can’t imagine—”
Lizzie flushed. Maybe she could imagine. There had been a significant rearranging of her dress in the shrubbery. It was possible the brooch had become detached at that point.
It was too late to go looking for it tonight. It would be safe where it was. No one else would be making use of that odd little bower in that even odder garden.
“Never mind, Betty. I’ll find it in the morning.”
“And you don’t need it tonight.” Lady Beatrice headed for the door. “Come on, before all the brandy is gone.”
“So what exactly happened last night, Westbrooke?”
“Nothing.” Robbie watched the door to the drawing room. Where was Lizzie? He took a sip of brandy, smiling slightly. He would wager she would avoid the ratafia tonight.
Lady Felicity hadn’t made an appearance either. He knew not to hope she’d left the house party so soon. Collins had best procure a key from Tynweith’s butler. He wanted the door to his room securely locked before he climbed into bed tonight.
“Nothing? Then how do you explain the wild story my valet told me this morning? Something about you cavorting naked in Lady Elizabeth’s room. Not quite your style, I would have said.”
Robbie glanced at his friend Parks—John Parker-Roth. The man kept a straight face, but his damned eyes gleamed behind his spectacles.
“Why didn’t you come out and gape with the rest of the house party, Parks? Your room is right next door. Didn’t you hear the commotion?”
“Certainly. And I did poke my head out when I got up to pour more brandy. Didn’t look as though another body was required in the corridor. I had better things to do than gawk and gossip.”
“Had your nose in some plant book, did you?”
“Repton’s Fragments on the Theory and Practice of Landscape Gardening. Shall I tell you about it?”
“God, no.”
Parks laughed. “It’s not too technical. There are quite a few pictures.”
“Pictures of shrubbery.” Robbie remembered a certain section of shrubbery and flushed. Parks’s gaze sharpened. The man never missed a thing.
“Hmm. I wonder what is so embarrassing about shrubbery? Take care or your face will be as red as your hair.”
“Stubble it, Parks. And my hair is brown.”
“No, my hair is brown. Yours is red.”
“Oh, for God’s sake! We’ve had this stupid argument ever since Eton.”
Parks’s face grew serious. “Yes we have, but you’ve never missed your sense of humor before. What’s wrong, Westbrooke?”
“Nothing. I’m just not nine years old any longer.”
“No, you’re almost thirty—two months younger than I, if I recall correctly. Did something happen in Lady Elizabeth’s room last night?”
“No. No, everything is fine. I’m tired, that’s all. Slightly blue-deviled. My apologies for being a bore.” Robbie took another swallow of brandy—and almost sprayed it over Parks’s cravat.
“What is the matter?” Parks took out his handkerchief and dabbed a few stray droplets from his waistcoat.
“ That is the matter.” Robbie gestured at the drawing room door. Lizzie had just arrived.
“What? Oh, I grant you Lady Beatrice’s attire is somewhat alarming, but I thought you’d be used to it by now. She has been on the Town for an age and her taste in clothing hasn’t changed.”
“Not Lady Bea.” What was the matter with Parks? The man wasn’t usually a clod pole.
“No?” Parks studied the women, then shrugged. “If this is a riddle, Westbrooke, I’m afraid I can’t answer it. Who is the beauty, by the by?”
“Lizzie, you dolt!”
Parks turned back to stare at Robbie. “I know Lady Elizabeth, Westbrooke, and she does look especially fine this evening. That shade of blue is very complimentary.” He glanced back at the women. “But I was referring to her companion.” He grinned. “Not Lady Beatrice—her other companion.”
“That’s Meg.” Robbie had barely noticed the color of Lizzie’s dress. His eyes had focused on its bodice.
Lizzie flushed. Maybe she could imagine. There had been a significant rearranging of her dress in the shrubbery. It was possible the brooch had become detached at that point.
It was too late to go looking for it tonight. It would be safe where it was. No one else would be making use of that odd little bower in that even odder garden.
“Never mind, Betty. I’ll find it in the morning.”
“And you don’t need it tonight.” Lady Beatrice headed for the door. “Come on, before all the brandy is gone.”
“So what exactly happened last night, Westbrooke?”
“Nothing.” Robbie watched the door to the drawing room. Where was Lizzie? He took a sip of brandy, smiling slightly. He would wager she would avoid the ratafia tonight.
Lady Felicity hadn’t made an appearance either. He knew not to hope she’d left the house party so soon. Collins had best procure a key from Tynweith’s butler. He wanted the door to his room securely locked before he climbed into bed tonight.
“Nothing? Then how do you explain the wild story my valet told me this morning? Something about you cavorting naked in Lady Elizabeth’s room. Not quite your style, I would have said.”
Robbie glanced at his friend Parks—John Parker-Roth. The man kept a straight face, but his damned eyes gleamed behind his spectacles.
“Why didn’t you come out and gape with the rest of the house party, Parks? Your room is right next door. Didn’t you hear the commotion?”
“Certainly. And I did poke my head out when I got up to pour more brandy. Didn’t look as though another body was required in the corridor. I had better things to do than gawk and gossip.”
“Had your nose in some plant book, did you?”
“Repton’s Fragments on the Theory and Practice of Landscape Gardening. Shall I tell you about it?”
“God, no.”
Parks laughed. “It’s not too technical. There are quite a few pictures.”
“Pictures of shrubbery.” Robbie remembered a certain section of shrubbery and flushed. Parks’s gaze sharpened. The man never missed a thing.
“Hmm. I wonder what is so embarrassing about shrubbery? Take care or your face will be as red as your hair.”
“Stubble it, Parks. And my hair is brown.”
“No, my hair is brown. Yours is red.”
“Oh, for God’s sake! We’ve had this stupid argument ever since Eton.”
Parks’s face grew serious. “Yes we have, but you’ve never missed your sense of humor before. What’s wrong, Westbrooke?”
“Nothing. I’m just not nine years old any longer.”
“No, you’re almost thirty—two months younger than I, if I recall correctly. Did something happen in Lady Elizabeth’s room last night?”
“No. No, everything is fine. I’m tired, that’s all. Slightly blue-deviled. My apologies for being a bore.” Robbie took another swallow of brandy—and almost sprayed it over Parks’s cravat.
“What is the matter?” Parks took out his handkerchief and dabbed a few stray droplets from his waistcoat.
“ That is the matter.” Robbie gestured at the drawing room door. Lizzie had just arrived.
“What? Oh, I grant you Lady Beatrice’s attire is somewhat alarming, but I thought you’d be used to it by now. She has been on the Town for an age and her taste in clothing hasn’t changed.”
“Not Lady Bea.” What was the matter with Parks? The man wasn’t usually a clod pole.
“No?” Parks studied the women, then shrugged. “If this is a riddle, Westbrooke, I’m afraid I can’t answer it. Who is the beauty, by the by?”
“Lizzie, you dolt!”
Parks turned back to stare at Robbie. “I know Lady Elizabeth, Westbrooke, and she does look especially fine this evening. That shade of blue is very complimentary.” He glanced back at the women. “But I was referring to her companion.” He grinned. “Not Lady Beatrice—her other companion.”
“That’s Meg.” Robbie had barely noticed the color of Lizzie’s dress. His eyes had focused on its bodice.
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