Page 52 of The Lyon's Pretty Pugilist

“Pftt,” Bridget muttered, her lip vibrating.

Lydia ignored Bridget’s skeptical scoff. “It was also difficult to plan the wedding from Italy, so we had to return.”

But Nicolas and Bridget had both told Josie that Lydia had canceled the engagement.

“I was under the impression the wedding was off?” Nicolas said. Obviously, his thoughts on the matter had not changed.

Lydia brought a hand to her heart. “What would make you think that?”

“Because you…” Nicolas raised a brow and lowered his voice. “This is not an appropriate conversation to have in the middle of a dress shop in front of onlookers.”

“Of course not, my sweet Dimps,” Lydia said. “Come to Thorn House tomorrow night and we can talk. I do love talking to you, and I’ve missed you so.”

Sweet Dimps?As in, Nicolas’s dimples were sweet? Josie stifled herwhimper.Wait. Nope.She hadn’t been quiet in the least. Her whine had rushed out of her, loud and clear, as if she were a fussy infant.

Everyone in their unhappy little party stared at her.

“Tomorrow evening, I will visit so we can talk, Lydia,” Nicolas said, his tone firm. “Nothing more. Now, if you will excuse me, I am occupied with these ladies.” Palm up he presented Josie and her shopping mates.

“Hmph.” Lydia lifted her aristocratic nose. “Come, girls.”

Whoever her two dark-haired companions were, they followed her out of the modiste’s. It seemed the three featherbrains had forgotten to shop.

“Lord save us all.” Agatha looked at the ceiling.

Nicolas inched closer to Agatha, perused the room, then slid something into her reticule. The blunt to pay for her gown and accessories, Josie assumed.

“Please excuse me. I find I need a moment of fresh air,” he said.

Once he was out of sight, Bridget leaned close to whisper, “Do you see what I mean? She never wrote a letter to Nicolas. I inspect all of the mail. I’m certain she is spying on us. She is a right, proper cow. I will not allow her to break his heart again. I was hoping you would knock her out, Josie.” Bridget wound up and feigned a limp-wristed punch. “Pow!”

Perhaps Josie should teach the earl’s daughter to fight before her fist met something hard and she dislocated her thumb. Laurels to Bridget for her attitude, though.

Agatha perused the shop. “As disconcerting as this is, we should not make a scene.”

“Piffle,” Bridget said. “Sometimes, one must make a scene to protect one’s brother.” Although the women were long gone, Bridget glowered at the exit. “She is up to something. She broke the engagement and is pretending she didn’t.” Bridget lowered her voice. “If we lose our family seat, Nicolas will be ostracized. Won’t that be a nicelittle surprise for a cow who only cares about wealth and status? Once that happens, she will make his life hell on Earth.”

“Up to something indeed.” Agatha chewed her lip. “Unless she is completely unaware of your family’s misfortunes.”

“I assumed everyone knew about our dwindling wealth and that we’d had to sell the townhouse,” Bridget said.

Agatha continued to worry her lip.

“Hello,” Jonathon said as he strolled toward them. “Nicolas is outside looking as if someone pissed in his tea, and you would not believe who I just saw getting into a carriage down the street.”

“We just saw her, too.” Bridget screwed her facial features into a tight ball. “Bluck!”

“I dare say, it would have brought me great pleasure to run her over with the carriage.” Jonathon snorted. “But Ivan refused. What a bloody, responsible bloke that man is.”

“If only you had,” Bridget added. “Splat! You would be my hero.”

“Jonathon, I’m concerned,” Agatha said. “Do you think she heard about the—”

“Mother!” Jonathon pinched his lips between his thumb and forefinger.

Bridget was too busy huffing and puffing to notice the odd exchange, but Josie filed it in the Davenport’s-curious-communications-compartment in her brain.

“Why does she still want my brother?” Bridget asked.