my servants wine, bringing that wretched duke into our house, pretending those girls had left town.”
“I was never so taken in in my life,” Violet said quietly.
“Never mind, Violet. He did not succeed in his aim, which was to wheedle his money out of me. Not one penny shall he see till quarter day.”
“And we are going to the ball with them tomorrow evening. I cannot think the evening will be at all pleasant.”
“Don’t be such a peagoose. Of course we are not going to the ball with them.”
“But we’ve arranged the dinner party....”
“We shall have the dinner party. Our guests had to leave early, that is what we shall say.”
Violet shook her head sadly. “And they both offered to help Tom out in London. It seemed like such a wonderful opportunity for him. Crymont is Bathurst’s godson.”
“Crymont is not quite so hateful as Havergal,” Lettie said consideringly, for she was quite as alive as Violet to Tom’s future. “No doubt Havergal put him up to bringing those girls down here. Crymont had no other reason to come, so far as I can see. Yes, certainly Havergal is leading him astray. I shall tell Tom to call on the duke when he goes up to London but to stay well away from the viscount.”
“Do you really think you should leave Havergal’s bags at the door, Lettie? That seems a bit harsh.”
“I’d like to burn them and throw him on top of the blaze. I never imagined such a deceitful character existed in the whole world. And to think, I was nearly in tears when he said I was old.”
“Did he indeed say so?” Violet gasped. “Now, that does not sound like Havergal. He is a trifle wild to be sure, but not mean.”
“I’m sorry, Miss Beddoes!” Lettie remembered his quick sympathy when he had offended her by saying the simple truth. Something deep within her wanted to find an excuse to forgive him, but common sense prevailed. A hasty word, spoken without thinking, was one thing. But the rest of it, the girls at the inn and the wine—they had been planned in advance. This whole trip had been arranged both for his convenience and for the purpose of conning his money out of her. He wanted her to break her faith to Horace. And even for this one visit, he couldn’t do without his debaucheries. The man was a villain. A handsome face wasn’t enough to expiate for that.
Chapter Eight
Miss FitzSimmons was much of a mind to be in her bedroom with the door locked when Lord Havergal returned to find his servants and cases awaiting him on the doorstep. Lettie had no such intention. “I shall be in the saloon with a poker in my hands, ready to fight him off with force if he tries to weasel his way back in,” she announced.
“I cannot think he will do anything of the sort.”
“We have underestimated his gall before,” Lettie said coldly. “I shan’t do it again.”
In any case she wished to hear what he had to say when her message was delivered. This required opening the window an inch, which in turn required wrapping up in a shawl as the night air was chilly. At midnight, they decided to wait in the dark, for Lettie would not give him the satisfaction of knowing he was keeping them up. Violet remained on the scene, with the intention of holding Lettie in check, though she knew perfectly well how ineffectual she would be in a crisis. By one o’clock she was sound asleep, and by two, Lettie had begun to nod off herself.
After waiting up for hours, she missed the initial encounter between Havergal and his waiting servants. Cuttle and Crooks were surprised to see their master approach the front door so early as two o’clock, and relatively sober, too. They were less so themselves. Miss Beddoes had commanded them to remove the wine, and their stomachs seemed the best place to put it.
“What the devil are you two doing out here?” Havergal demanded in surprised accents.
“Waiting for you. We’re leaving,” Cuttle replied,
“Leaving! What happened?” He laughed.
“I was never so taken in in my life,” Violet said quietly.
“Never mind, Violet. He did not succeed in his aim, which was to wheedle his money out of me. Not one penny shall he see till quarter day.”
“And we are going to the ball with them tomorrow evening. I cannot think the evening will be at all pleasant.”
“Don’t be such a peagoose. Of course we are not going to the ball with them.”
“But we’ve arranged the dinner party....”
“We shall have the dinner party. Our guests had to leave early, that is what we shall say.”
Violet shook her head sadly. “And they both offered to help Tom out in London. It seemed like such a wonderful opportunity for him. Crymont is Bathurst’s godson.”
“Crymont is not quite so hateful as Havergal,” Lettie said consideringly, for she was quite as alive as Violet to Tom’s future. “No doubt Havergal put him up to bringing those girls down here. Crymont had no other reason to come, so far as I can see. Yes, certainly Havergal is leading him astray. I shall tell Tom to call on the duke when he goes up to London but to stay well away from the viscount.”
“Do you really think you should leave Havergal’s bags at the door, Lettie? That seems a bit harsh.”
“I’d like to burn them and throw him on top of the blaze. I never imagined such a deceitful character existed in the whole world. And to think, I was nearly in tears when he said I was old.”
“Did he indeed say so?” Violet gasped. “Now, that does not sound like Havergal. He is a trifle wild to be sure, but not mean.”
“I’m sorry, Miss Beddoes!” Lettie remembered his quick sympathy when he had offended her by saying the simple truth. Something deep within her wanted to find an excuse to forgive him, but common sense prevailed. A hasty word, spoken without thinking, was one thing. But the rest of it, the girls at the inn and the wine—they had been planned in advance. This whole trip had been arranged both for his convenience and for the purpose of conning his money out of her. He wanted her to break her faith to Horace. And even for this one visit, he couldn’t do without his debaucheries. The man was a villain. A handsome face wasn’t enough to expiate for that.
Chapter Eight
Miss FitzSimmons was much of a mind to be in her bedroom with the door locked when Lord Havergal returned to find his servants and cases awaiting him on the doorstep. Lettie had no such intention. “I shall be in the saloon with a poker in my hands, ready to fight him off with force if he tries to weasel his way back in,” she announced.
“I cannot think he will do anything of the sort.”
“We have underestimated his gall before,” Lettie said coldly. “I shan’t do it again.”
In any case she wished to hear what he had to say when her message was delivered. This required opening the window an inch, which in turn required wrapping up in a shawl as the night air was chilly. At midnight, they decided to wait in the dark, for Lettie would not give him the satisfaction of knowing he was keeping them up. Violet remained on the scene, with the intention of holding Lettie in check, though she knew perfectly well how ineffectual she would be in a crisis. By one o’clock she was sound asleep, and by two, Lettie had begun to nod off herself.
After waiting up for hours, she missed the initial encounter between Havergal and his waiting servants. Cuttle and Crooks were surprised to see their master approach the front door so early as two o’clock, and relatively sober, too. They were less so themselves. Miss Beddoes had commanded them to remove the wine, and their stomachs seemed the best place to put it.
“What the devil are you two doing out here?” Havergal demanded in surprised accents.
“Waiting for you. We’re leaving,” Cuttle replied,
“Leaving! What happened?” He laughed.
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