The Girl is Not For Christmas - Emma V Leech Page 0,112
a scandal, I’m afraid.”
“Walsh.” King moved to his valet and clutched at his shoulders. His heart was thudding in his ears now. “Where was my father spending Christmas?”
Walsh swallowed.
King didn’t hesitate. He stuffed the money into his pocket, snatched up his hat, grabbed Walsh and towed him out of the kitchen.
“We must catch up with her,” he hissed to Walsh, who just nodded miserably.
“King… King, what is it?” Harry called, hurrying behind them as King propelled Walsh out the front door. “What has this to do with your father?”
King hesitated, but Harry wasn’t a fool, he was a young man, already aware of why his Aunt Agatha had the reputation she had most certainly earned.
“Harry,” King said, helping Walsh collapse into the seat of the dog cart and turning back to him. “Mrs Agatha Dudley is my father’s mistress.”
Chapter Twenty Three
28th December 1818.
Retribution for some, forgiveness for others.
Livvy looked up at the magnificent house in front of her. Good heavens. Aunt Agatha lived in grand style. It was everything that was modern and elegant and certainly one of the finest houses on Somerset Place, though to be fair, some were not yet finished.
Charlie hesitated, glowering unhappily at the front door. He’d been very kind to her for the past two days, kind enough not to ask her why she was so quiet and morose. The answer was obvious enough not to need an explanation.
“It’s for Harry,” she reminded him. “Harry and Susan and all of them, Charlie. If you must eat humble pie, what better cause could you possibly have?”
Livvy watched as Charlie set his jaw, smacked his hat onto his head, and held out his arm to her. “Very well. I’ve made this wretched mess. I suppose this is my comeuppance, so I’d best get it over with. I only hope you’re not disappointed, Livvy. My abiding memory of her is a woman who does not mince words. We’ll likely find ourselves ejected after she’s rung a peal over us, well me anyway. That’s if we get in at all.”
“We won’t know until we try,” Livvy said, squeezing his arm.
“Right you are.” Charlie took a deep breath and strode to the front door.
A smart, liveried footman opened the door, resplendent in dark blue and canary yellow trimmed uniform.
Charlie handed his card over. “Lord Boscawen to see my aunt, Mrs Dudley,” he said, looking every inch the nobleman and not a bit like he was quaking in his boots. Livvy admitted herself impressed.
They were seen into a drawing room so grand Livvy could not help but stare. Everything was of the finest quality and the most impeccable taste. The walls were a delicate shade of pale pink, the ceiling and glorious plasterwork all white with the fancier bits picked out in gold leaf. The curtains were gold too, the fabric thick and luxurious, shimmering in the sunlight through the huge windows. Every piece of furniture was elegance itself and placed with a deftness of touch that made this a grand room indeed, yet still a homely one. Livvy could well imagine curling up in the comfortable looking chair before one of the windows and reading a book or simply watching the world go by. Not that she dared now, instead staring nervously at the huge ormolu clock on the mantel that seemed to tick with such enthusiasm it rang in her ears.
“She won’t see us,” Charlie said, pacing now. They’d been waiting for at least ten minutes. “She’ll just make me sweat and then decide she’s not at home.”
“Will she indeed?” came an imperious voice from behind them.
They both span around and Livvy gasped. She wasn’t entirely certain what she had been expecting of her mother’s sister, but it was not the glorious creature standing in the doorway. Good heavens, she was stunning. A woman in her early fifties, her hair was still lustrous and a dark honey colour, her eyes were a piercing blue, and the outrageously stylish gown she wore made no bones about the quality of the figure beneath the fabric.
Her aunt sniffed and looked at Livvy with interest. “You’re not that silly creature he brought last time,” she said, frowning and stepping closer. Her expression changed, her eyes growing wide. “Oh. Oh, my, you must be Olivia.” She pressed her fingers to her mouth.
“Yes, aunt,” Livvy said, dipping a curtsey. “I am very pleased to make your acquaintance at last.”