Mastered by Love (Bastion Club 8)

Handley nodded, gathered his papers, rose, and left. Royce stared at the closed door. There seemed little point in wondering what message Letitia, Penny, and Clarice had for him; he would know soon enough.

Less than a minute later, Jeffers opened the door, and the ladies—three of the seven wives of his ex-colleagues of the Bastion Club—swept in. Rising, he acknowledged their formal curtsies, then waved them to the chairs Jeffers angled before the desk.

He waited until they’d settled, then, dismissing Jeffers with a nod, resumed his seat. As the door closed, he let his gaze sweep the three striking faces before him. “Ladies. Permit me to guess—I owe this pleasure to Lady Osbaldestone.”

“And all the others.” Letitia, flanked by Penny and Clarice, flung her arms wide. “The entire pantheon of tonnish grandes dames.”

He let his brows rise. “Why, if I might ask, you—more specifically, why all three of you?”

Letitia grimaced. “I was visiting Clarice and Jack in Gloucestershire while Christian dealt with business in London. Penny had come up to join us for a few days when Christian relayed a summons from Lady Osbaldestone insisting I attend her immediately in London on a matter of great urgency.”

“Naturally,” Clarice said, “Letitia had to go, and Penny and I decided we could do with a week in London, so we went, too.”

“But,” Penny took up the tale, “the instant Lady Osbaldestone laid eyes on us, she made us joint emissaries with Letitia to carry the collective message of the grandes dames to your ears.”

“I suspect,” Clarice said, “that she thought you might be able to avoid Letitia, but you wouldn’t be able to slide around all three of us.”

Clarice glanced at the other two, who returned her regard, then all three pairs of feminine eyes turned on him.

He raised his brows. “Your message?”

It was Letitia who answered. “You are hereby warned that unless you do as you intimated and announce your duchess-to-be forthwith, you will have to cope with a fleet of carriages turning up at your gates. And, of course, the occupants of those carriages won’t be the sort you can easily turn away.” She shrugged. “Their version was rather more formal, but that’s the gist of it.”

Penny frowned. “Actually, it seemed as if you have quite a few people in residence already—and more arriving.”

“My sisters are hosting a house party coincident with the local parish fair. It used to be a family tradition, but lapsed after my mother died.” He focused on Let

itia. “Is there a time limit on the grandes dames’ threat?”

Letitia glanced at Clarice.

“We got the impression the limit is now.” Clarice widened her eyes at him. “Or more precisely, your period of grace expires at the time a missive from us confirming your noncompliance reaches Lady Osbaldestone.”

He tapped a finger on his blotter, letting his gaze sweep their faces again. Lady Osbaldestone had chosen well; with these three, intimidation wouldn’t work. And while he might have been able to divert—subvert—Letitia, with the three of them reinforcing each other, he stood not a chance.

Lips firming, he nodded. “You may report to the beldames that I have, indeed, chosen a bride—”

“Excellent!” Letitia beamed. “So you can draft an announcement, and we can take it back to London.”

“However”—he continued as if she hadn’t spoken—“the lady in question has yet to accept the position.”

They stared at him.

Clarice recovered first. “What is she? Deaf, dumb, blind—or all three?”

That surprised a laugh from him, then he shook his head. “It’s the reverse—she’s too damned insightful for my good. And please do include that in your report—it will make her ladyship’s day. Regardless, an announcement in the Gazette at this point could well prove inimical to our mutual goal.”

All three ladies fixed intrigued gazes on him. He regarded them impassively. “Is there anything else?”

“Who is she?” Letitia demanded. “You can’t just dangle a tale like that before us, and not give us her name.”

“Actually, I can. You don’t need to know.” They’d guess very quickly; he had as much confidence in their intelligence—individually and collectively—as he had in their husbands’.

Three pairs of eyes narrowed; three expressions grew flinty.

Penny informed him, “We’re under orders to remain here—under your feet—until you send a notice to the Gazette.”

Their continued presence might well work in his favor. Their husbands weren’t all that different from him—and Minerva had been starved of the companionship of females she could trust, confide in, and ask for advice. And these three might be disposed to help his cause.