Page 27 of More or Less a Countess
Miss Somerset must be one of those.
He neatened the loose sheaf of papers and inserted them carefully into the sketchbook, then hurried back to the carriage, his chest tight as he thought of his easy, uncomplicated life in Italy. It grew more and more distant in his memory with every day he remained in this cold, dreary city, and now here was another delay.
But it couldn’t be helped. He couldn’t marry a madwoman.
He’d have to wait until the season to secure a bride. He’d see Miss Somerset safely home tonight, and wouldn’t call on her again.
He was still a half-block away from his carriage when he heard raised feminine voices. Miss Somerset and her maid were in the midst of an argument.
Curious, he paused before opening the door.
“Even if you managed to open the aviary cages, why did you suppose the birds would swarm my attacker? Surely birds can’t distinguish good from evil. Why, they might have attacked you or Lord Dare! I don’t suppose you’d like to be attacked by a falcon, would you, Bridget? Though I suppose it’s more likely they would have simply flown away, and left us all to our fates.”
“I told ye, miss, I wasna thinking! I thought if I let the birds free they’d screech and flap about, and it would scare ’im away. What would ye have had me do, I ask? I’d already kicked ’im once, and got a clout in the shoulder for me pains.”
There was a brief silence, then a soft sigh. “I know. You poor thing. Forgive me, Bridget. I never should have insisted you come with me—”
“You never should have come out at all.” Nick opened the carriage door with a jerk, took the seat across from Miss Somerset, and held out the sketchbook to her with a frown. “It was a remarkably foolish thing to do. I thought you were cleverer than that, Miss Somerset.”
“Oh, thank you, my lord!” She ignored the scold, seized the book and hugged it to her chest, beaming at him. “You have no idea how grateful I am.”
Nick settled back against the squabs and stared at her for a moment, his arms crossed over his chest. She didn’tlookmad. Was there a chance he’d been too hasty in his determination, and she was as sane as anyone else in London?
There was only one way to find out.
“I find it…curious, Miss Somerset,” Nick began cautiously, “that you would place more value on your sketchbook than you do on your person. You do recall, do you not, that you were attacked tonight?”
Her smile faded. “Yes, my lord. I haven’t forgotten.”
“I’m going to need you to promise you’ll never do anything so foolish again.” If she trulywasmad she was unlikely to abide by any promise she made him, but he felt obligated to make the effort, just the same.
“Well, I—” She broke off abruptly, and turned to address her maid. “It grows late, Bridget. Hya—that is, my sister will be awake by now, and worried over us. Perhaps you’d better take Grandmother’s carriage back to Bedford Square. I’ll follow with Lord Dare. If my sister asks, tell her—”
“Tell ’er what, miss? That ye insisted on going to Cockpit Steps so ye could take a sketch of a headless ghost?”
“Bridget! Hush, will you?”
Miss Somerset cast a nervous glance at Nick, who found himself once again open-mouthed and speechless. Ghosts? Good Lord. The poor creaturewasmad—mad enough to believe she’d find a ghost hovering about Cockpit Steps!
Perhaps he should skip Bedford Square entirely, and deposit her at the door of Bedlam.
Bridget didn’t say a word to Nick when he escorted her to Lady Chase’s carriage—she was too busy muttering to herself about “red striped gowns spattered with blood and ghosts what have lost their heads” to pay any attention to him, and he was relieved when he’d seen her into the carriage and safely on her way.
“You don’t wager on cockfights, do you, Lord Dare?” Miss Somerset asked when he returned to the carriage. “I hate to think you’d encourage such a vicious sport.”
Nick blinked. What the devil did cockfighting have to do with this? Was her mind wandering? Perhaps her addled brain had confused the footpad’s attack with a cockfight. Was that why she’d been arguing with her maid about birds?
“The Royal Cockpit,” she explained, noticing his confusion. “They tore it down last year, but you couldn’t have known that, having been on the Continent these past two years. You didn’t come out tonight to see a cockfight, did you?”
Nick’s brows lowered in confusion. She didn’tsoundaddled. “No. I don’t care for blood sports.”
He’d ventured out to pay Lady Uplands a visit, but before he’d gained her doorstep he’d been overcome with weariness at the thought of another romp with her, and he’d left without knocking. Unwilling to go home and face the suffocating gloom of his aunt’s house, he’d found himself wandering around St. James’s Park. He’d been near Anne’s Gate when he heard Bridget’s screams and came running.
But he hadn’t the slightest intention of explaining any of this to Miss Somerset, who, mad or not, was skilled at turning the conversation away from herself.
“Ghosts?” He raised an eyebrow at her.
She looked down at the sketchbook in her hands, avoiding his eyes. “Bridget has a vivid imagination.”
