Page 24 of The Earl Next Door
“Of course.”
Shortly after his father left, Lyon realized there would be no peace for reading the day’s news at White’s. He shouldn’t have expected it. Everyone who passed by stopped and wanted amomentof his time—which turned into minutes, which turned into half hours, which turned into most of the afternoon. The members of the prestigious club looked upon it as their duty to let him know they had laid their money down on the newest wager in the infamous books, and most of them made sure he knew their money was on his father.
Fine.
When Lyon had had enough of the interruptions, he went home to find Brewster waiting in the vestibule forhim with his usual professional expression, holding a note.
“I’ll read it later,” he told his butler, laying his outer clothing aside.
“It’s from your neighbor, Mrs. Feversham, my lord. You may want to read it now.” Brewster turned toward what appeared to be a very large flower basket filled to overflowing with something that was covered and tucked in a white cloth. Elaborate bows of what seemed to be every color imaginable had been tied on the handle, and ribbons of varying lengths were streaming from them. A note had been tied to it as well.
“What is it?” Lyon asked.
“A basket of scones and tarts, my lord.”
“Take it to the kitchen.”
His butler cleared his throat. “It’s not for you, my lord. It’s for the girls’ school next door.”
“What the devil?”
“I was told Mrs. Feversham’s note will explain it to you.” He held the folded paper out to Lyon. “However, her footman said she heard the girls wailing this morning, felt compassion for them, and thought a few fruit tarts and fried dumplings might assist them in feeling better and improve their emotional disposition.”
“Damnation,” Lyon muttered. “A few? Looks as if there’s enough to feed an army for three days. Why didn’t her footman take them? Does she consider me her servant to do her bidding?”
Brewster blinked slowly and remained still, seeming unperturbed by Lyon’s bluster. “I don’t know, my lord. Would you like for me to send someone over to ask?”
Lyon laughed gruffly, took the note and opened it. It was two pages long. The woman had written a book instead of a simple message. He didn’t have the patience to read it at the moment. He handed it back to Brewster and stared at the basket.
For some reason, Lyon had the feeling Mrs. Feversham suspected he was the one who’d made the girls shriek and cry. She must have seen him stomping over there. She was either getting back at him for doing it or trying to help him appear apologetic by asking him to deliver the sweets to them. In either case, he couldn’t take the basket over to the school. The sight of him might start the girls screaming again. He could send Brewster, but that had possibilities he didn’t want to think about. They might consider the tall, portly butler another strange man showing up at the school, and that could distress them, too.
What he wanted to do was have Brewster march the basket right back over to Mrs. Feversham’s house and put the responsibility on her doorstep where it belonged. But Lyon was feeling a tinge guilty for unnerving the girls so greatly, and a bit remorseful, too. He’d like to think that if he’d known of their past sorrows and what they’d been through, he wouldn’t have gone over complaining about their girlish squeals and giggles.
They deserved the sweets. And he supposed he wasn’t above helping an incapacitated neighbor.
There was only one solution that he could think of to do. Take the frilly, pastries-laden basket over to the saucy Lady Wake’s house and let her take care of it. Besides, the idea of seeing her sensuous mouth, honeygold hair, and thick dark lashes framing her sparkling eyes appealed to him right now. He took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. But he couldn’t fool himself. He doubted she wanted to see him after their heated conversation.
That would beherproblem.
Not his.
“Give it to me,” he said, reaching to take the basket off the chair where it was sitting.
Not bothering with his hat, cloak, or gloves, Lyon strode to the door and opened it. His aunt Delia stood in front of him, a small covered basket swinging from her wrist.
“Lyon, I was just about to knock.”
He blew out an exasperated breath and shook his head in frustration. The trials of some days seemed to never end.
“Aunt,” he said, with a nod of greeting.
“I stopped by to see if you would go with me to see Lady Wake. I’ve been wanting to meet her, so I had my cook pack marmalade and biscuits to welcome her to the neighborhood. Since I don’t know her, and she is a countess, I was afraid she wouldn’t see me without an appointment—unless I had a handsome earl by my side.” Cordelia looked at the basket he held and then up to his eyes and smiled. “However, I see my gift can’t compete with yours.”
Chapter 9
A scone had been placed on each saucer and the cups were full.
Adeline sat on the settee in her drawing room opposite Julia and Brina listening to the two of them talk. The afternoon was windy but not cold, so they’d discussed the possibility of a walk in St. James Park later in the afternoon. She had missed her visits with them. Listening to them now made her realize how lonely the winter had been. Their chatter was a refreshing change for her usually quiet house.
