“Otherwise she will think me an old crow, Maman, and I will need to impress her if I wish her to hire me for her academy.”
Madeline frowned as she surveyed herself in the small oval mirror on the dressing table, aware that her desire to be more attractive was based in large part on another motive altogether.
She wanted to impress Lord Haviland as well as Lady Danvers.
Which was patently absurd. A man of his stamp could have no romantic interest in her—and she had no business fostering any romantic interest in him, for she would be doomed to disappointment.
In truth, though, Haviland was someone she could easily come to love. His kindness, his sharp mind, his sense of humor, and even more, his sense of honor, stirred her admiration every bit as much as his devastating kisses had awed her. The thought of facing him again set butterflies leaping in her stomach.
Madeline took a deep breath, striving for composure. Surely in the light of day the Earl of Haviland would not be as overwhelmingly captivating as she had found him last night.
And even if he was, she should be better able to hold her own with him now that she’d had time to regain her emotional footing and recover her usual practical common sense.
With that hopeful reflection, Madeline turned away from the mirror to go in search of Mr. and Mrs. Simpkin.
“I still worry,” Freddie Lunsford complained as he piled his breakfast plate high from the sideboard, “that you underestimate the urgency of my quandary, Rayne. I have very little time left to thwart Mrs. Sauville and prevent her from revealing my transgressions to my father.”
“I understand the urgency quite well,” Rayne replied absently, his attention more focused on perusing the morning papers.
Freddie settled beside him at the breakfast table but did not appear convinced. “How can you possibly retrieve my letters in time?”
Looking up, Rayne eyed his impatient cousin. Deciding he might better allay Freddie’s fears by sharing details of the plan that had started to take shape in his mind, Rayne folded his newspaper and set it aside. “I mean to gain access to the Widow Sauville’s London home by attending one of her famous soirées Tuesday evening.”
“But Tuesday is four days from now.”
“And her deadline is Wednesday. I promise you, the letters will be safely in your possession before then.”
“How will you manage it?” Freddie asked, shoveling a forkful of soft-boiled egg into his mouth, followed by a bite of kipper. Evidently the threat of impending disaster had not impaired his appetite much.
“You said Mrs. Sauville claimed to have your letters locked away in her jewel case.”
“Yes, in her bedchamber.”
“So I will see that she is occupied while I search her bedchamber for her jewel case.”
Freddie frowned. “It will not be easy to simply waltz into her boudoir undetected and then waltz out again with my letters. Precisely how do you mean to do it?”
“Why don’t you leave the particulars to me—”
Rayne abruptly cut off his reply upon realizing that his majordomo, Bramsley, had appeared at the open door to the breakfast parlor. Directly behind the distinguished servant stood Miss Madeline Ellis.
Rayne was immediately struck by his unexpected pleasure at seeing her again, although he managed to repress the sentiment. Wondering how much she had overheard, he rose politely in welcome as Bramsley announced her.
Freddie leapt to his feet also and finished swallowing before blurting out, “Miss Ellis, what the devil are you doing here?”
Rayne sent his relative a quelling glance. “Won’t you come in, Miss Ellis?”
She hesitated on the threshold, evidently aware that the conversation had instantly stopped at her arrival.
“Have you breakfasted yet?” Rayne asked.
“No, not yet,” she replied. “I disliked putting the Danvers staff to the trouble of preparing a meal solely for me.”
“Then will you join us?”
Glancing between the two gentlemen, she nodded slowly. “Yes, thank you, Lord Haviland. I believe I will.”
“Bramsley, please serve Miss Ellis,” Rayne said as he seated her on his left, across from Freddie, then resumed his place at the head of the table.