Page 16

Chapter

EIGHT

“Insufferable man!”

Lottie stormed back toward the house, her quest to find Longbottom to pick his brains forgotten.

What sort of person turned down an apology flat and then took pleasure in insulting a person on the back of it?

The sort who was so pompous and arrogant that he thought he was incapable of being in the wrong, that’s who!

Lord Wennington was worse than the rude oaf she had first pegged him for.

He was a thoroughly nasty piece of work!

She took the back door into the house, then took the servants’ stairs two at a time, so angry she needed to expel some of it before she was fit company to commence her duties calmly.

Half an hour screaming bloody murder into her pillow while pacing her room might do the trick.

Barefoot because she’d been placed in a small bedchamber next to Lady Frinton’s palatial suite and didn’t dare wake the old dragon up.

Not when she had been explicit in her dislike of mornings in general and most especially any that started before nine.

Thankfully, as it wasn’t yet eight, Lottie had a decent while to rant with impunity.

But as she approached her bedchamber, a harried maid scurried out of Lady Frinton’s room carrying a tea tray. Unwelcome evidence that the battle-axe was up and Lottie had already failed to attend to her mistress as a good companion should.

Swallowing all her anger left her feeling bloated and tense, but duty called. She pasted on a smile, lightly rapped at the door and, without thinking, sailed inside.

Lady Frinton squealed and clutched her bedcovers to her chest while her much younger sister, Lady Wennington, threw her body over a pile of papers on the mattress.

“Oh, I am so sorry!” Clearly she had interrupted something as now both women wore twin expressions of guilt as they blinked back at her.

“Come in, gal, and shut the bloody door!” Her employer’s gaze went from shocked to narrowed in an instant, whereas Lady Wennington remained half prostrate on the eiderdown.

“And for pity’s sake, sit up, Constance!

Travers is paid good money to keep her mouth shut and just might come in useful.

” As her sister rose and readjusted her clothing, Lady Frinton gestured for Lottie to drag over a chair.

“What we are about to tell you is tantamount to a state secret, do you understand?”

“Of course, my lady.” Now that all the apparently secret papers were exposed, Lottie could see that they were invitations. Some were written but most were blank. “My lips are sealed.”

“Good! Because my bloody nephew has eyes like a hawk, his servants are too loyal, and if he gets wind of what we’re up to, our best chance of getting the slippery blighter wed before he’s too old to father any children will be gone.”

“I see.” Although she didn’t. “In what way can I be useful?”

Lady Frinton’s eyes flicked to her sister for permission to elaborate and the other woman nodded. “After years and years of refusing to attend any social occasions in town, my nephew has finally reluctantly agreed to a birthday party here. A small birthday party.”

“I know that,” said Lottie, wondering where this was going.

“He must remain in the belief that all we are planning is an intimate evening soiree involving just a few families on the day of his birth.” She handed Lottie what appeared to be a short guest list.

As there were more invitations scattered across the bed than were needed for the few on the list, it did not take a genius to work out that these ladies had other plans. “I take it that is not the case?”

“Of course not!” Lady Wennington’s voice was hushed but passionate. “How on earth is he supposed to meet and fall head over heels with the right lady in a few measly hours?”

Lady Frinton patted her slightly overwrought sister’s hand in sympathy.

“He can’t, Constance, and enough is enough.

All his shilly-shallying has to end. If he refuses to investigate all the eligible choices on offer in London, then we have a moral duty to bring London here.

” An outrageous comment that calmed the other woman down somewhat.

“You have done all you can—but when it comes to women, Guy is useless.”

Lottie wanted to add that he was obnoxious too but bit her tongue.

“That is why we are throwing him a surprise house party, Travers. A proper one. That will last a whole week.”

“Which he will absolutely hate,” added Lady Wennington, nervously fiddling with the pearls encircling her throat. “But what else can I do, Miss Travers, when he has become intractable on the subject of love and I am desperate to see him happy?”

They were matchmaking! Lottie knew enough about the curmudgeonly viscount already to know that he wouldn’t just hate a house party. He would loathe it with every miserable fiber of his being, the rude and insufferable wretch. Which conversely cheered her right up.

“I would not normally go behind Guy’s back like this, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

” Lady Wennington was knotting a handkerchief this time.

“Especially when my son will be thirty on the fourteenth of September. Thirty .” The way she said his age made him sound decrepit, which the irritant wasn’t.

As much as it pained Lottie to think it, for all his many faults, he was a prime physical specimen.

And a viscount to boot. In London, and irrespective of his foul character, he would have to beat the debutantes off with a stick.

Here… well, the prospect of him being hounded by a herd of hungry husband-hunters while unable to escape was just too funny.

Except, he had such a vile personality, she pitied the fool who caught him. You would have to be a very stupid or a very desperate woman indeed to willingly shackle yourself to that!

“I can assure you that I have tried absolutely everything to get him to find his soulmate, but he refuses to cooperate. If I try to steer him left, I can guarantee he will go right just to spite me. He’s forced me into this.”

“You are doing the right thing, Constance, so stop second-guessing yourself.” Lady Frinton patted her sister’s hand.

“Sometimes, we mothers have to give our offspring a little nudge in the right direction but in stubborn Guy’s case, that means pushing him off the cliff!

We need to put temptation directly in his path and let nature take its course. ”

“My father had to do that with a reluctant bull once,” said Lottie without thinking. “We had to surround him with cows in season before he worked up the enthusiasm to cover one of them—but once he started there was no stopping him. Ended up being the most randy bull we ever had.”

One look at Lady Wennington’s stunned face told Lottie that she had completely misjudged her audience and she winced. Lady Frinton, on the other hand, roared with laughter. “Indeed! One has to lead a horse to water to make him drink and we are going to supply him with an ocean.”

“Exactly how much of London are you inviting?”

“As many as we can get, Travers.” Lady Frinton rubbed her hands together with glee.

“I have made a list of every good family with an unmarried daughter who could potentially be here by the eighth—which gives us just fourteen days to pull it all off.” Then she deflated.

“But that lofty ambition is not without its challenges at such short notice. We’ll need to get all the invitations posted today to stand a chance of having a halfway decent turnout. ”

“That shouldn’t be a problem here in Kent where the postal service to London is excellent.” Lottie’s letters always arrived in her family’s hands within two days and their replies came back to Mayfair just as swiftly.

“Ah… yes.” Lady Frinton turned to her sister. “Travers is a native of this county.”

“Are you really?” Lady Wennington tried to show some interest even though her mind was on the party. “That’s nice.”

“Sadly, sending out so many clandestine invitations without Guy noticing is only half the battle.” Lady Frinton threw up her palms. “While we can easily explain away taking a carriage into Maidstone this afternoon on the pretense of shopping, it will not be easy to hide the veritable mountain of replies from him. He’ll smell a rat if Constance gets too many letters as he’s capped her guest list at thirty and expects them all to be local. ”

“The servants are ridiculously loyal to Guy so one of them is bound to tattle.” His mother tossed her handkerchief on the bed as if surrendering.

“And before you suggest that we ask the postmaster in the village to hold them for us, Miss Travers, he’s as loyal as the servants are and will not engage in any deception if he thinks Guy will be upset by it.

Never mind that it’s impossible to make proper plans unless we know precisely who is coming, as that would only result in chaos.

Bedchambers will need to be covertly prepared for the most important guests lest we grossly insult them, inns will need to be reserved for everyone else in good time if we get more than I can house here, and then there is all the food to consider.

A great deal of that will need to be ordered in—but not from anyone close who is liable to let the cat out of the bag.

So you see, we’ve rather been scuppered by the first hurdle as everyone hereabouts adores my son. ”

Lottie struggled to believe that but did not question it because mothers were supposed to love their children unconditionally.

Clearly Lady Wennington wore blinkers when it came to her objectional offspring.

But that wasn’t her problem, and this situation had provided her with the perfect opportunity to be indispensable.