When a Rogue Meets His Match - Elizabeth Hoyt Page 0,75
depicted a goldfinch. “No? Why should I? I don’t understand.”
“It’s just…” Messalina frowned at her lovely tea set. “Well, for instance, Sam would be on the streets, without shelter or food, if Gideon hadn’t employed him.” She nodded at the set. “The price I paid for this could keep him in comfort for years. It doesn’t seem fair somehow.”
“Yes, but there are other boys,” Messalina said. “And girls as well. I just…wish I could do something.”
“Such as?” Lucretia asked.
Messalina knitted her brows. “I don’t quite know…”
She felt something brewing inside her, though. A vague idea of ragged boys and all they needed to start life properly.
A purpose.
Lucretia yawned again.
Messalina looked at her. “You need to retire to bed.”
“I’m not sleepy,” Lucretia said petulantly.
Messalina smiled at her fondly. “You sound like a five-year-old.”
“Humph.” Lucretia played with her cup. “Messalina…”
“Yes, darling?”
Lucretia frowned a little at her teacup. “Do you think it wise for me to attend the dance at Windemere House?” She glanced up, and Messalina saw that her sister’s face was unusually grave. “It’s just that…what if Uncle Augustus makes me stay?”
A frisson of horror went down Messalina’s back.
Their uncle had made that threat against Lucretia. But if they didn’t attend, Uncle Augustus would be enraged.
And he might take that rage out on someone closer to him than they.
Suddenly the tea was bitter on her tongue. She set down her cup. “Remember that Gideon will be there. He will keep you safe.”
“Even so…” Lucretia bit her lip. “Perhaps I should cry off with a headache or some such.”
Messalina shook her head. “That will only draw attention to you. Better that we seem to do as he bids like docile little sheep.”
Her sister wrinkled her nose. “Ew.”
“Quite.” Messalina grimaced in sympathy. “What if Julian and Quintus come as well? I’m sure they’ve been invited—or rather ordered—to the event. Then you’ll have three protectors.”
“Very well.” Lucretia knit her brows and then blurted, “The thing is, what if Uncle Augustus plans to arrange a marriage for me as well? He sprang yours on us without any warning. It would make sense that he has some awful man lined up for me as well.”
Messalina’s breath stopped in her chest. Should she tell Lucretia of the duke’s threat? But to what end? Lucretia was already nervous and on edge.
Would telling her do anything besides make her more fearful?
“I doubt he’d do it at Aunt Ann’s ball,” she said slowly. “There would be too many witnesses who might intervene. But you’re right. We need to get you away from Uncle Augustus.”
Which meant she needed her portion of the dowry.
Lucretia sighed. “I haven’t even heard from Julian or Quintus. Did they send word to you?”
“Blast,” Messalina muttered, rummaging in the pocket of her dress. “Yes, they did, and I meant to tell you. They’ve taken rooms. Here.”
She held out a note with the Greycourt seal.
Lucretia took it and opened the paper to reveal Julian’s elegant scrawl. She scanned the short note and handed it back. “I confess that I’m surprised they haven’t called on us today. After last night’s row I was sure they would storm the door and drag us both away.”
Messalina pursed her lips at the nymphs above them. “Perhaps Julian has lost interest.”
“And Quintus is probably in his cups.”
“They didn’t used to be this way, you know,” Messalina said quietly. “Before Aurelia.”
“I seem to remember Julian laughing,” Lucretia said musingly.
“He did laugh,” Messalina said, feeling a sharp pain in her breast. “They all did—Jules, Ran, and Kester.”
They’d seemed like young gods to her girlish eyes. It was difficult to remember that they’d been only seventeen.
Not men at all.
But Freya had made her peace, both with Messalina and with Kester, enough to fall in love with Kester and marry him.
“I don’t remember much before Aurelia died,” Lucretia said sadly.
“Well, you were only eight. It’s hard to explain.” Messalina thought a moment. “Aurelia was so bright. So golden. She seemed to glow with laughter and impishness and kindness. When she died, I think something in our family was lost.”
Lucretia sighed wistfully.
“Before she died I remember all three boys being the best of friends,” Messalina continued. “They ran wild in the country, were closer than brothers. At the time I never would’ve imagined them apart.” She smiled sadly. “But then I never would’ve imagined Julian so grim, either.”
“I wish I could remember more about that time,” Lucretia said softly. “More about Mama and Papa and Aurelia. More