Centered on the leather blotter sat the missive, stark white against the dark leather.
What the devil could it hold?
Had he been recognized on the road? Was malicious gossip already making the rounds about his traveling with Olivia? Was Seabury now demanding a formal declaration to quash any rumors that might tarnish his relative’s sterling reputation?
John stared for a moment longer, then steeled his nerve. No matter what is inside, I will stick to my guns, he vowed. No cajoling, no threats would force him to alter his decision. His love for Olivia was all that mattered.
Taking up his letter opener, he slowly broke the wax wafer.
The paper crackled…there were actually two sealed messages inside the outer wrapping. One was addressed to him in a light feminine hand, the other in Seabury’s bold scrawl.
“In for a penny, in for a pound,” he muttered, making himself open Lady Serena’s note first.
It was brief and took less than a minute to read.
After a small shake to clear his head, he read it again.
The words did not alter on the third time around. “Hell’s holy bells.” And with that, John let out a peal of laughter.
Cecilia waited until he was gone from the room to explain. “Lord Seabury is Lady Serena Wells’s uncle. She is…well…
“I know who she is,” said Olivia, putting a quick end to Cecilia’s embarrassment. “She is Wrexham’s intended bride.”
His sister made a face. “Apparently there is no formal agreement between them, but John seems to have some misplaced sense of honor about it. I do hope he comes to his senses, for it is clear to me that the lady in question would not make him happy.”
“No?” Olivia felt it was not her place to respond with anything more. The earl had changed his mind once. Perhaps he might do so again.
“No indeed,” said Cecilia decisively. “His show of steely reserve is naught but a suit of armor to protect…” She hesitated. “To protect a yearning t
hat I don’t think even he dares to admit.”
Olivia longed to ask what yearning, but she swallowed the urge along with a sip of her now-tepid tea.
Cecilia rearranged the silverware next to the tea tray. Twice. “May I ask you a question, Miss Sloane?”
A reluctant nod.
“Do you love my brother?”
Yes or no?
“Yes,” admitted Olivia, feeling that John’s sister deserved nothing less than complete honesty. “But in truth it doesn’t matter. He offered marriage, but as the circumstances were somewhat tenuous, I turned him down flat.”
“My brother is too experienced a soldier to be daunted by a small setback,” replied Cecilia thoughtfully. She drummed her fingertips together. “And if he is, then he doesn’t deserve you.”
“I…” What to say?
“Leave it to me,” began Cecilia.
“Oh, you mustn’t—”
“Ha, my brother is not the only one who possesses some skill in battlefield strategy.” She winked. “And I have a feeling that he is more than willing to surrender.”
Crouching low, Prescott peeked through the slivered crack. “Hurry,” he mouthed, gesturing to Lucy to come join him in the shadows behind the half-open drawing room door.
Together, they inched a little closer to the decorative molding.
“That,” whispered Prescott, “is Lady Loose Screw.”