles. “I cannot like this, Rolf.”
Lord Sweetbriar was no fonder of the situation, but his course of action had been clearly spelled out. If he was to win the maiden of his choice, his stepmama must be got out of the way. “Uncle Duke likes you, Nikki,” he suggested. “Maybe if you was to make a push, you could discover what he’s about!”
Chapter 9
As result of her stepson’s intrusion upon her slumber, and his subsequent revelations, Lady Sweetbriar had no more sleep that night. At length she abandoned her courtship of Morpheus altogether, and occupied herself pouring over a design book—George Smith’s Collection of Designs for Household Furnishings and Interior Decoration, with 158 plates adapted from the best antique examples of the Egyptian, Greek, and Roman styles—until she could decently arise. After breakfasting, Nikki adorned herself in a carriage dress of white India muslin with a dashing deep flounce, earrings and necklace of garnets, and a butterfly brooch set with pearls and pinheads of enameled gold. On her dark curls she set a straw bonnet trimmed with feathers, and around her shoulders a cloth pelisse made up in Roman flame.
Satisfied with her appearance, Nikki departed her house in Fitzroy Square. Lady Regina Foliot would doubtless have found cause for adverse comment in even this simple act; ladies of good breeding did not pull on their gloves in public. Since Lady Regina was not present to see Lady Sweetbriar commit this indelicacy, however, Nikki’s shocking lapse from propriety went unremarked.
Her arrival at the British Museum was not similarly free of incident; this day was not a Monday, Wednesday, or Friday, nor the hour between ten and four. The porter knew perfectly well who Lady Sweetbriar was, of course. Had he not heard the Keeper of the Department of Natural History and the Keeper of Prints in a heated discussion of whether or not trustees of the establishment should be permitted to engage in public dalliance? In point of fact, the porter would not have been amiss to dallying with Lady Sweetbriar himself. Since he dared not suggest such a thing, he instead put forth to her a nostalgic lament concerning the days when entry to the Museum was by application only. Prospective visitors then had to be approved by the Principal Librarian, a process which involved three different visits to the Museum, and several days. Finally, the porter could think of no further excuses to detain her, and Nikki was allowed to pass.
She found her fiancé in the South Sea Room, where underlings were repositioning the first kangaroo ever to be seen in Europe, brought back by Captain James Cook. Perhaps it need not be explained that this specimen was stuffed. Other mementoes of Cook’s voyages were exhibited in the chamber—numerous animals preserved in spirits, specimens of Polynesian art, a collection of natural and artificial curiosities. If the reaction of the
Nikki considered this suggestion. “No,” she said. “You’d have acted similarly. So should I. In fact, anyone who knew Reuben wouldn’t have deliberately set out to encounter him again, unless—” She contemplated her stepson. “Are you referring to the succession? Were something to happen to you, would Duke inherit? The devil, Rolf! Surely you can’t think—”
At last Lord Sweetbriar could answer honestly. “Don’t know what to think.”
“I suppose it is just possible.” Nikki knitted her brows. “Duke always was a scoundrel. But I can’t imagine that he would do you harm.”
Nor could Rolf imagine such a thing. “Queer goings-on in Russia,” he hinted, all the same. “A man can change.”
“So he can.” Looking worried, Lady Sweetbriar nibbled at her knuckles. “I cannot like this, Rolf.”
Lord Sweetbriar was no fonder of the situation, but his course of action had been clearly spelled out. If he was to win the maiden of his choice, his stepmama must be got out of the way. “Uncle Duke likes you, Nikki,” he suggested. “Maybe if you was to make a push, you could discover what he’s about!”
Chapter 9
As result of her stepson’s intrusion upon her slumber, and his subsequent revelations, Lady Sweetbriar had no more sleep that night. At length she abandoned her courtship of Morpheus altogether, and occupied herself pouring over a design book—George Smith’s Collection of Designs for Household Furnishings and Interior Decoration, with 158 plates adapted from the best antique examples of the Egyptian, Greek, and Roman styles—until she could decently arise. After breakfasting, Nikki adorned herself in a carriage dress of white India muslin with a dashing deep flounce, earrings and necklace of garnets, and a butterfly brooch set with pearls and pinheads of enameled gold. On her dark curls she set a straw bonnet trimmed with feathers, and around her shoulders a cloth pelisse made up in Roman flame.
Satisfied with her appearance, Nikki departed her house in Fitzroy Square. Lady Regina Foliot would doubtless have found cause for adverse comment in even this simple act; ladies of good breeding did not pull on their gloves in public. Since Lady Regina was not present to see Lady Sweetbriar commit this indelicacy, however, Nikki’s shocking lapse from propriety went unremarked.
Her arrival at the British Museum was not similarly free of incident; this day was not a Monday, Wednesday, or Friday, nor the hour between ten and four. The porter knew perfectly well who Lady Sweetbriar was, of course. Had he not heard the Keeper of the Department of Natural History and the Keeper of Prints in a heated discussion of whether or not trustees of the establishment should be permitted to engage in public dalliance? In point of fact, the porter would not have been amiss to dallying with Lady Sweetbriar himself. Since he dared not suggest such a thing, he instead put forth to her a nostalgic lament concerning the days when entry to the Museum was by application only. Prospective visitors then had to be approved by the Principal Librarian, a process which involved three different visits to the Museum, and several days. Finally, the porter could think of no further excuses to detain her, and Nikki was allowed to pass.
She found her fiancé in the South Sea Room, where underlings were repositioning the first kangaroo ever to be seen in Europe, brought back by Captain James Cook. Perhaps it need not be explained that this specimen was stuffed. Other mementoes of Cook’s voyages were exhibited in the chamber—numerous animals preserved in spirits, specimens of Polynesian art, a collection of natural and artificial curiosities. If the reaction of the
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