Between a Rake and a Hard Place Read Free

Osbournes were notorious for small but hearty families. Few children were born to them, but those who were tended to live to maturity and a ripe old age. At eighty-two, Serena’s Grand-mère Osbourne could still cut a respectable reel, but even she had been an only child. “I have no brother,” Serena said.
    â€œThen you have a doppelganger, my friend. That fellow yonder has a wispy attempt at a mustache, but otherwise, your twin just walked in the door.”
    Serena twisted to peek around the tall wing of her chair. Drat! It was Rowland. He wasn’t supposed to be in Town until the Season started. She shrank back into the chair, wishing she could seep into the tufted cushions.
    â€œLooks like the doorkeeper is reluctant about admitting him,” Sir Jonah said calmly. “As he should be. One Osbourne at a time is enough for any establishment. Well, my lady, how would you like to play this?”
    â€œMy lady? I’m not—”
    â€œSpare me your denials. You haven’t time. If you wish to quit this place without being found out, follow me.” He rose and began walking toward the door to the kitchen where servants were coming and going, bearing trays heaped with steaming caffeinated bliss and small glass bowls of the club’s famous Orange Fool.
    If she were apprehended in Boodles and exposed as herself, she could kiss any chance of a royal betrothal good-bye.
    Serena scrambled to her feet and broke into a trot after Sir Jonah Sharp.

Two
    A person unknown was seen fleeing the premises of Boodles this afternoon after impersonating a member of the club in order to gain admittance. Mr. Rowland Osbourne, whose identity was nefariously assumed, is offering a reward of five pounds for information that leads to the miscreant’s apprehension. The management of Boodles also wishes to press civil charges against the culprit over the matter of upturning a vat of cream during a daring escape through the kitchen. Sadly, Boodles’ Orange Fool, the club’s signature dessert, has been scrubbed from the menu until the impostor is found as an incentive for parties with knowledge of the perpetrator’s identity to step forward.
    From Le Dernier Mot,
    The Final Word on News That Everyone
Who Is Anyone Should Know
    â€œHonestly, my lady, how did you ever manage to get so much cream in your hair?” Amelia Braithwaite asked as she emptied yet another pitcher of tepid water over Serena’s head.
    â€œPlease don’t scold, Amelia.” Serena ran her palms over her wet hair, satisfied by the squeak of cleanliness. When Amelia held out an oversized towel of soft Turkish cotton, she rose from the hip bath and allowed her governess-turned-companion to wrap the cloth around her. “I’ve had a trying enough day as it is.”
    â€œIt’ll be far more trying if your father’s coach comes to collect us and finds you unable to return home because you are indisposed by virtue of too much Orange Fool.”
    Serena rolled her eyes. Their plan had been perfect. The little white lie used to cover Serena’s clandestine adventure was that she was taking tea with Amelia Braithwaite’s ailing aunt. Fortunately, Aunt Cleo was the picture of health, lived within walking distance of Boodles, and was the proud possessor of a deep copper tub. The old lady was also delighted to live vicariously through Serena’s exploits.
    â€œThe girl’s right, Amelia. No harm done,” Cleo Braithwaite said. Serena’s pale pink column dress and matching pelisse had been laid out on the bed to keep them from wrinkling. Cleo smoothed out the muslin walking gown with her deeply veined hands. “When I think on the scrapes my young charges got into back in my day—trust me, things might have been very much worse. Suppose Lady Serena hadn’t been able to escape, for example.”
    Still draped with the towel, Serena disappeared behind the dressing screen and dried