Secrets of a Scandalous Heiress by Theresa Romain

hope is rewarded.” He looked her up and down, and a smile lit his features. “My heaven, Mrs. Flowers, you have outdone yourself. ‘But soft, what light through yonder window breaks?’”
    â€œNaught but the blinding print of my gown.” She did a little twirl, sharing his smile. She had dressed according to her name, just as Joss had requested. Beneath her frilled parasol, far too frail for the March wind, her bonnet was a frenzy of silk blossoms and curling feathers. The accompanying gown had been purchased ready-made from an unassuming Bath dressmaker; it looked as though a garden had sneezed on it, all covered in blooms of riotous color and form. To complete the effect, Augusta had bought a handful of early-blooming phlox in a vivid, showy pink, and pinned it to her spencer.
    When she looked in the glass before leaving Emily’s house, she had laughed.
    â€œYou asked for Mrs. Flowers. Sir, she is at your service. Though might I ask why she is needed?”
    â€œIndeed you may. I shall even answer you.” He guided her to a scrolled wooden bench, then seated himself next to her. “I did not actually flip a coin to decide with whom I would attempt to speak next. Rather, I sent letters requesting appointments—all without man flirting , I assure you.”
    â€œApplause and felicitations.”
    â€œThank you. There was one exception; before writing to Mr. Duffy of the foundry, I decided to visit it.”
    She lifted a hand—gloved in fussy ruffled lace, naturally. “Hold one moment. Are you admitting that you engaged in a hen-witted espionage caper?”
    Beneath the brim of his hat, Joss shot her a dark look. “No. Nothing of the sort. I merely took a walk through a part of Bath I had never yet visited.”
    â€œHmm.”
    He ignored this. “The smell was like nothing I’ve ever encountered. Tar and burning things. Acrid and dreadful. I know we must have metal, and foundries must have coal to make it. But if Sutcliffe could sell his land whole rather than stripping the coal from it—well, it seems to me that would be better.”
    â€œIt wouldn’t be better for you, as his man of business. You could almost certainly see the coal sold at a decent price.”
    He looked away, in the direction of the canal just visible through winter-bare branches. A few brave souls were punting along the chill ribbon, their voices floating on the breeze with occasional snippets of song. When the punt passed beneath a delicate ironwork footbridge, the sound vanished.
    â€œIt wouldn’t be better for the tenants,” he said. “They are farmers, not miners. Nor would it be better for the land itself, which would become barren. Yet I know that to sell off the land outright would be worse for the estate. Perhaps we could buy it back one day, though, whole and unharmed.”
    â€œ We could buy it back?”
    â€œWe. Sutcliffe and me. Or more likely, his son, if Ted proves less of a—” He pressed his lips together. “Proves inclined to careful stewardship of his holdings.”
    â€œAnd what do you need of me?”
    He shaded his eyes and looked up at the sky, where sparrows or starlings or some sort of small bird arrowed, joyous and quick through the air. “I thought you might enjoy the amusement of an outing outside the stifling comforts of your rented house. Have you noticed how many men have tipped their hats at you, my dear fake widow? Perhaps this was my true motive: I wanted the smug satisfaction of being the man who sat at your side.”
    Did he mean it? Of course he did not; the odious expression of amusement was spreading over his features again. “Enjoy it while you can,” she said primly, “for when Lord Whittingham presents himself, I shall have to leave you behind.”
    â€œMust you? I have no doubt that his lordship would be as delighted to see you as is every other man of your