The Lady Next Door by Laura Matthews Page B

friends you asked to escort her home.”
    "I did.”
    Sir Reginald’s eyes bulged. “I wash my hands of you. Have you no regard. for your dignity?”
    “Obviously not, or I wouldn’t be standing here listening to your spiteful drivel, my dear fellow.”
    “You’re just annoyed because Challenger took the shine out of your mushroom. That’s what it means, doesn’t it? Champignon?”
    “Yes,” the earl replied with a quiet chuckle. “Your accent is deplorable.”
    “Bah!” Sir Reginald started to mince away to a group of friends. “One must mimic French fashions, but I can see no reason to exert oneself to learn the language. Of course, your mother is French, so it comes naturally to you.”
    Lord Latteridge shook his head mournfully and turned to console his jockey. “Don’t blame yourself, Timothy. It was an unfortunate accident. Champignon is a bit skittish yet, but he’ll settle down.”
    “I don’t believe ‘twere an accident, my lord,” the little fellow grumbled, scratching his head. ‘Twere one of Sir Reginald’s friends lost his handkerchief.”
    "Don't tell anyone else, if you please. Nothing would be achieved by such a rumor.” The earl smiled at his disconsolate rider. “We’ll just bear it in mind for the future.”
    On the ride back from the race course, Latteridge was silent, and William chose not to interrupt his thoughts, which apparently were perplexing, as the dark brows were lowered over narrowed eyes. Eventually the earl shrugged and turned to him. “I finally met Miss Findlay yesterday, William.”
    “Did you, sir?”
    “Yes, she was helping to fish some drowning sailors out of the river. With Dr. Thorne. Do you know him?”
    “We’ve met, but for the most part I’ve only heard of him. A very respected doctor in town, though he’s young and hasn’t been here all that long.”
    “Apparently he’s quite devoted to his work. Is he married?”
    “No, a bachelor.” William unobtrusively studied his employer. “Are you not feeling well?”
    “Me? No, no, I’m fine. We have no family doctor in town since Bradshawe died. Prudence dictates that we have someone to call in an emergency. You think Dr. Thorne would be a wise choice?”
    “From everything I’ve heard. He seems to have pulled Miss Effington out of a very dangerous illness.”
    “Miss Effington?”
    “Miss Findlay’s aunt.”
    “Yes, of course. I’d forgotten her name. William, it is going to be deuced difficult to get to know that woman.”
    With a straight face, William asked, “Who, my lord? Miss Effington? She’s fifty if she’s a day, and she has a ferocious tongue. Are you sure you want to know her?”
    “And this is the man I offered to help,” Latteridge repined. “Base ingratitude. When I think of the years I have harbored a serpent in my bosom . . ."
    “Don’t tell me you are asking my help,” William laughed. “When I think of the Misses Haxby, Condicote, Winscombe, and Horton, not to mention Mrs. Tremaine, hanging on every word from your lips . . ."
    “You forget that Miss Findlay does not hold my family in esteem. I have learned from Harry that it has to do with Mother.” He exchanged a significant look with his secretary and proceeded. “But that is not the major difficulty. At least, I trust it isn’t. Sir Reginald sees every male who enters Miss Findlay’s house as—shall I be blunt?—a potential patron of her favors. He has already suggested her tenants and my brother, and, though I could perhaps silence his ramblings, I feel it would hardly be fair to her to give him new pickings for his feverish brain, when I would simply welcome the opportunity to further our acquaintance.”
    “Did Miss Findlay give any indication that she would appreciate seeing you again?” William asked curiously.
    “None, but she showed no animosity.”
    “What would you have me do?”
    “If you would call on her this afternoon with my compliments and inquire as to her well-being after