just shut Perdita’s door behind him, the housekeeper having agreed to sit with her for a bit while he went down to report on her progress to the others, when a commotion at the front entrance drew his attention.
“Why wasn’t I informed of this at once?” the dowager demanded, on seeing him descend the staircase. “I am still the matriarch of this family even if my grandson and that wife of his wish to see me relegated to the dower house!”
He might have received these complaints with a sharper tone if he hadn’t seen how pale the dowager was beneath the powder she wore. “I apologize, Duchess,” he said, stepping forward to bow over the hand she extended to him. “I hadn’t any thought beyond seeing to it that Perdita was taken care of. Of course you were worried.”
Inclining her head in acknowledgment of the apology, the dowager said in a more conciliatory tone, “When Simmons informed me that she had been attacked in the park like a commoner, I do not mind telling you that I was taken aback. It is simply unheard of. What can the world be coming to when a duchess cannot even ride on the row without being accosted like the veriest fishwife, I ask you?”
“I agree that the situation is most unacceptable, Duchess,” Archer said, amused despite himself. He offered the old woman his arm. “Won’t you allow me to escort you to the drawing room? I believe Ormond and his lady are there.”
He had received word that they’d arrived while he was looking after Perdita.
She took his arm, even as she asked querulously, “What? Are they in town again? In my day ladies had the decency to remove themselves from the public gaze when expecting a happy event. But I daresay I shouldn’t expect anything else from my goddaughter for all that I know she was raised to know better.”
Archer forebore to mention that her own drawing room was hardly in the public gaze, but simply nodded and agreed with the old woman as they processed up the stairs and into the brightly lit drawing room.
“Godmama!” Isabella cried upon seeing the dowager in the doorway. “I hadn’t expected to see you here. I was planning to come pay a call on you tomorrow.”
As the duke, the duchess, and Lord and Lady Coniston greeted the dowager, Archer took a moment to cross to the sideboard and pour himself a brandy. If nothing else, the alcohol would settle his nerves, which were still on alert at the idea of just how close he’d come to losing Perdita.
When he turned back to the room at large it was to see that Ormond was watching him with something akin to sympathy. Which made sense since the other man knew full well what it was like to see the woman he loved in danger. For that matter so did Coniston.
“Since you are all here,” the dowager said abruptly, interrupting Georgina who was in the middle of asking after a shared acquaintance, “I want to know what you mean to do to ensure Perdita’s safety.”
To his surprise, Archer suddenly felt the eyes of the room upon him.
“I’m hardly in a position to dictate to Perdita on the matter of her safety,” he said, then drained his glass. “She is as stubborn as anyone I’ve ever met. And she’ll hardly listen to the likes of me.”
“Piffle,” the dowager said with disgust. “Don’t pretend we haven’t eyes in our heads, Lord Archer. I know well enough that my granddaughter trusts your opinion. Didn’t she listen to you on the matter of the butcher? If not for your counsel the household might still be patronizing that extortionist Hamilton. What can the man have been thinking to charge such a price for an inferior joint of beef, I ask you?”
Archer did not dare point out that the matter of a butcher who was overcharging the household was not the same as someone trying to cause Perdita bodily harm. It would do no good. Besides, he really did think Perdita was stubborn. That didn’t mean he would abandon the field, however.
“You’re right,” he said, watching with
Learning to Kill: Stories