Chapter Three

Lady Davina Hasket’s Guide to Courtship and Reciprocal Havoc

Gunter’s Tea Shop, London—August 3, 1815

Davina

Another giggle erupted from the table in the corner. I wanted to beg the girl to have even a speck of pride. The man across the table from her could not possibly be that humorous. There was nothing at all funny about the back of his head. Dark, messy, coffee-colored curls brushed the top of his collar when he tipped his head to meet his spoon. He seemed perfectly respectable and uninteresting. 

She was far too lovely to be trying this hard. Dark-blonde ringlets framed her face, brushing her clear, flushed cheeks. Thick charcoal lashes fluttered over crystal-blue eyes. And her rose lips pursed prettily around her own spoon.

The girl moaned around her bite in a way that was surely meant to entice. It was a shame a lady so beautiful had to resort to such ridiculous tactics to find a husband. Even her companion, who sat embroidering beside her, blushed at her bold invitation. 

The sky-blue dress she wore, though fashionable, marked her as one step below gentry. It was the fabric that gave her away. Perhaps she was a merchant or tradesman’s daughter.

The man’s coat wasn’t anything to be impressed with either. It had seen two, perhaps three seasons, but was wearing well. He may be frugal, or he may be a well-to-do tradesman himself. A prince would hardly be worth the effort she was putting forth. 

He dipped his spoon again, drawing my attention back to my own ice on the table in front of me. The elderflower-and-rosemary concoction was melting quickly. That was a shame, it was rather tasty. A quick bite confirmed that, while not quite as delectable in soup form, it was still palatable. 

A shadow fell over my bowl and then cleared its throat. Merely to be contrary, I took another bite—sip?—of my ice before glancing up. 

I raised a curious brow at the gentleman before me, refusing to reward his faux pas. Too tall and too thin, with too pointy a chin and too small eyes, I recognized Lord Montfort. He’d forced Xander’s hand for an introduction a few months back. Judging from the eager tilt to his head, he’d thought the meeting more impressive than I had. 

“Lady Davina! It’s such a pleasure to cross your path once again.” Lord Montfort angled himself closer to the empty chair across from me, one hand on the back of it. 

“I’m certain it is.”

He blinked obtusely for a moment before forging ahead with barely any hesitation. “Lord Montfort,” he said, gesturing to his person as if the statement of his name would confuse on its own. “Your brother facilitated an introduction between us at the Genovise ball a few weeks ago.”

I considered for a moment which course would be more likely to send him on his way before settling on a disinterested hum. 

“Is His Grace here somewhere?”

“Yes,” I lied, smoothly, confidently. Acknowledging that I was here alone, without a chaperone, would certainly encourage some pathetic attempt at chivalry and no small amount of gossip. If I wanted a repeat visit—and I absolutely did—it wouldn’t do to cause a scene. 

“I suppose I should take his place. Just until he returns. I wouldn’t want anyone unsavory to bother you while you wait.” 

“That’s really not—” He pulled the chair out and plopped down on it, entirely unaware of the irony. “Necessary,” I finished just as he set his hat atop the table, making himself comfortable. 

“Oh, no. I insist.”

I sighed, returning my attention to my—now completely melted—ice with a sigh. How was I going to rid myself of this man? 

“You know, I called on you several times. But it seems you were out every time,” he said, raising his hand to signal someone to attend to him. They nodded in acknowledgment before continuing with their current patron. 

“I have many engagements.”

“I left cards. I assume that butler of yours never gave them to you.”

“No, he did.”

He shifted in his seat. Agitated. “Well then, you are very busy indeed.”

“Dav?” A graveled baritone voice interjected. 

My gaze found warm umber eyes with a beseeching crinkle in the corner of them. I felt mine widen in shock before schooling them. 

Mr. Summers had placed himself between Montfort and me. He left his back to the gentleman, and it was clear from the set of his shoulders and the way his hand reached out to rest long fingers on the walnut table, cutting the gentleman off completely, that it was intentional.

He continued, “Xander said the carriage has cracked a rim. When you’re finished, we’ll walk back together and he’ll meet us there when it’s repaired.” 

Lord Montfort, clearly unhappy with this development, tugged on Mr. Summers’ arm. “Excuse me!”

Mr. Summers, seemingly disinterested, turned lazily. “Can I help you?”

“Who are you to approach a lady with such familiarity?” he demanded. 

“Her cousin, Lord Leighton. And who are you?” 

The spoon slipped from my hand, clanging on the bowl, but neither man paid it any notice. The crux of Mr. Summers’ rudimentary plan was clear now, but the probability of its efficacy… that was yet to be seen. 

The other man shot from his seat, the chair dragging against the floor with a clatter. Every eye that wasn’t already on our table suddenly found it unbearably interesting. 

Lord Montfort was taller than Mr. Summers by several inches. But paired against the twig-thin gentleman, the solicitor’s frame was more muscular than I would have credited to him without the juxtaposition. That he had to tip his head back to meet the lord’s gaze didn’t seem to give him pause. Instead, Mr. Summers leveled the man a glare that rivaled the one he had given Mr. Decker that day in the shop. It was something fierce, fire in his eyes but ice in his carriage. 

My interloper hesitated only a moment, glancing in my direction before replying, “Lord Montfort. I have an understanding with His Grace.” 

My lungs reflexively pulled in a great gulp. Xander would never…

“He’s never mentioned it to me. If you wish to speak to Lady Davina, you’ll have to call at an appropriate time. Whatever is happening here is highly irregular.”

The employee finally made his way over and stepped hesitantly between the two men. “Gentlemen, is everything well?”

“Perfectly fine,” Mr. Summers replied. “Lord Montfort was just leaving.”

Faced with the attention of every Gunter’s patron and a connection he couldn’t deny with certainty, Lord Montfort stepped back. He snatched his hat from the table before yanking it on and spinning round on the door without so much as a look in my direction. 

Mr. Summers stood statue still for a long moment after the other man fled before taking his vacant seat with a sheepish tilt to his full lips. 

The employee was the first to vanish, slipping off to some back room with a vague mumble. One by one, patrons turned their attention back to their ices. All but one, the lovely lady in the corner, now without her suitor.

“I… I apologize most profusely for the impertinence, Lady Davina. I just… It seemed as though his attentions were unwanted.”

“Not ‘Dav’?” I asked, tipping him half a grin as my vertebra released one after another. 

“I shouldn’t have— I’m sorry.”

“It’s quite all right. His attentions were unwanted.”

“Where is His Grace?”

“Westminster, perhaps.”

“Lady Rycliffe, then?” he asked, frustration rasping his tone. Unlike Lord Montfort, Mr. Summers’ irritation was amusing.

“Probably still abed.”

“You’re here without a chaperone. His Grace allowed that?”

“He never strictly forbade it,” I hedged. 

“What happened to Mary? I distinctly remember His Grace insisting that she wasn’t to let you out of her sight, ever, when he hired her.”

“Visiting a sick cousin in Kent.”

A sigh rocked his frame. “Finish your ice, I’ll walk you home,” he said, surly in tone and expression. Somber eyes flicked up and down my person, not leering, more searching. 

I took a sip. It was elderflower juice now, sickly sweet and slightly nauseating. Another spoonful followed. I would not admit defeat. 

“Lord Leighton?” I asked.

“My uncle. He rarely leaves his estate. It seemed likely the little lord hadn’t met him.”

With a half-hearted nod, I dipped my spoon in the remnants of my ice and dragged it through the pale-yellow liquid. I had a vague recollection that Lady Grayson was the granddaughter of an earl. Obviously her brother would be the grandson of one. That I hadn’t made the connection was thick-witted. 

Sharp blue eyes found mine over his shoulder. The lady I had been contemplating glared as though she could set me aflame with a look. My gaze flicked back to Mr. Summers. He had been the one to inspire all the giggles? The moan? The fluttered lashes? Perpetually displeased Mr. Summers?

On the face of it, it was a good match. He was intelligent, seemingly well regarded in his profession, and handsome enough in the right light. Though he wasn’t the most jovial fellow, if a girl had to marry, she could probably do worse. 

“Your suitress is displeased,” I said.

“My wha— Damn!” As soon as the curse left his lips, his hand smacked his mouth in an ill-conceived attempt to catch the word and trap it in his throat. 

A beat, two, and then a laugh burst from my chest. His wide eyes and worried brows, so serious, broke through the last of my discomfort from Lord Montfort’s imposition.

“Lady Davina, I apologize most profusely.”

“Do not,” I replied between chuckles. “No one has cursed in front of me since Gabriel—the first time I beat him at hazard. And he certainly never flushed like that when he did it.”

“Still, that was most improper and I understand if you’d like me to find someone else to escort you home. And if you’d like to report me to your brother.”

“Report what? That you made me laugh? I’m certain he will be furious.”

“But…”

“Do you wish to lose Xander’s accounts?

“No!”

An idea flicked into my head. “What if I didn’t report your improper, corrupting curses to my brother and, in exchange, you chose not to report my visit here?”

“Lady Davina, for your own safety, I must—”

“Must what? I am perfectly fine, as you can see. And you plan to escort me home to ensure that no harm comes to me. So what, precisely, is there to report? After all, I spent a lovely afternoon eating an ice, chaperoned by my respectable cousin. It was an afternoon in which no one made use of my Christian name without permission, was overly familiar, or cursed in front of me.”

He stared at me for a moment, blinking slowly. “You would make a formidable barrister.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Oh, it is.”

I bit back a smile, then took another sip of melted ice. The discomfiting sensation of being the recipient of a glare reminded me of the girl in the corner. “You’ve forgotten your friend again.”

His lips opened on another curse, but he remembered himself before it escaped. “Do not move. I’ll be right back.”

Though I could not hear their conversation, irritation slid over the lady like a veil. Her companion joined in angry pointing before both women swished from the shop in a flurry of skirts and fans. 

Mr. Summers dragged a flustered hand through his curls before he tossed a few coins onto the table and returned to my side. He added a few more to my table.

“Are you finished with your juice?”

I was a contrarian by nature. It was on the tip of my tongue to insist that, no, I was not finished and I would not be rushed. But whether it was the dejected tilt of his shoulders and downturned lips or the prospect of finishing my bowl of sickly soup that was more unappetizing, I decided to give him a reprieve. 

“Yes.” I stood and slid my hand into the crook of his elbow, allowing him to lead me from the shop and into the sunlight. “So what does it require to become a barrister?”

“Oh, no. I’m not telling you that. With my luck, you’ll do it,” he retorted, frown just a little less deep when he finished the sentence. 

I felt a smile building and caught my lip to keep it at bay. He’d have to work harder than that to win one. Mr. Summers would understand. His smiles had to be earned too.