Scandalously Yours (Hellions of High Street 1)

“Don’t fret, Livvie,” counseled Anna calmly. “Everything will go smoothly.”

“What if he didn’t find the note in the book?” Olivia suddenly had an even worse thought. “Or, God forbid, what if his father found it and appears instead?”

“Don’t fret,” echoed Caro. “We went over all this. Even if the earl does appear, he won’t recognize me. I shall simply walk right past him and he’ll have no idea that I am the one who set up the meeting.”

Her sisters were right, admitted Olivia. There was little chance of anything going amiss. Still, she felt slightly seedy for having orchestrated this assignation behind Wrexham’s back.

Especially now.

No good deed goes unpunished, she thought wryly. She had agreed to this plan because she couldn’t in good conscience leave the boy to think had had been abandoned by Lady Loose Screw. However, her new arrangement with the earl had added another twist to an already tangled situation.

Drat Anna for letting her diabolically clever imagination at concocting convoluted romance plots get out of hand…

Caro ventured a peek through the leaves at the townhouses across the cobbled carriageway. “It must be nearly time.”

“Another three minutes,” said Anna after consulting their late father’s pocketwatch. “You ought to start making your way out to the perimeter pathway. Slowly—remember, you are simply out for a stroll.”

After a bit of fussing with her bonnet strings and skirts, Caro edged through the opening in the bushes and was momentarily lost from view.

“I do

n’t like that dangerous glitter in her eyes,” muttered Olivia. “I regret letting her get involved in this. Her poetic nature is already excitable enough without any extra encouragement.”

“There is no use crying over spilled milk,” said Anna with her usual pragmatism. “Besides, for all her swishing and swooning, Caro has a modicum of good sense. I don’t think she’ll get herself into any real trouble.”

Olivia expelled a silent sigh. Would that I could say the same about myself. Given the events of yesterday, there was ample reason to question her own judgment.

“Is that the earl’s son?” Anna’s whisper interrupted her brooding.

“Yes, that’s Prescott,” she answered. As requested by the note, he was carrying the book on carriages, so Caro could identify him.

“So far, so good,” said Anna after watching their sister casually approach the boy and strike up a conversation.

Caro, was, admitted Olivia, an excellent actress, with skill honed by the countless late-night theatrical readings the sisters had staged to keep themselves amused. She had done an excellent job of quietly shepherding Prescott to one of the benches and at the moment was engaged in turning the pages of his book and making a show of admiring the pictures.

The boy appeared to be listening in rapt attention.

Another twinge of guilt squeezed a bit of breath from her lungs. Was I wrong to counsel him to accept Fate in the form of the Steel Corset? She, of all people, knew what it was to live with a cold, critical mother. The earl clearly cared very deeply for his son—continued rebellion might make him reconsider his choice of a bride.

Choices, choices.

Olivia frowned. She didn’t usually dither over decisions.

“I think she’s finished,” observed Anna.

Caro was indeed rising and taking her leave of Prescott. The boy appeared to be taking her words with good grace. If he was disappointed at the loss of Lady Loose Screw, he was hiding it well.

Perhaps I overestimated the effect of my words of wisdom. Which was a rather depressing thought, considering the effect she hoped to have the readers of the Mayfair Gazette in the coming weeks.

“Come along,” murmured Anna. “We should circle around to the opposite side of the square, and wait for Caro at Gunther’s tea shop. She deserves one of their famous ices for her performance.”

Their sister was quick to join them in the main salon. Her face flushed with excitement, she slipped into her seat with a barely concealed grin. “Perhaps I should offer my services to Whitehall as a clandestine agent,” she whispered. “I thought that I did a rather good job of it, didn’t I?”

“Better than good,” agreed Anna. “Allow me to treat you to some ice cream.”

“Bergamot,” said Caro, after considering the choices. “It sounds so intriguing. Perhaps the taste will inspire a sonnet.”

“If I were you, I would choose strawberry, which is one of Gunther’s specialties,” counseled Anna. “Or if you wish for something exotic, perhaps the pineapple sherbet would be more to your taste…”