The Gift of Love (The Book of Love #8) - Meara Platt Page 0,24

together at the far end of the table. Since none of them were lords, they were as low as one could be in the order of preference, merely one step removed from the clerks who were shuttling in and out, delivering messages to Lord Liverpool and those in his high circle.

They were perhaps two steps removed from the servants who were bringing in their sumptuous meal on gleaming silver trays.

“Did ye have the chance to visit Dahlia today?” Robbie asked as they finished their soup course, a white soup made from veal stock, and waited for the next courses to be brought out.

He nodded. “We read a little of the book together. I’ll meet her again tomorrow. I’d like to get through as much of it as I can before the week is out. Romulus returns soon, and I don’t think he’ll appreciate having others around when his time with Violet is so short.”

Joshua joined in the conversation. “Perhaps by then, Dahlia will feel better about coming over to our home. Holly will gladly help out in any way she can.”

Ronan nodded. “I appreciate it. I think that will work out.”

Robbie waited for one of the footmen to refill his glass of wine before responding. “Have ye done anything with yer house search? Does Lady Miranda know ye mean to move out?”

“Yes, I told her last night. To my surprise, she’s been most helpful.”

Joshua laughed. “You mean she actually wants you out?”

“No, she did her abandoned mother act. Tears, the vapors, wailing, and moaning. But she has a friend who lives close by and happened to mention she wants to sell her London home. I went to see it this afternoon. I think it’s perfect. Good bones. Great location. A little run down and in need of Dahlia’s touch. Couldn’t ask for anything better.”

Robbie arched an eyebrow. “Impressive.”

Joshua raised his glass in toast. “Here’s to success on your mission.”

“Cheers.” Ronan drained his glass that had also been refilled.

The evening ended late, but he was pleased with all he had accomplished. He stripped out of his clothes, handed them to Harrigan to be freshened, and fell into bed. His last thought before sleep overcame him was to wonder what tomorrow would bring.

Unfortunately, it brought an angry summons from the Lord Admiral to meet him at the Admiralty that morning. Ronan had just settled in his office in the Parliament building when a messenger arrived with the urgent note. “Bollocks, what now?” he muttered, waving to Joshua and Robbie, who were just walking in as he hurried off.

The Lord Admiral had one of the local gossip rags open on his desk when Ronan arrived. “Brayden,” he said, his face red as he motioned to the paper, “what the hell is this?”

“With all due respect, my lord. What are you talking about?”

“You and Lady Melinda? Stoke’s daughter. I thought your affair was over and done. You were seen at the theater with her last night.”

“The theater?” Ronan groaned inwardly. “If you will recall, I was with you and His Grace all evening. I went straight home afterward. Although we have made great scientific advances, I do not think we have advanced far enough to allow me to be in two places at once.”

“Don’t take that smart tone with me, Brayden. This is serious. If Stoke withdraws his support, we’ll lose our funding. You have to end this with his daughter.”

“Happily, sir. But how am I to end something that does not exist? She and I were never having an affair. I am not courting his daughter. I am not interested in courting his daughter. I never was. However, I suspect she is the one sending this misinformation to the papers.”

“Why would she do this?”

“To make a certain marquess jealous and get an offer of marriage out of him. I am being used as her pawn for this purpose. Over my strenuous objections, I might add. Lady Melinda does not particularly care. His Grace must realize what his daughter is doing. I can ask her to stop, but I doubt she will listen to me since she never has before. It seems more prudent for me to avoid all contact with her. If I’m seen talking to her, even if it is merely for the purpose of asking her to stop, the gossips will report it.”

The Lord Admiral put his hands to his temples and groaned. “I believe you, Brayden. But I don’t know that Stoke will. Oh, he might be persuaded that this