The viscount’s eyes darted from Lissy to Bella and back again. “Might I have a word with you alone?”
“Very well.” Lissy heaved a sigh as she pushed off the bench. “I’ll be back in a moment, Bella.”
Lord Carraway offered his arm to Lissy, which she begrudgingly took and let him lead her toward a copse of trees a few feet away. Bella couldn’t hear a word of their conversation, but it seemed as though the two were quarreling, which was odd. Bella never thought of Lissy as quarrelsome in the least. In fact, she was always the most cheerful of Bella’s former schoolmates.
The viscount said something that made Lissy pout. That couldn’t be good whatever it was. Hopefully, he wasn’t putting her in temper. Lissy wouldn’t be able to think clearly if he was, and if ever Bella needed her friend to think clearly, it was now. A moment later, after what seemed like a short, heated exchange, Lissy tipped her nose in the air and spun around back toward Bella.
Lord Carraway reached for Lissy’s arm, but she yanked it out of his grasp, and the viscount fell forward, right onto his hands and knees in the middle of the park.
Goodness! Bella gasped, as did a fair number of others nearby. Lissy didn’t even slow her gait, however, not stopping until she reached Bella’s bench.
“Heavens, Lissy!” Bella touched a hand to her heart. “Did you see Lord Carraway?”
“Come along, Bella,” Lissy said, reaching her hands out to her. “I think I know someone who will help us.”
Oh that was wonderful news! “You do?” Bella rose to her feet. “Who?”
“Cordie Clayworth,” Lissy returned, threading her arm through Bella’s. “She and her husband are fairly close to the Marquess of Haversham. And if there’s a fellow who has no need of a wife, it’s Haversham.”
That was Lissy’s grand idea? Bella thought she might be ill. “Haversham?” she echoed. One of the most depraved and notorious rakes to ever step foot in London?
Lissy shrugged. “I’d wager he could be convinced to help one way or another.”
That was beside the point. He was wholly unacceptable. “Even if he could be convinced, I doubt Papa would accept an offer from him.”
But her friend didn’t seem to be swayed by that argument. “Cordie has a calm head. She’ll help us come up with something.”
“I don’t know,” Bella hedged. “I don’t really know Lady Clayworth very well.” And she couldn’t ask such a favor from a mere acquaintance. Even acquaintance was a stretch. She seemed to remember that she was at some garden party with the countess the previous season, but they didn’t even speak.
Again, Lissy seemed unconcerned with the particulars as she grinned from ear to ear. “Well, luckily, I do. She’s one of my dearest friends and she possesses a most devious mind.”
“And you think she’ll help me?” If she could help, if Lissy seemed certain the countess could be counted on, Bella did need whatever help she could get. Her allies, thus far, hadn’t helped her cause in the least.
Chapter 4
Good God. Had Carraway just fallen, nearly on his face, in the middle of Hyde Park? Greg’s eyes had widened at that, but even more so when he noticed that the blonde who was escaping the politician tugged a familiar dark-haired beauty off a nearby bench and then started quickly for the exit.
That dark-haired beauty, he’d never forget, not even if he wanted to. She really was stunning with the sun shining down on her, even more so than she had been the night before. She appeared distressed, however, and for the briefest of moments, Greg thought to follow the pair and see if they were all right, but they quickly climbed into a coach bearing the Prestwick crest and were gone a moment later. So he turned his attention back toward Tattersalls in Hyde Park Corner.
A number of fellows already filled the yard and Greg hoped he hadn’t missed a piece of horseflesh he might actually be interested in, but before he could reach his destination, he heard someone call out his name, “Greg Avery!”
Greg stopped in his tracks and glanced over his shoulder and a genuine smile did settle across his lips. Good God, it had been a lifetime since he’d seen his old friend, the Earl of Thurlstone. “Simon Masters!” he replied as he spun on his heel to greet the man.
Simon, with some fellow Greg had never seen before, strode across the park until they’d reached him. “Has the world come to an end?” his old friend teased as he reached his hand out to Greg. “When did you get to Town?”
“A few weeks ago,” Greg replied. Then he nodded in greeting toward the stranger who’d followed Simon’s lead across the park.
“A few weeks ago?” his friend echoed, incredulously. “And you didn’t think to seek me out before now? I am wounded.”
Simon had always been prone to exaggerations. The man wasn’t wounded in the least, but he had become quite the lothario in the years since they’d been in school together. “Just assumed you were busy debauching virgins when you weren’t making sacrifices to the Gods,” he said, remembering a particular school prank that nearly had Simon thrown out of Eton in their third year.
His old friend shook his head. “One pagan ritual, and you never let me forget it.” Then he gestured to the fellow at his side. “Lord Avery, Mr. John Heaton of Boston,” he introduced the two of them.
“My lord,” Heaton said, his American accent unmistakable. How very unusual in the middle of Hyde Park, Americans being so rare on this side of the Atlantic.
“Pleasure,” Greg muttered in greeting.
“Where are you headed?” Simon asked.