One Thing Leads to a Lover (Love and Let Spy #2) - Susanna Craig Page 0,20

her expression to something like mild curiosity.

“Mrs. West?” He glanced at Lewis for confirmation before shaking his head. “No, your ladyship. We did hear Lord Kingston and Master Philip on the stairs not a quarter of an hour ago.”

Another smile rose to her lips, this one amused. She rather liked to imagine a ruckus when two healthy, energetic boys thundered upstairs to wash before luncheon, no matter how often they had been scolded to silence. “Thank you. I suppose she’s gone out, but if you see her, please let her know I’d like to speak with her.”

“Yes, your ladyship. Of course.”

Upstairs, she found no one in the dining room or the drawing room. Mama had already left, then, and no telling whom she planned to visit this morning, or what she would tell them. Belatedly, Amanda realized that she ought to have asked Mr. Matthews whether her mother had put any letters to post. What if she’d already written to decline George’s invitation?

Amanda’s lips curved again, this time abashed and embarrassed. How disrespectful of her to feel interest in attending Lord Dulsworthy’s ball only now, because she looked forward to meeting another gentleman there.

But he was a gentleman. Not a shop clerk. Major Stanhope. That was a title of responsibility, respectability. Oh, bother. She sounded like her mother now. And truth be told, Amanda really didn’t care a whit for the man’s rank in society. No, her interest was even shallower than that: he was intriguing, exciting, and quite the handsomest man she’d ever seen.

Everything, in other words, that George was not.

“What are you smiling about, dear?”

Despite the object of her quest, the sound of her mother’s voice nearly caused Amanda to stumble, she’d been so lost in her thoughts. “Oh, nothing, Mama. I was only thinking—looking, that is. I was looking. For you.”

Her eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Yes?”

“You’re going out, I see. I won’t keep you. I only wanted to speak to you about—about the invitations I’d left in my desk…”

“I thought I was relieving you of a burden by managing the household correspondence,” she began, her cheeks pink. “Truly, I never intended to pry, Amanda.”

“Of course not, Mama. But if you did happen to answer any of them…”

Mama pressed her lips together and let a frown dart across her brow. Amanda knew it must be serious business, for her mother ordinarily took such care to avoid any expression or strain that might wrinkle her skin. Finally, Mama nodded. “I told the Hursts you would be delighted to join them at the theater. You should remember to mark it on your calendar, dear. Tuesday evening.”

“Oh! I—” Caught entirely off guard, Amanda could hardly form a reply. Her mother had insisted for so long that all such invitations must be refused, for the sake of propriety.

“Did you not wish to go?” Now Mama looked vaguely hurt, or perhaps worried.

“Indeed, I am most eager to see the play, Mama,” Amanda insisted, taking her mother’s hands between hers. Whatever it is. “It will be splendid, I’m sure. Thank you. But I—” She gnawed at her lower lip with her teeth, a gesture that never failed to earn a reproving glance. “But just now, I happened to be thinking of the invitation to Lord Dulsworthy’s ball.”

She knew how her mother would interpret such breathless curiosity, such urgency. She watched the familiar sparkle of excitement light her mother’s eyes. Amanda felt vaguely ashamed of herself. She would be getting everyone’s hopes up.

If she weren’t careful, she would find herself walking down the aisle with Lord Dulsworthy yet.

But at this very moment, the intrigue over the book and the promise of seeing Major Stanhope again had left her too giddy to worry about such eventualities. At this very moment, she believed she might even be able to contemplate a future with George with resigned aplomb if she could cling to the memory of one little adventure.

“I haven’t answered that invitation, no,” Mama said, speaking each word carefully, as if she did not wish to do anything to upset the delicate balance of this moment. “I wasn’t sure whether—”

“Of course I wish to go, Mama,” Amanda insisted, though half an hour earlier the answer would have been a lie. “It would be astonishingly bad manners to refuse him, and you raised me never to—”

“Certainly not. I never thought you would—that is, I never thought you wouldn’t—oh, never mind. You’ll send your answer this very minute,” her mother said, freeing her hands from Amanda’s only to take