Page 24 of A Lady’s Guide to Mystery and Mischief

Heat crept over Farah’s cheeks. “Do you have a better idea?”

“Of course I do,” he said. “For one, we could—”

“If you mean to suggest we give up, then my answer is no.”

Grey let out a long, impatient exhale. “I’m sensing that any attempt to change your mind will do nothing but waste my time.”

“You do understand me.”

“I might,” he grumbled. Locking his fingers together, he bent, giving her leave to step onto his hands. “Count of three.”

Hiking her white skirts around her ankles, Farah waited for his signal before hopping up. As soon as she was able, she gripped the edge of the wall and scanned the expanse of the garden. Spotting her aunt’s henna-red hair in the crowd, Farah lifted one of her hands to wave wildly.

“Aunt Dalia!” she called.

Dalia’s face broke into a gleeful smile. “Farah! What are you doing over the garden wall?”

“Looking for you!” Farah called back, holding onto the edge of the wall for dear life. “Could someone let us in, please?”

Her aunt disappeared into Willow House without another word.

Farah looked over her shoulder at Grey, who did not appear to be exerting himself one bit. “My aunt will let us in! You can put me down now.”

Without warning, Farah’s perch disappeared from beneath her, and she fell straight down with a squeak. Not a second had passed before she felt Grey’s hands on either side of her waist as he gently placed her on the ground. Farah’s heart hammered in her chest, both at her sudden free fall, and at—

Well, never mind. Any woman would have been a bit flustered.

She attempted an air of nonchalance, even if she was certain her cheeks had gone from pink to crimson. “Shall we?”

Much to her annoyance, he seemed quite unaffected. “After you.”

By the time they’d reached the front of the house, Dalia was standing on the doorstep, smile still on her face. “What brings you to Willow House, habibti?”

“This is Mr. Grey Montgomery,” Farah said. “He’s Mr. Beaumont’s solicitor. Mr. Montgomery, this is my aunt, Mrs. Dalia Rafiq.”

Dalia eyed Grey before giving him a graceful nod. “A pleasure. Your Mr. Beaumont?”

“The very same,” Farah said, trying to ignore Grey’s barely suppressed snort. “I’m currently taking over secretarial duties at Hawkins & Montgomery.”

“Indeed?” Dalia led them into the parlor and settled down on a chaise, running a hand over the back of one of her myriad of cats. “I didn’t know you had such aspirations.”

“I don’t,” Farah chirped, dropping herself onto an overstuffed armchair. Grey sat in the chair next to hers, his awkwardness apparent. “I shan’t bore you with the details. We need to know where this came from.”

Digging through her reticule, she produced the invitation and handed it to her aunt. Dalia held it up to her nose for a tense moment.

“Mrs. Ramsbury, I believe,” she said, finally lowering the invitation from her face.

Farah shot a smug look in Grey’s direction. “Is she holding a ball?”

Dalia nodded. “She’s holding her annual Flower Ball, yes, but also a musicale. And a masquerade.”

“And she’s sent out invitations for each event already?” Grey asked, speaking for the first time.

“Indeed she has.” Dalia shrugged. “She’s due to begin her confinement soon and is desperate to squeeze as much fun as possible out of the season before doing so, medical advice be damned. The events are mere weeks apart.”

A sigh of relief escaped Farah’s lips. “That’s perfect!”

Dalia’s assessing eyes traveled between Farah and Grey. “Is it?”