3
Letty was as nervous as a cat during a thunderstorm. Every time a carriage rolled past the townhouse, she flew to the window, expecting to see Lord Morrey heading up the steps toward her door.
“Letty,” Gillian laughed. “Do try to sit down.”
“But it’s nearly ten o’clock,” Letty said. “Half the morning is gone, and he did say he would call in the morning, did he not?”
Gillian rolled her eyes. She sat on a settee, reading a book with one hand and holding her baby, Gabriel, in the crook of her other arm. Like his parents, their baby was utterly perfect and completely well behaved. He slept on, unaware of the two women talking.
“He has to procure the special license first. Give the poor man a bit more time.”
“Time, yes,” Letty murmured, still peeping out the curtains. A coach with the M
