Page 18 of The Etiquette of Love (The Academy of Love #7)

M arried?” Freddie repeated rather stupidly.

Lori grinned gleefully. “Yes, married.” She held out her hand, which sported a plain gold band on her fourth finger. “You see before you Viscountess Severn.”

Freddie could only stare.

Lori did not appear to notice her stupefaction and babbled happily. “I am sorry I did not invite you to the wedding, Freddie, but it was a very small one. In fact, it was just Severn, me, and my brother and his family.”

Finally, Freddie collected enough of her scattered wits to say, “I am so happy for you, Lori.” She took the other woman’s hands and gave them a gentle squeeze. “I need not ask if you are happy as you are positively glowing. And stylish.” She took in Lori’s stunning peacock blue carriage ensemble.

Lori grinned. “Thank you. And no, I did not choose it. It is Severn’s doing.”

“Ah…So, it was the viscount who was your secret admirer and bought you those other lovely gowns.”

Lori laughed. “ Secret admirer. What a quaint term. I like it. And yes, my husband has far better taste in clothing than I will ever have. He purchased a few items for me himself, but he has commanded me to fill my massive dressing room at Severn House without delay.”

It was Freddie’s turn to laugh. “Why do I find it difficult to imagine you obeying any man’s command?”

“I have become wiser already. I have learned that by seeming to comply without a struggle one can usually then do what one wants.”

Freddie pursed her lips and shook her head. “I predict stormy times ahead for poor Lord Severn.”

“It is what he likes best,” Lori assured her, making her laugh again. “As for shopping and spending great piles of his money, that is not a difficult command to obey.” Her expression turned anxious. “At least not if you will assist me? If you don’t help me, you know I will end up with a dismal wardrobe.”

“It would be my pleasure,” she said, speaking the truth. Freddie had itched to see the other woman wearing flattering clothing for years.

“Excellent! When are you free?”

Freddie went to fetch her appointment book. Tomorrow she and Piers were going to the British Museum to talk with one of the curators about the chess pieces. Because it had been Freddie’s idea her brother had—grudgingly—agreed to allow her to go along.

“But only to see this museum bloke,” Piers had warned. “Do not take it into your head to play sleuth and pursue the killer on your own, Little Bird.”

“Freddie?”

She looked up from her calendar at her friend’s voice and smiled. “The day after tomorrow I can put myself solely at your disposal.”

“Lovely.” Lori’s joyous expression turned speculative. “I don’t mean to pry—” she broke off and frowned at Freddie’s disbelieving laugh. “Very well. So I do mean to pry. I was worried when you disappeared for more than a week and neither Mrs. Brinkley nor anyone else knew where you’d gone.” A notch of concern settled between her glorious green eyes. “Did something happen?”

“How dramatic you are,” Freddie chided. “I went to Brighton for a bit of relaxation.” She had no earthy idea why she lied about going to see Wareham, the words just came tumbling out. Lying, it seemed, could easily become a habit.

“Oh. What did you—no, I will not pry. I am just pleased to hear you took time for yourself, although perhaps the next time you should tell Mrs. Brinkley as I worried—and I’m sure the others wondered why your letters had stopped so suddenly, too.”

“You are correct. I will leave word should I ever do something so impulsive again.”

“It is the first time I can think of—other than the few afternoons every month when you disappear to who knows where for a few hours.” She paused, her expression turning hopeful “As you have confided the truth about your impromptu holiday, perhaps you might enlighten me as to what you do on those days.” Her forehead furrowed. “Always Wednesdays now that I think of it.”

“I cannot confess all my secrets or I will become quite boring.”

Lori found that amusing. “What a polite way to tell me to mind my own business.”

“What are you and Lord Severn going to do this summer? Surely you will not stay in town?” Freddie asked, changing the subject while she could.

Lori grimaced. “We are going to stay with his grandfather at Granton Castle. Have you ever been there?”

“Actually, I have not. But I have read about it in guidebooks, and it is said to be magnificent. I am sure you will love it.”

Lori did not look convinced. “Oh, that brings to mind another question I had for you. When is the best time to have a house party?”

“A house party?”

“Yes. I want to get everyone together as I did not have a large ceremony. You are a far better correspondent than I am—usually,” she teased. “Do you have any idea what a good time for everyone might be?”

Here was a subject Freddie could sink her teeth into. It was also considerably safer than her mysterious visit to Torrance Park and the Duke of Plimpton’s presence there. Lori would be impossible if she ever discovered Freddie had spent time with him. She had once described Plimpton as stern but delicious.

Freddie could now confirm that was a devastatingly accurate description.

“Freddie?”

She looked up from her thoughts, annoyed when she felt her face heat.

Lori narrowed her eyes. “Why, Freddie! You are blushing.”

“It is hot in here.”

Lori glanced at Freddie’s light morning gown and then at her own twilled costume, complete with pelisse buttoned up to the neck. “Why are you so distracted today?” she persisted.

“I am not distracted,” Freddie lied for the third or perhaps fourth time in the past half-hour. “I was just considering your party. You should definitely avoid August—at least the first few weeks.”

Like a kitten confronted with a ball of twine, Lori fell for the distraction. “Why?”

Freddie shook her head in mock disappointment. “My dear, dear Lori! I am beginning to wonder if you should engage my services to bring you up to snuff.”

“Why? What did I say?” she asked, bewildered.

“Have you never heard of Glorious August Twelfth?”

“It seems vaguely familiar.”

“I should think so. It is the beginning of the shooting season.”

Lori wrinkled her nose. “Ugh. What a barbaric sport, although I hesitate to call it a sport—not until pheasants are armed with guns of their own.”

Freddie laughed. “I cannot imagine your husband feels the same.”

“Actually, Severn despises hunting of any sort.”

“Oh. Well, he is in a minority when it comes to the men of his class.”

“Yes,” Lori said sourly, “I am aware of the aristocratic male fascination with blood sports of all types.” She pulled a face. “So, not August, then? How about September?”

“Let me look at my most recent letters. Annis is expecting an interesting event in—”

“Annis is pregnant?”

Freddie winced at her friend’s immoderate phrasing and raised voice. She had not been entirely in jest when she mentioned offering Lori her services. The other woman would have to deal with Severn’s grandfather, the Marquess of Granton, a man who was a stickler of the highest order.

“Freddie?” Lori prodded.

“Yes,” Freddie said. “Annis is enceinte. Let me confirm with her whether or not she will want to travel all the way from Yorkshire in September.”

Lori gave an airy wave of her had. “I shall leave the setting of the date to you if you do not mind?”

“I don’t mind at all. Are there any days I should avoid?”

“No. Severn told me to do whatever I wanted.” She gave Freddie a smug smile. “He is proving to be a most tractable husband.”

Freddie laughed.

Lori glanced at the clock on the mantel and grimaced. “Oh, Lord! Look at the time. I told the coachman to come back for me in an hour.” She jumped to her feet and pulled on an elegant pair of dark teal gloves that perfectly matched her outfit. “Why are you smiling like that?” she asked when Freddie joined her at the door.

“Because I am happy for you, Lori.” It was the truth, if not all of it. She was also amused to see Lori adjusting so well to having a carriage and servants at her beck and call. It was delightful to see her beauty accentuated by exquisite clothing and the lovely emeralds she wore in her ears.

“Thank you, my friend,” Lori said, her huge green eyes suddenly misty. “Are you sure you will be able to continue on here without me contributing my tiny bit to the household?”

“I forbid you to worry about me. I will be fine,” Freddie assured her, opening the door and accompanying Lori down the stairs.

“I wish some intelligent, dashing but dignified gentleman—preferably a duke, but not one of those odious, bulging-eyed royal ones—would come along and sweep you off your feet.”

Freddie had to laugh. “Listen to you! You have been opposed to marriage the entire time I have known you and now, a bride of less than a month, you are already plotting and scheming how you can lure others into the same snare.”

Lori’s cheeks darkened. “I should be ashamed of myself, shouldn’t I?” She stopped in the foyer and turned to Freddie, impulsively throwing her arms around her and kissing her cheek before setting Freddie at arm’s length and saying, “I just want you to be as happy as I am, my dear, dear Freddie.” And with that she dashed a tear from her cheek and hurried outside with her mannish stride to where an elegant black barouche waited.

Freddie watched until her friend’s carriage disappeared and then quietly shut the door and sagged back against it with a sigh.

Lori could never ever learn about Freddie’s ill-advised but memorable afternoon at the boathouse with Plimpton. She would hound Freddie to the ends of the earth if she ever discovered that an intelligent, dashing but dignified duke had come along and proposed marriage.

And Freddie had driven him away.