He needed something else. Something better suited to the problem at hand.
Quinton could not get away with this.
Before he had come up with a solution to the problem, Griffin arrived at his bachelor lodgings. Blast, he needed an idea.
Perhaps he could… No, Griffin had no acquaintance with Miss Hyatt. He could not take such liberties as paying her a call to explain the situation. But wouldn’t allowing Quinton to carry out his devious plan be the more egregious sin?
Griffin changed directions. He suddenly felt a need to visit a new destination.
Cavendish Square.
~ * ~
“Drawn and quartered. That’s what Father will do to me.” Aurora threw herself face down on her bed.
“It might not be so bad as all that. He could just strap you to the rack for a while.”
Aurora turned her head to frown at her friend. What a dismal attempt to cheer her mood! Rebecca needed to try harder with the next one. This was, after all, a disaster of momentous proportion.
“It is your own fault, after all. Why on earth would you have thought it a good idea to bring your journal with you?” Rebecca plopped down beside her on the bed. “You couldn’t very well write in it while we were out. I daresay you would never have read to Lord Norcutt from it.”
“Oh, dear good Lord,
no
.” She shivered at the thought of reading such a thing aloud to a gentleman. “I was writing in it when Norcutt arrived, and…well, somehow I ended up bringing it along instead of stashing it upstairs in my chamber. And since I had it with me, I thought perhaps you and I would have a few moments to ourselves, and that you could read a bit from it.”
After all that had come to pass, even Aurora recognized her excuse sounded at the very least ludicrous, if not altogether naïve. But even that couldn’t excuse Rebecca’s lack of support. Certainly not now, when she needed it most.
“I’ve never heard anything so preposterous in my life. I know you, Aurora, and I know how your mind works.” Rebecca’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “I can clearly imagine the delightful and devious things you wrote. And you know I would never take such a chance as to read something like that anywhere but in the privacy of this very chamber. And speaking of that…would you care to share any of it with me? From memory, of course, since your sinful words are currently sinking to the bottom of the Serpentine.”
Aurora scowled. She prepared to deliver a scathing retort—something along the lines of
since you find it prudent to tease me in my distress, I shall find it prudent to withhold such delightful morsels in future
(oh, dear—that seemed more wounded and pathetic than scathing and retort-like, even to Aurora’s sensibilities)—only to change her mind mid-thought when a knock sounded at the door. “Enter.”
One of the downstairs maids moved inside the doorway, holding out a silver salver with a calling card upon it. “You have a visitor, miss.”
Of course she did. Whoever it was had inconsiderate timing, blast them, even if it was the middle of the afternoon. Aurora took the card and frowned.
Lord Griffin Seabrook.
The name was only slightly familiar; she was certain she had no acquaintance with him.
“Please inform Lord Griffin I am out from the house, Eugenia.”
The maid bobbed a curtsy and was on her way. Once the door closed firmly behind her, Aurora turned back to Rebecca. “Well, I suppose I could recall a few details. Just last night, I wrote our wedding. You may go ahead and refer to me as Lady Quinton now, if you like. I think that should be rather fitting.”
Thinking about the lovely tidbits written in her journal felt decidedly better than thinking of her impending torture and death when her father discovered her blunder.
Rebecca’s eyes widened. “And the wedding night?” She leaned in across the bed, taking one of Aurora’s hands into her own.
And yet another knock sounded at the door.
“Blast. Enter!”
Eugenia ducked into the room yet again. “Lord Griffin is very insistent, miss. Hobbes already let it slip that you are, indeed, at home.”
“Well.” Drat. Aurora looked to her friend for help. If there was one thing she could always count on Rebecca for, it was coming up with an excuse for something. Anything. Lady Rebecca Grantham was a virtual encyclopedia of excuses.
“Eugenia, pray tell Lord Griffin that Miss Hyatt is indisposed at the moment and cannot be imposed upon to receive callers.”
Lovely. She had no intention of becoming ill in order to escape this interruption of their afternoon, but she would do anything necessary to have the impertinent man leave her in peace.
The maid nodded and left, yet again. Aurora was hesitant to resume their discussion, dreading yet another interruption.
Which, of course—since she had been dreading it—arrived in short order.
When Eugenia entered this time, she rushed to apologize. “I am terribly sorry, miss, but it seems Lord Griffin is disinclined to leave without speaking with you. His lordship says he must see you this afternoon, regardless of your current state of health. He refuses to leave, miss.” The maid flushed with embarrassment.
“How dare he! I have never been introduced to the man. To think that he can come to my home and demand to see me…” Aurora had never heard the likes of it.
Rebecca stood and straightened her afternoon gown about her legs. “Let me handle this. I should be on my way home, anyway, to get ready for the ball tonight. I’ll speak with Lord Griffin on my way out.” Her deep brown eyes flashed and turned almost black. “I can promise you, Aurora, Lord Griffin will rue the day he made any demands upon you.”
Aurora loved it when Rebecca became impassioned about something. She almost wished she could sneak down to the parlor to witness the scene about to take place.
Instead, she vowed to write about it.
Thank the good Lord Rose had gone out to fetch a new journal already.
~ * ~
Aunt Sedgewick’s nasally voice assaulted Aurora’s ears like an entire flock of geese being drowned together in the Serpentine. “My dear, you must accept a dance with Lord Hingham, if he should ask. Preferably a waltz, of course. He would make a lovely match for you. And he does not seem to mind about your mother’s regrettable origins.”
Aurora bit her tongue—literally. It just would not do to lash out at her aunt in the midst of a London ball. At least not now, before everyone had arrived and the dancing had begun. Perhaps she could get away with it when the crowd had thickened and the orchestra was playing, when the level of the din was up to a full roar. At the moment, the din rested at a mere kitten’s mewl.
She’d never understand her aunt’s necessity of arriving at such events so early in the evening, before anyone interesting had descended upon the scene and made their presence known. Particularly since it just
wasn’t done
. “Yes, Aunt,” she replied as submissively as she could muster.
The old dragon then had the audacity to raise her quizzing glass (for that was what it was, despite Aunt Sedgewick’s propensity for calling it a lorgnette) to her eye and giving Aurora’s gown a thorough inspection. “I must have another discussion with your father, and the sooner the better. It is a travesty he allowed you out of the house in that dress. The scandal! Why, even a married lady might be thought fast in such a color.”
Oh, dear good Lord. Aurora closed her eyes and counted to ten in her head. Still seething. Perhaps she had better make it one hundred.
Yes, it was true. She had dared to wear a lovely, rich blue silk to the ball and not some insipid pastel. In truth, it was almost turquoise. She’d never found a lovelier length of fabric in her life, so of course, she had to purchase it and have a ball gown made from it. The hue brought her clear, blue-green eyes to life in her looking glass in a manner no other gown had ever done. She could only imagine how her eyes must look in the candlelight of the ballroom.
With her almost-black hair and the deep tone of her skin, she looked downright sickly in almost any pastel. Particularly in pink. Yellow and peach were hardly better. Only the light blues and greens did her any favor at all, but she could hardly wear those two colors and only those for the remainder of her unmarried life.
Besides, Aurora was only weeks away from being four-and-twenty. Certainly
not
a debutante. If anyone looked down upon her for wearing a touch of color, then they could go and rot, for all she cared—Aunt Sedgewick included. She’d even cast Father in with the lot, should he side with his sister over his daughter.
She could discern no suitable response for her aunt. If she argued her side of things and pointed out the flaws of Aunt Sedgewick’s thinking, she would be an ungrateful child. But she most certainly would
not
agree with the woman.
Thankfully, Rebecca and her family arrived, working their way through the receiving line. An unfamiliar young lady accompanied them, wearing a silver gauze gown.
“Oh, pardon me, Aunt. Lady Rebecca is here, and I simply
must
speak with her.” Which was the truth. With all of the interruptions that afternoon, Aurora had neglected to mention Lord Norcutt’s dilemma. She left her aunt’s side before the old biddy could stop her, fairly bounding across the ballroom.
Rebecca motioned her over. “Lady Phoebe, have you met Miss Hyatt? Aurora, Lady Phoebe Seabrook is the daughter of the Marquess of Laughton, whom Father has only today befriended.”
Seabrook. For some reason, the name was familiar. But Aurora could not fathom why, since she’d never laid eyes upon the woman before in her life. She’d remember her, if not for the shade of her eyes, then for the shape of her face. It was rather more oblong than could be considered attractive. She’d apparently attempted to fluff her bland brown hair out at the sides to distract from the length of her face, but its effect was quite the antithesis. Lady Phoebe’s face reminded Aurora of a horse. Still, she smiled and nodded at her new acquaintance.
“Lord Laughton requested that we bring Lady Phoebe along tonight,” Rebecca continued, “since he had other obligations and she would otherwise be forced to stay in their townhome alone all night.”
“How lovely to meet you,” Aurora said. “Have you been in Town long?”
Lady Phoebe’s grey eyes ought to have sparkled like her gown did in the candlelight, but instead seemed flat. Distant. “I’m delighted to meet you, as well. Only a few days, Miss Hyatt. We tend to stay at Harrogate Palace during the Season—Father comes alone to serve in the Lords and then returns home. But this Season, he felt it would behoove me to take part in the marriage mart. There are few suitable prospects in Yorkshire, anymore.”
“Indeed,” Aurora responded. Her eyes followed a group of gentlemen on the opposite side of the ballroom. “One might say the same of the whole of England.” If one were rather picky about said prospects, as she tended to be.
“One might also say,” Rebecca countered with a twinkle in her eye, “that one who said such things might need to broaden one’s horizons.”
“And who are you to talk of such things?” Aurora retorted. “You’ve been on the marriage mart almost as long as I have, with no beaux to show for it. Not for a lack of their attempts, either.”
“Phoebe!” said Miss Iris Leggett, working her way through the growing crowd, her fan at the ready in one gloved hand. “I had no idea you would be in Town this Season. You should have called on me.”
Oh, dear good Lord. Iris Leggett had always grated on Aurora’s very last nerve. If she wasn’t a busybody gossip-in-the-making, Aurora didn’t know who would be. And
that
was who Lady Phoebe chose for a friend? She couldn’t stop her eyes from rolling to the ceiling upon the arrival of this newest member to their little grouping, so she hoped only Rebecca had seen it.