husband might result in a child.
Except she really hadn’t—not explicitly, anyway. The only thing she’d been thinking about last night was the pleasure Gideon was giving her.
She inhaled and looked at her sister. “If I’m with child, then…then we’ll deal with it. I certainly wouldn’t be the first woman pretending to be a widow to settle in a small town.”
“Very well,” Lucretia said, though she still looked worried.
Messalina glanced around the shop. “Which dressing table do you like?”
“I was thinking of that one.” She pointed to a darling rosewood dressing table inlaid on the top with various colored woods to form a basket of roses.
“That is lovely,” Messalina said. “Naturally we’ll buy it for your room.”
Lucretia looked doubtful, but thankfully didn’t pursue the matter. Instead they spent the remainder of their shopping trip picking out odds and ends and arguing pleasantly over a fire screen.
When Lucretia collapsed dramatically on the carriage squabs, she moaned, “It’s tragic that your cook can’t make cakes. Or tartlets. Those tiny lemon curd ones that you can pop whole into your mouth.”
Messalina snorted. “Only if you want to demonstrate your lack of manners.”
Lucretia waved a dismissive hand. “Should we worry about manners when we’re only with family?”
“Yes,” Messalina said firmly as the carriage made them both sway. “As for my cook, well, there’s something you should know about him.”
She proceeded to explain Hicks’s circumstances.
“Oh,” Lucretia said when Messalina came to the end. “Now I feel wretched for maligning him.” She stared at the ceiling of the carriage for a contemplative moment. “Do you know, I’ve never truly thought about how cooks are trained.” She turned to Messalina. “Have you?”
“Well, now I have,” Messalina said. “But you’re right. I enjoyed the meals but didn’t think about who made them. After all, the cooks in the houses we’ve lived in or visited have always been just there.”
“And yet,” Lucretia mused, “I can see that it would be hard to learn the art of cookery if one hadn’t a position in a big house.”
It would, Messalina thought. Unless he cooked for one of the big inns in London, there weren’t many places a young man could learn to cook. Hicks had apparently worked at a tavern where the food was quite simple.
She mused on the thought for the rest of the carriage ride home.
When they arrived back at Whispers some half hour later, Lucretia was rather wilted.
Messalina eyed the four big men descending from their carriage. All four had trailed them through Bond Street, only steps behind.
Gideon had doubled her guard.
Lucretia had noticed their shadows, pressing questions on her. Messalina rather thought her sister didn’t believe the excuse that Gideon liked showing off his retinue.
“I don’t understand,” Lucretia said as she slumped up the stairs to the house, “why I should be so terribly exhausted. After all, we spent the day merely pointing to things and buying them. I feel as if I’ve run thrice around London Town.”
“Shopping is always tiring,” Messalina replied. She spotted Reggie inside the entryway.
The big man shuffled his feet. “Two ladies waiting for you in th’ sitting room, ma’am.”
Messalina stared. And then she grabbed Lucretia’s hand and squeezed it. “Could you please ask Cook for some tea and refreshments?”
“Aye, ma’am,” Reggie replied. “Though I don’t know that ’Icks is familiar with ladies’ refreshments.”
“Maybe not,” Messalina murmured. “If he doesn’t know what to send, tell him bread and butter with some jam will do.”
Reggie nodded and retreated in the direction of the kitchens.
Messalina tried to keep calm as she led the way upstairs.
Lucretia hissed as they walked along the upper hall, “What is it? Do you know who your guests are?”
But Messalina couldn’t speak, the anticipation was too strong.
She hurried through the open sitting room doors. Inside a woman with flaming red hair stood by the settee where another lady was sitting.
“Freya!” Messalina ran to the red-haired lady’s arms.
Freya Renshaw, the Duchess of Harlowe, hugged her for several long seconds before stepping back. “Darling, you must explain everything.”
“You got my letter, then?” Messalina asked.
“Letter?” Freya said slowly. “No. But then Kester and I have been on the road to London for the past week.”
“You must’ve crossed paths with it,” Messalina sighed.
“Are all London rooms so bare?” asked a husky voice behind them.
Messalina started and only then remembered Lucretia and the second woman sitting on the settee.
She turned to look.
Lucretia was still standing, watching her and Freya raptly.
The other lady, however, was perusing the room, her head thrown back to look at the mural of