The Lady’s Secret by Joanna Chambers

that offends me.”
    “You can’t mean it!” Osborne exclaimed.
    “If ever a waistcoat called for black evening clothes, Osborne, it is that waistcoat,” Nathan pronounced.
    Mrs. Marsh laughed. “I told you, Adam.”
    “You are both blind,” Osborne said and flicked a non-existent speck from the shoulder of his pale grey coat. “What do you think, Dunsmore?”
    Dunsmore merely scowled, as though he suspected Osborne was laughing at him. But then Dunsmore dressed as though his mother chose his waistcoats.
    “I think I like you, Lord Harland,” Mrs. Marsh told him. Her eyes were inviting. Perhaps he might have been tempted by the sly humour in her gaze, were it not for the woman who would be sleeping in his rooms tonight. The thought of Fellowes— her —moving about his rooms tugged insistently at his intention. He hadn’t had the chance to look at her much in her male garb with his new knowledge. He wanted to watch her, relishing the secret. He wanted to look for chinks in her armour.
    “Would you like some tea, Lord Harland?”
    He turned towards the voice; it came from Lady Dunsmore, who sat at the tea table a few feet away. A footman placed an urn of hot water before her. Nathan sighed inwardly. There would be no escape from this drawing room for a while yet.
    “Thank you, ma’am. Yes, I will.” He smiled at his companions. “Please excuse me.”
    “I am just making a fresh pot,” Lady Dunsmore informed him as he approached, waving her hand at the chair opposite. He sat obediently.
    She opened the tea caddy which sat to her right, a very fine rosewood box, inlaid with a geometric design in ebony. It was somewhat larger than the usual sort of caddy, with four compartments instead of two. With unhurried grace, Lady Dunsmore opened one compartment and scooped out a spoonful of small black leaves, spilling them into the small crystal bowl that nestled in the middle of the caddy. From a second compartment she took two scoops, larger leaves this time, of a grey-green colour. She stirred the dry leaves lightly then spooned them into the teapot and nodded to the footman, who poured the water in from the heavy urn then replaced the teapot lid.
    “Good tea is worth waiting for, don’t you think, Lord Harland?”
    “All good things are, ma’am, in my experience.”
    “Indeed. And you—like your father, as I recall—are plainly a man who enjoys the finer things.” She sniffed. “Your orrery, for example.”
    “I am in the fortunate position of being able to indulge my admiration for beautiful novelties,” he agreed. She inclined her head but did not return his smile. She was a cold fish; it was plain where Dunsmore got his lack of humour. Nathan watched as she lifted the teapot lid and peered inside. Evidently satisfied, she replaced the lid and lifted the pot to pour.
    The tea was a clear greenish brown, a beautiful colour against the pale blue-white of the porcelain teacup. Reluctantly seduced by all the pretty accoutrements of this peculiarly female ritual, Nathan lifted the teacup to his nose, sniffing appreciatively. There was a hint of smoke in it, a touch of pine on the nose. He sipped. The tea was delicate and delicious.
    “Would you like sugar? Milk?”
    He shook his head. “No, this tea needs no embellishments.”
    “It is good, is it not? It is my own special blend.”
    “A secret one?” he asked.
    “Of course.” She paused, then added, “Do you like secrets, Harland?”
    “Don’t all gentlemen? We are certainly good at keeping them.”
    “Are you? Do you think gentlemen better at keeping secrets than ladies?”
    Until last night, he’d have cheerfully replied that ladies had many admirable qualities but that the keeping of secrets was not one of them.
    “I would not make such a sweeping assumption,” he said instead. “But it is true that gentlemen are excessively fond of secrets. Or at least I am. Of discovering them most especially.”
    “Well, in that case, let me show you