Miss Hastings' Excellent London Adventure (Brazen Brides Book 4)(4)

 

"Thank you. Though I have never met my uncle, he's invited me to come live with him in London. I've just arrived today from Upper Barrington, but Uncle failed to meet my coach."

 

So that explained why the lady was hauling that monstrosity. "Could you not have hired a hackney to carry you to Curzon Street?"

 

She shrugged. "I have very little money and very little idea of how much a hackney driver would demand for his services."

 

He stopped and whirled to her, his brows lowered. "This your first-ever time in London? Your first day . . . er, I mean night?"

 

"Yes."

 

"Do you not realize how dangerous it is for a young lady to walk about alone at night?"

 

"Oh yes. My Aunt Harriett has warned me about the madmen in London who prey on women. Since I left the coaching inn. I've raced along as quickly as I could. And I prayed the whole time that the Almighty would keep me safe."

 

He cast a glance at her. How truly virtuous she must be. "And stupid."

 

"Pardon? Are you saying I'm stupid?"

 

He'd thought it, but he hadn't meant to say it. "Forgive me. I'm sure you are not stupid, but it is highly unlikely the Almighty will descend into this metropolis to protect a young lady from Upper Barrister."

 

Her manner stiffened. "Barrington," she corrected. "Upper Barrington, and you, sir, must be a heathen."

 

He nodded. "Your Aunt Henrietta would be most appalled over my heathen ways."

 

"Harriett," she corrected.

 

He screwed up his (admittedly handsome) face and regarded her thoroughly. "Are you, by chance, a governess?"

 

"No. I am soon to be learning how to preside over the Ceylon Tea Company, which my uncle owns."

 

"I say, the fellow who lives next door to me is one of the owners the Ceylon Tea Company."

 

"Then you, sir, must live next door to my uncle, who resides at 302 Curzon Street."

 

"Daresay you're right."

 

They walked along in silence for a good while when he saw the huge lanterns that illuminated Nick's house. He mumbled a curse. "We've gone too bloody far." The fog and the distraction of the girl—not to mention his brandy-impaired state—had caused him to miss turning onto Halfmoon Street.

 

Ignoring him, she strode to the iron gates and seemed mesmerized by his brother's house. In addition to the abundant lanterns, the courtyard was lighted from rows of huge Palladian windows glowing from abundant candlelight. "I've never seen anything so magnificent! Is this where the Prince Regent lives?"

 

"No." Though it was said to be the finest house in London. "Me brother lives in that pile of opulentaciousness."

 

She whirled to him, eyes rounded. "Are you jesting?"

 

"About the house or my brother?"

 

"Both."

 

"Neither. Would you like to see the house?"

 

"Oh, I couldn't. Not the way I look at present." She continued to eye him suspiciously. Did she think he was lying about it being his brother's house? Finally, she spoke. "Opulentaciousness is not a word. I declare, sir, have you been imbibing strong spirits?"

 

"I can undersplain. I'm attempting to drown a broken heart."

 

Her head cocked, she looked up at him and asked, "Did you succeed?"

 

He shook his head ruefully. "Still remember the vixen's name."

 

"I see. You meant to drink until you could no longer recall her name?"

 

"'Twas my intent."

 

"And what is the vixen's name?"

 

"Maria."

 

After a moment of contemplation, she said, "So, do we turn back?"

 

"Indeed we do."

 

"So . . . that brother who owns that magnificent house . . . I suppose he's the firstborn."

 

"He is."

 

She sighed. "I suppose you wish you were the firstborn to have all the advantages that go with it."

 

No sense explaining that since they were not nobility, their father had divided his estate equally among his three sons while providing a hefty dowry for his daughter as well as an exceedingly comfortable income for his widow. "The only time I wished to be the eldest was when Nick was bigger than me so I could best him in one of our frequent fights."

 

"Do you get along now?"

 

"Brilliantly." Except tonight.

 

They walked in silence for several minutes. She likely believed him a drunkard atheist.

 

When they reached Curzon Street, she seemed impressed. "These houses are very grand."

 

"Daresay they're taller than what you see in Upper Barriston."