One
Make a plan, be sure of it, and do not deviate.
There are certain things a woman knows. She knows what the weather will be based on how easily her hair settles into the pins. She knows when the cook has quarreled with the butler by the taste of the morning eggs. And she knows when a man will completely upset her day.
And right now, that man was walking up her front drive as easy as if he expected to be welcomed.
Melinda Smithson bolted out of her bedroom where she’d been fighting with her curls—again—and rushed downstairs. “I’m just going for a quick walk!” she said much too brightly to their butler as she made it to the front door. Rowe hadn’t even the time to reach for her gloves when she snatched her gardening bonnet off the table and headed outside. She had to get to the odious man before he rounded the rock and came into view from her father’s laboratory. If her papa saw him, she would be done for. So she ran as fast as her legs could carry her.
She rounded the bend at the same moment he arrived at the rock. One step more, and she was doomed.
“Oh no, Mr. Anaedsley. Not today. You cannot come here today.” She said the words breathlessly, but she punctuated with a severe tug on her bonnet. So hard, in fact, that three pins dug painfully into her scalp.
Mr. Anaedsley had been whistling, but now he drew up short. “You’ve punched your thumb through your bonnet.” He spoke with a charming smile that made her grind her teeth in frustration. Everything about the man was charming, from his reddish-brown hair to the freckles that dotted his cheeks to the rich green of his eyes. An annoyance dressed as a prince of the realm, for all that he had no courtesy title. He was the son and heir of the Duke of Timby, and she hated him with a passion that bordered on insanity.
Unfortunately, he was right. She’d punched her thumb clean through the straw brim of her bonnet.
“Yes, I have,” she said as she stepped directly in front of him. He would not pass around the rock. He simply wouldn’t. “And that is one more crime I lay at your feet.”
“A crime?” he replied. “To poke a hole in that ugly thing? Really, Miss Smithson, I call it more a mercy. The sun should not shine on something that hideous.”
It was hideous, which was why it was her gardening bonnet. “The sun is not supposed to shine on my face either, so it is this ugly thing or stay inside.”
“Come now, Miss Smithson,” he said as he held out his arm to escort her. “I am well aware that you have dozens of fetching bonnets—”
“But this was the one at hand.” She ignored his arm and stared intimidatingly at him. Or at least she tried to. But he was a good six inches taller than her. Average for a man, but for her he was quite the perfect height. Not too tall as to dwarf her, but large enough to be handsome in his coat of bottle-green superfine. It brought out his eyes, which were made all the more stunning by the sunlight that shone full on his face.
“Shall we amble up your beautiful drive and fetch you a pretty bonnet?”
“No, Mr. Anaedsley, we shall not. Because you shall not come to the house today. Any other day, you will be very welcome. But not today.”
His brows drew together in worry. “Is your father ill? Is there something amiss? Tell me, Miss Smithson. What can I do to help?”
It was the right thing to say. Of course it was because healwaysknew the right thing to say. Her father’s health was precarious these days, a cough plaguing him despite all attempts to physic him. She might have ignored his words as simple politeness, but she saw genuine worry in his eyes. She couldn’t help but soften toward him.
“Papa is the same as before. It’s worst at night—”
“The gypsy tincture didn’t help then.” He took her arm and gently eased her hand into the crook of his elbow. Her fingers were placed there before she even realized it. “I’ll ask a doctor friend I know as soon as I return to London. He may—”
She dug in her feet, tugging backward on his arm. He raised a perfect eyebrow in query, but she flashed him a warm smile. “An excellent idea. You should go there right now. In fact, pray fetch the doctor here.”
His eyebrows rose in alarm. “I shall write down the man’s direction and a message. You can send a footman—”
“No, sir. You must go yourself. Right now. It is most urgent.”
He flashed her his dimple. Damn him for having such a very attractive dimple. “Now why do I get the feeling that you’re trying to rush me away?”
“Because the first thing I said to you was go away!”
He cocked his head, and his expression grew even more delightful. She would swear she saw a twinkle in his eyes. “Miss Smithson, I thought you were a scientist. The first thing you said to me was, ‘Oh no, Mr. Anaedsley, not today.’”
“Well, there you have it. Go away. We are not receiving callers.”
And then, just to make a liar of her, her uncle’s carriage trotted up the path. Four horses—matched chestnuts—stepping smartly as they pulled her uncle’s polished, gilded monstrosity. And inside waving cheerily was her cousin Ronnie. Half cousin, actually, and she waved halfheartedly at the wan fop.
“It appears, Miss Smithson, that we have been spotted. I’m afraid politeness requires that I make my bow.”
“No, we haven’t!” She’d used the distraction to pull them back from the rock. They were, in fact, completely shielded from all windows of the Smithson residence including the laboratory. “Ronnie doesn’t count. And he certainly doesn’t care if you greet him or not. The most powerful snub only seems to inspire him to greater heights of poetry.”