Chapter Seven #2
“I received the most interesting letter while you were out.” She spoke in a perfectly polite tone that brought to mind Catherine Childs in her society mask.
“Oh?” Oliver attempted to sound calm, but something told him a powder keg was about to explode. “From anyone I know?”
“Your aunt has written to congratulate me on the engagement of my son.”
Oliver dropped onto the settee behind him. That was not possible. Tim was already married, and he was certainly not engaged to be married. After a dozen fast-paced heartbeats, he found his voice. “Do you have a third son of whom I am unaware?”
“Just the two,” his mother confirmed. “And apparently the elder is set to marry Miss Catherine Childs.”
Somehow Oliver had known what his mother would say, but he still could not believe it. “I have neither seen nor spoken to the woman since Sarah’s picnic.” It had been almost a week. The fact she’d taken up an almost constant presence in his thoughts was another matter altogether.
“You did have a rather interesting exchange near the gardens that day.” Her voice remained calm, but he could hear the underlying suggestion.
“An argument in full view of two dozen people is hardly a romantic interlude, Mother.” Accusing him of being ill-mannered would be understandable and totally deserved. But assuming any affection in their actions made little sense. No one could read his mind.
“None of us could hear what was said, and you were standing rather close,” his mother noted. “With the right imagination…” she trailed off, but he knew what she meant.
Oliver stood and began pacing across the room. “I need to speak to Tim.” His brother had a talent for getting out of scrapes. And into them. He would know what to do.
“I’ve already sent for him.”
As if summoned, his identical twin stepped into the room. “I understand there is someone here in need of ecclesiastical guidance.”
His mother scoffed. “Now is not the time for a joke, Timothy.”
“I disagree,” Tim replied as he greeted their mother with a kiss on her cheek before sitting on the settee. “Tense moments are always the time for a joke. It reduces the tension and forces people to breathe.”
“Did Mother tell you why you have been summoned?” Oliver asked, still on his feet. He had far too much nervous energy to sit.
Tim held up a piece of paper. “She sent me Aunt Fulbourn’s letter.”
After snatching it from his brother, Oliver skimmed the missive.
Sure enough, his aunt was offering congratulations.
She’d heard the news from someone who had heard it from Mrs. Childs herself.
What could possibly motivate Miss Childs’ mother to spread such blatantly untrue information?
She was just as likely to damage her daughter’s reputation as anything else. Then it hit him.
He looked between Tim and their mother. “Is she trying to trap me?”
“I do not know Mrs. Childs,” Tim admitted, “but I doubt Miss Childs would do such a thing. We all know she cannot stand you.”
Oliver glared at his brother. “Thank you for that.”
“While Lady Sampson adores Miss Childs,” Lady Diana chimed in, “she is unimpressed with both the character and wit of her mother.”
After three laps around the small sitting room, Oliver finally dropped down next to Tim. “What are the odds this will go away on its own?”
“If nobody knew the source of the information, perhaps.” Lady Diana had dropped all signs of her society mask, and her eyes held nothing but concern. “With her mother involved, I think it highly unlikely.”
“If I go to London, I could be trapped into marriage.” Tim and their mother both nodded. “But if I stay here, I could be labeled a cad who abandoned her.”
“If she is involved, the latter might be the better option.” His mother sounded thoughtful. “Marriage is a long commitment, and her reputation is not your responsibility if she is in the wrong.”
“I agree with Tim, she is not the one trying to trap me.” Oliver was not sure how he knew, but he did. She put on the polite mask of a society debutante, but there was more to her. He was sure of it. He stood once again. “I need time to consider before I make a decision.”
“Just don’t take too long,” his mother suggested. “These things can get out of hand rather quickly.”
With nothing else to say, both brothers bid their mother good day and left the room. “Are you really willing to risk being forced to marry Miss Childs?” Tim asked once they were far enough down the corridor for their voices not to carry back.
Oliver looked around to make sure they were truly alone. “It depends on which version of Miss Childs makes an appearance. I thoroughly enjoy the version from the circulating library, and behind the pot.”
Tim pulled Oliver to a stop. “Behind the pot?”
Blast, had he said that aloud? With no other option, he gave his brother a quick summary of their first meeting at Aunt Fulbourn’s soiree.
“Can you please stop?” Oliver demanded after his brother bent over in peels of laughter. “This is a serious situation.”
“I apologize.” Tim set a hand on Oliver’s shoulder and let out one last chuckle before sobering. “Only, this explains so much about why her society mask bothered you. You had already been given a glimpse behind it.”
“Precisely,” Oliver admitted. “I’ve met countless debutantes with perfect society masks. But with Catherine Childs, I want to peel hers off.”
“I need to send a note to the curate in Faringwood to cover for me. It appears that we are going to London.”
“We?” Oliver clarified.
His twin almost looked hurt. “Do you really believe I would let you face this on your own?”
Kitty leaned back against her pillow and turned the page of her gothic novel.
She had not stepped foot out of the townhouse since her arrival the previous Saturday.
Without her frequent trips to retrieve books from her father’s old study and sneak food from the kitchens, she would not have left her bedchamber at all.
Her occasional escapes were the only reason she even bothered to get dressed each morning.
In truth, she was beginning to feel stir-crazy.
But not so much as to be willing to face the gossip of London society.
A soft tapping sounded at the door. It was more than likely a servant. Her mother had given up her visits after Kitty’s third day of voluntary isolation. “Come in.”
Edwin, the senior footman, stepped inside with a silver platter in hand. “You have a message from Lady Sampson, miss.”
Lady Sampson? She’d not heard from the baroness since they’d arrived in London. Kitty had idly wondered what she thought of all the gossip, but she’d not had the courage to write and ask. After breaking the wax seal on the folded missive, she read the most perplexing note.
My dearest Kitty,
I have it on good authority that your mother will be leaving your townhouse sometime before a quarter to three. Once she is away, please come visit me at your earliest convenience.
Lady Sampson.
Before Kitty could make any sense of the words, Mrs. Childs barged into the room.
“I have been invited to a small gathering hosted by the Dowager Marchioness of Boxwood.” Her mother sounded breathless, as if she’d run up the stairs and down the corridor to share the news.
Perhaps she had. For Priscilla Childs, an invitation from a dowager marchioness would be the highlight of her time in London.
In truth, even Kitty was surprised. While her mother was determined to improve her social connections, she’d not realized they had reached such lofty heights.
When her mother continued, the pieces fell into place.
“You must dress quickly. If we are to arrive on time, we must leave by a quarter to three.”
Lady Sampson. The baroness had somehow arranged for her mother to receive the invitation. But her efforts would be for naught if Kitty was dragged along. “Was I expressly invited, Mother?”
“Well, no,” Mrs. Childs admitted.
That simplified matters. “I cannot impose on a dowager marchioness.”
Her mother let out a huff, but Kitty knew she had won. Such behaviour would be beyond the pale, and could paint them both in a poor light.
At precisely a quarter to three, Kitty watched her mother’s carriage disappear out the window.
She then crossed to the bellpull and called for Polly.
When her maid entered the room, her eyes went wide at the sight of Kitty’s favorite green afternoon dress already laid out on the bed. “Are you going somewhere, miss?”
“We are going to visit Lady Sampson.”