Deceiving the Viscount

Chapter 11C

Frederica handed over her bonnet and pelisse to the footman, weariness settling over her. "Please have some tea and biscuits sent to my room, Thomas." She told the footman as she massaged the back of her neck.

"Certainly, Mrs Brookfield. And her ladyship tasked me to inform you that Lord Healey and a Mr Arthur Shearing are both waiting in the library." That had her stopping in her tracks.

"They're here? How long have they been waiting?"

Thomas shifted on the spot. "I-I'm afraid I do not know, Mrs Brookfield."

"Why are they in the library and not the drawing room? Who put them there?

"Her ladyship. She had them escorted up after a quarter of an hour."

"And is she still with them?"

He shook his head. "She's left them alone for some time now. With instructions for us to provide them with whatever refreshments they might need."

Frederica nodded. "Have the tea tray sent to the library then. And some sandwiches. Maybe a pie. Do you know what the kitchen has brought them? Never mind. I will ask one of the upstairs maids."

What were they doing here? As she climbed up the stairs, she ground her teeth. She was worn out and in no mood to entertain a pair of surly males, recalling the narrow-eyed stare that Healey had given her when she'd put her foot down — she glanced at the long clock in the corner — over an hour ago. Had she spent that long with Julia at the Welles's house, comforting her and putting her to bed after her long exhausted cry?

She shook her head, sympathy and indignation for the girl chasing the heels of her fatigue. And now, she had to put on a smile and deal with these two imbeciles, one of whom had been the cause of Julia's heartbreak and the other adding to her fear.

And it was this mood that led the way as she opened the library door to reveal the men sitting at the chess table, hunched over the pieces, coats draped on the back of their chairs, looking as if they had no cares in the world beyond their game.

How dare they look so at ease when she'd just spent the better part of the hour with a broken-hearted girl?

Since they hadn't noticed her entrance, she shoved at the door. At the bang as it hit the wall, their heads jerked in tandem towards the sound and then they leapt to their feet as she swaggered in with a loud, "My lord, Mr Shearing! I see you have made yourselves comfortable. How fares the game?" While they quickly donned their coats, she wandered over to the table.

"Mrs Brookfield, we are glad to see you. Is Miss Marlowe-"

"Well?" Shearing pulled on his waistcoat. "Is she well?"

Frederica shifted her gaze between the two of them. Their anxiety and worry soothed her temper somewhat although she was still furious at their callous behaviour.

"She is." Their obvious relief stoked the fires within her so she was irate once again. "But!" They jumped at her raised voice.

"But?" Shearing ventured after the long pause. She was pleased to see that he was suitably subdued once again.

"But she is not fit for callers and would prefer not to speak to either of you."

"But how are we to apologise if she won't see us?"

Frederica cocked an eyebrow at Healey's words. "And what is the reason for begging for her forgiveness?" At the men's prolonged silence, she growled, "do not deliver an apology to a woman if you know not what you're apologising for."

Shearing straightened. "I know why I have to ask for her forgiveness."

"Truly?" At his nod, she said, "On with it then."