Authors: Margaret Evans Porter
Tags: #bestselling author, #England, #regency romance, #regency historical, #Devonishre, #award winning author, #historical novella, #margaret evans porter, #short fiction, #novella
“Send for that attorney,” she pleaded. “He left his card.” She snatched it up from the table where Mr. Webb had placed it.
Said the earl, “You must go yourself and explain what’s happened. An astute fellow—I daresay he’ll settle this business so swiftly that I won’t even miss my dinner.”
“I say, Cashin, you’re a cool one,” Ned commented. “Been through this before, have you?”
Lavinia’s father failed to dignify the question with a response. Calmly he handed the cat over to her and accompanied the officers out of the room. She followed them down the corridor to the front door, and watched forlornly as he was bundled into a hackney coach and driven away.
He’ll be back soon, she reassured herself. And she’d make certain a good meal was ready and waiting for him.
She was halfway down the service stairs when she heard Polly whine, “I ne’er
b’lieved he was an earl, not me. I’ve heard as how aristocratic gents is always after their maids, and he never paid me no mind ’cept to say, ‘G’day, Polly’ or ‘You may take away the bottle now.’ As for the daughter—”
“Hush,” hissed the cook. “She’s comin’.”
Lavinia squared her shoulders and stepped into the kitchen, bravely meeting her servants’ curious stares. “I must leave the house for a little while, and I’m not certain exactly when I or my father will be back. We shall dine later than usual tonight.”
the cook replied with sarcastic emphasis. “But we been thinkin’, Polly an’ me, that we ort to give our notice. Things bein’ so uncertain ’cause of them bailiffs comin’ round.”
“They came in error,” Lavinia insisted, concealing her apprehension.
Pausing on the stair, she consulted the attorney’s card. His first name was Daniel, and he kept chambers in Stanhope Street. Brisk and businesslike, just the man her father needed to champion his cause.
On her way to the door she peered into the parlor for a remorseful glance at the cloud of creamy lace and silk billowing from the dress box—costly materials purchased from Mr. Onslow’s warehouse. The splendid ballgown no longer figured in her dreams of glory—now it stirred resentment and shame. If not for her extravagance, she wouldn’t be so alone and unprotected in this vast and dangerous city.
The Islanders Series
Kissing a Stranger
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