LITMIR.BIZ

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ladyship in her current condition.”

      “Her splotches? Ah, Timmerly, if only that were her sole problem. Is the coach outside? I must get to the duchess to, um, assist her and her other guests with a small project.”

      And to hopefully find out Coop’s plans for the evening, as they were sure to involve confronting Ferdie.

      Ten minutes later, she was being ushered into the private sitting room of the Duchess of Cranbrook.

      The duchess was already there, she and all her flounces and filmy draperies. As was Coop’s mother, the infamous Minerva, dressed much more severely and in her clearly favored purple. Clarice Goodfellow, blond curls hanging, was sitting at a writing desk, quill in hand, as the older ladies stood on either side, bent over her.

      None of them appeared to have heard Dany being announced, and all the butler did was look at her, shrug and retire from the room, closing the double doors behind him.

      “No, that’s not it, Minerva. Clandestine is spelled with two d’s, I’m certain. Clan...des...dine.”

      “Did you hear that, Clarice? You shouldn’t. You should be clapping your hands over your ears, rather than to be exposed to such nonsense. The woman doesn’t even know how to pronounce it. Clan...des...tine. Go on, strike it out, write it correctly.”

      “Yes, Minerva,” Clarice said, dipping the quill pen and attacking the page once more. “But what does it mean? What is a clandestine assig—assig—nation?”

      The two older women exchanged glances, and the duchess put out her hand, indicating that her friend should answer.

      “It means, my dear, meeting—lovers most usually—in secret, for reasons of amorous...exploration.”

      “Oh, like when you sneak out of the house after midnight to meet up with the cook’s son and do the naughty behind the barn. Why can’t you just say so?”

      “You warned me I should be careful of my language around her,” Minerva said accusingly.

      The duchess fussed with one of her ruffles. “It wasn’t the girl I was thinking might be embarrassed if you were to in any way encourage frankness, Minerva. And you’re blushing, aren’t you? Clarice is wise beyond her years. We just don’t like to think about that.”

      Dany’s unleashed laughter had all three females turning to look at her, and she hastened to approach, curtsy first to the duchess, then to Coop’s mother, and then to simply grin at Clarice.

      “Your pardon, ladies. Please believe I wasn’t purposely— Oh, yes, of course I was. Purposely eavesdropping, that is.”

      Minerva Townsend looked at Dany from overtop an impressive pair of spectacles. “Does my son know you’re here?”

      “Oh, yes. He sent to me to help, as a matter of fact.”

      “He did not,” Minerva told the countess. “She lies well, doesn’t she?” She turned back to Dany. “But only when left with no alternative, I’ll wager, while I look at lying as a pleasurable hobby. Do you know where he is?”

      “You don’t?” Dany seated herself in the nearest chair, feeling as if all the air had suddenly been knocked from her. “I had so hoped you would. I came to see you, Clarice. Rigby couldn’t keep a secret from you if he tried. Do you know? Somebody has to know. After what happened.”

      Minerva came around the desk, the other two close behind her. “What happened? I haven’t seen my son since he left the Pulteney, having turned down Ames’s offer of breakfast. Come on, gel, speak.”

      Dany spoke. Stronger people than herself would have broken beneath Minerva Townsend’s stare.

      She told them about Ned Givens. She told them about Darby’s visit to Geoff Quinton. She told them about the assassination attempt on the roadway.

      She did not tell them Coop’s secret that he was only keeping for someone else, nor did she mention her own sister’s dilemma.

      She most certainly did not tell them about...well, about.

      “Someone shot at my son? My son?” She dropped into a chair with a thud. “Viv, I need a restorative. Quickly!”

      Clarice moved first. “I’ll ring for some vinaigrette. Or we could burn some feathers.”

      “Unnecessary,” the duchess said, walking over to a gilt-and-mirrored cabinet and opening the doors, extracting a decanter and two glasses. “Gin, Minerva? I believe it was once your favorite.”

      Minerva nodded, keeping her head down even as she shot out her arm, her fingers opening and closing until the glass was in her hand. She downed its contents in one loud gulp, and then held out the glass again. “The first for its effect, the second to help me think.”

      Suitably fortified, Minerva leaned forward on her chair, elbows on her knees, and Dany sat back as far as she could on her own.

      “From the back, I’ll presume,” the woman said, rubbing the empty glass between her palms. “That’s how cowards operate, from cover, and from the back. Who is he?”

      “You...you don’t know that, either?” This surprised Dany. It would seem she was Coop’s only true confidante.

      How very lovely.

      “I’m sure I couldn’t say, ma’am.”

      “Minerva. I’m Minerva to you unless I tell you otherwise. Can’t say, or won’t say?”

      Clarice put her hands on the back of Dany’s chair. “Be careful. I’ve never known a woman who could ask the same question so many different ways, until you simply give up and tell her what she wants to know.”

      “I don’t know, so it doesn’t matter how many ways she asks me,” Dany said, putting all her conviction into her words. “Wherever Cooper is, I do know this—he is in control of the situation. He’s the hero of Quatre Bras, if you’ll all recall, and knows no fear.”

      Surprisingly, this caused Mrs. Townsend to pull a large white linen square from her pocket and dab at the corners of her eyes. “That’s just what I’m afraid of, my dear. I know my son, and if he ever did experience fear, it would be because you were with him when the shot came. That poor Harry was hit, that either one of you could have been killed in his place? No, I’m convinced Cooper is not feeling fear. He’s angry. He’s incensed. I’ve never known him incensed. It’s never prudent to anger a normally calm man. Someone has poked a stick at a sleeping bear. God only knows what will happen now.”

      “My Jerry’s with him, Minerva,” Clarice soothed quickly. “And where they are, Darby’s sure as check to be, as well. Our job is to be strong, and to finish what we were commissioned to do. Aren’t I right, Your Grace?”

      “Yes, my dear, you’re correct. Sadly. Come, Minerva, we must get back to work. We’re nearly done, but then the whole must be gotten to Paternoster Row by this evening if it is to see publication tomorrow.”

      Dany looked to Clarice, who was already seating herself behind the writing desk once more. “You...you’re writing a chapbook?”

      “Indeed, yes. Took a devilish long time to come up with a new title. Viv, read the girl the title.”

      “Certainly.” The duchess extracted a pair of diamond-studded spectacles from the bodice of her gown, and carefully wrapped the ends around her ears before sorting through the small pile of papers until she found the correct one. “Here it is.” She cleared her throat, and read, “‘The Chronicles of a Hero: Wherein the Hero of Quatre Bras Is Tried and Tempted to the Limits of His Endurance, and Boldly Decides on His Future and His Rightful Place in Society: Third and Final Volume.’” She looked to Dany, who did her best to summon a compliment, and decided to simply lightly applaud instead.

      The duchess removed the spectacles, tucking them back into her gown. “Yes, it might still need some work, I agree. But we had to move on.”

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