Page 41 of A Lady Most Wayward (The Queen’s Deadly Damsels #5)

Philippa had no appetite for her breakfast. Her belly was too full of regret to make any room for coddled eggs, crispy bacon, or buttered toast. Instead, she sipped a cup of bitter coffee and appreciated how the flavour fit her mood.

She and Olivia had fallen into a routine of breaking their fast together in the bright breakfast room, but this morning, her only company was a brooding Callum.

‘If you continue to saw at your plate like that, you shall be eating porcelain with your eggs. What has you so vexed?’ It was far easier to focus on the young lad’s problems than think about her own.

‘I don’t know why I’m still here. You clearly have no further use for me. I should have gone home after I delivered your notes. It’s just… I can’t leave without knowing she’s safe.’

Philippa raised an eyebrow at the man sitting to her left.

He had high cheekbones, a strong nose, a firm jaw, and the darkened skin of someone who spent most of their time outdoors.

The suit she had insisted on providing him to replace his homespun clothing while he was in London fit his broad shoulders and muscular frame well.

The male form held no appeal for Philippa, but she could see how any young lady of the beau monde would find Master Callum an easy target for their flirtations.

Yet, he seemed wholly uninterested in any of the pleasures London offered.

Killian and Drake had taken an interest in the lad, and when he wasn’t traipsing to coffee houses with them talking about God knows what, he was spending his time in the kitchen with her usually taciturn French chef.

‘It is not easy when your feelings are engaged with someone who might not reciprocate.’ Philippa buttered a piece of toast she had no interest in eating.

The young lad swung his sharp gaze to Philippa, and she realised his eyes betrayed the haunted look of one who had endured hardships belying his twenty-odd years on the planet.

‘I have no particular fondness for Miss Smithwick. I just don’t like the idea of any innocent person falling prey to the hands of a monster.’

‘Ah.’ Philippa let the word hang between them for a moment. ‘And this comes from your own experience with monsters, Master Callum?’

The young man stood abruptly, nearly knocking over his chair in his haste.

‘Please excuse me. I have matters to attend.’ He spoke through gritted teeth.

Even in the height of his anger, he kept his manners stringently polite.

She had to respect his self-control. She had poked a sore spot, and most men would strike, but instead, he forced himself to retreat.

Or perhaps he is trying to escape. But you can’t run from troubles. Facing them is the only way through.

Which is exactly what she intended to do as soon as Olivia arrived for her morning meal.

In the quiet of the room, she realised how much she’d grown to enjoy sitting with Olivia.

Sometimes, they would discuss whatever news made it above the fold of The Times; other times, Olivia would recount her latest penny dreadful tale, they would review the schedule for that day, or simply sit in companionable silence.

Philippa had always taken her morning meal in her room, but since Olivia’s arrival, she found it much more pleasant to eat in the sunny breakfast room on the ground floor.

Only this morning, she might as well have stayed abed. Olivia was nowhere to be found.

After loitering over her third cup of coffee until the brew grew cold, Philippa stood and threw her napkin on her plate. This was ridiculous. She wasn’t going to faff about all morning like some lovesick swain.

Even if that is exactly what I am.

If Olivia wasn’t going to come to Philippa, then she must go to her.

After a lengthy discussion with her friends the night before, one course of action was unanimously decided upon.

She needed to apologise to Olivia. Beg her forgiveness.

Declare her love. Hope for the best. Not particularly in that order, but all four elements must be present.

She could hardly do that if she couldn’t first find the woman.

This mission proved more difficult than she imagined.

After checking the library, front parlour, back garden and finally tapping at Olivia’s door and listening for any noises inside, Philippa was at a loss.

The woman seemed to have disappeared. She would have inquired with Master Callum if he had seen her, but he was also mysteriously absent.

Dire times called for drastic measures. Standing in her morning room, she accepted the inevitable and rang for Stokes.

The butler arrived within minutes of being summoned. A rare occurrence for the man, who generally preferred to make her wait as long as possible.

‘Have you seen Lady Olivia? I need to speak with her.’ He knew bloody well what she wanted to talk about as he had found reasons to dally in the parlour the night before, eavesdropping on her entire conversation with her friends. Odious man.

‘She is out, Your Grace.’ His expression gave her no clues as to exactly where ‘out’ might be.

Philippa exhaled through her nose and retrieved the fan from her skirt pocket.

She had missed it the night before and found satisfaction in thwacking it against her leg.

She would find more satisfaction in flicking it open and using the sharpened edge to threaten her butler with immediate decapitation if he didn’t tell her exactly where Olivia was at this moment.

Exercising extreme self-control, Philippa chose conversation over carnage.

‘Out where, Stokes?’ This was hardly the time for her to be flitting about London.

The last thing they needed was for her to be spotted out and about.

The gossip that would inevitably sprout if she were seen by a member of the beau monde would make it back to her brother, and then what?

Of course she would be instantly recognised.

Olivia was impossible to miss with all of her glorious, bright locks, her emerald eyes sparkling with mischief, her bee-stung lips begging to be kissed.

Philippa blinked and tried to pull her thoughts back into focus.

‘She took Master Callum in the brougham. She said she needed to complete some errands.’

‘Is she mad? What if she’s seen?’ Philippa’s voice was becoming shrill. Again.

Stokes curled his lip and sniffed. ‘She’s far more clever than that. She promised to stay in the carriage with the shades drawn. Master Callum is acting as her footman of sorts and will be the only one leaving the carriage. You really should give her more credit, Your Grace.’

Philippa thwacked the fan harder, taking perverse pleasure in the sting on her leg where the metal weapon disguised as a harmless feminine accessory smacked her through her silk skirts. ‘It seems she has managed to win over your very selective regard. Quite a feat.’

Stokes cleared his throat and stretched his neck in lieu of an answer.

‘I do give her immense credit. Not that I need to explain myself to you. She is in danger. I only want to ensure she is safe.’ Why was she telling Stokes any of this? He was her servant, not her friend.

‘One can’t protect those they love from every danger, Your Grace. She has Master Callum with her, and she promised she would be careful. She has been trained by one of the most fearsome fighters in all of England, has she not? Have some faith.’

‘Who are you, and what have you done with my butler? He’s a stodgy, dour, stiff corpse of a man who would never think to compliment me.’

‘We are all capable of change, Your Grace.’ Clipping his heels together, Stokes executed a sharp turn and walked to the door. ‘Even stubborn, arrogant, self-satisfied duchesses.’

‘Ah, there you are. I thought you’d been replaced by a much kinder doppelganger.’ Philippa shook her head as the man quietly shut the door behind him.

Olivia hadn’t returned by the time Philippa needed to leave to meet with Lord High Chancellor Hardgrave.

She told herself that, wonder of all wonders, Stokes was right.

Olivia was smart. She was becoming, if not skilled, at least a proficient fighter.

And Callum would protect her with his life, of that she was certain.

It was silly to worry after her. But still, the weight of dread in her belly only increased as she climbed into the phaeton and took the ribbons, turning the horse toward 216 Strand.

* * *

This was probably a terrible idea. But it wasn’t Olivia’s worst idea. Her worst idea was falling in love with the Duchess of Dorsett, even though the stubborn woman was determined to ignore the fact that she also loved Olivia in return.

But I am far more resolute than you think. I shall not give up, Philippa.

She had woken with renewed hope. After all, most great love stories encountered innumerable challenges. And this was Olivia’s great love story. She knew it to the marrow of her bones. She would not give up after one setback during a dinner party.

But first, she needed to attend the meeting between Philippa and her brother to assure herself Cedric didn’t do anything completely unhinged. Like kidnap and kill the Duchess of Dorsett.