Lenora eyed the small, scrappy creature dubiously. For while it carried itself as regal as royalty, its stringy, flyaway fur was almost comical. Lenora might have laughed. If she wasn’t fearful of offending the tiny beast.
She very nearly snorted at that. Worried about offending a dog? Perhaps she had needed this trip to the Isle more than she’d realized.
“I suppose you wish to know all about Mr. Ashford,” Lady Tesh said.
“Very much so,” Margery replied, sitting forward, her face pulled into tense lines. “I was not aware he was planning on returning to England anytime soon.”
“Nor I, until he showed up on my doorstep. He doesn’t mean to stay, only came to pay some debt he feels he owes me.”
“Doesn’t mean to stay?” Margery demanded. “But he’s the heir now. He cannot leave.” She sent Lenora an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, Lenora.”
Lenora gave her a wan smile. She had only learned of the heir presumptive upon Hillram’s death, and the story of how his grandfather, the previous duke’s brother, had split from the family. It wasn’t often talked of, the remembrance bringing too much pain to those who had been affected by it.
“Oh, pish,” Lady Tesh scoffed. “You place entirely too much importance on status.”
Margery gave her grandmother a droll look. “This from a viscountess?”
“Yes, well.” She waved a hand in the air. “It was not my fault your grandfather fell hopelessly in love with me. He couldn’t help who he was.” It was said in an offhand manner. Yet Lenora could not miss the softened look in the woman’s eyes as they shifted to the large portrait of her late husband that graced the wall above the pink marble fireplace.
“It is not snobbish,” Margery said. “His Grace is not well, and when he passes, Mr. Ashford will be the head of that branch of the family.”
“Very true. Though I’m not sure he cares a fig for it. I thought to entice him to stay. However,” she said softly, giving Lenora a sober look, “perhaps it was for the best he refused. Lenora, dear,” she continued, sitting forward, “does it trouble you greatly that Mr. Ashford is on the Isle?”
“Of course not,” Lenora reassured her hastily, hoping the lie didn’t show. “Why should it trouble me? This is his rightful place, after all.”
That seemed to ease some of the worry that had taken hold of the other women. Soon the tea tray arrived and their conversation turned to happier matters. Yet as Lenora sipped absentmindedly at her lemonade, she found she could no longer relax. She had hoped to forgive herself on this trip, to move past that horrible betrayal that had affected everything since. Yet how could she when, instead of thinking of her dead fiancé, her mind was full of thoughts of a tall, burly Viking of a man, with eyes as blue as the stormy sea—the very man who had taken Hillram’s place?
***
Peter exploded into the hotel room. The door slammed back against the wall, the sound rattling the windows in their frames. “Damn stubborn woman,” he growled. Ripping his cravat loose, he flung it to the floor. The leather satchel of money quickly followed, landing with a jarring clang.
“Now why do I get the impression that your meeting did not go as planned?”
Yanking off his jacket, Peter glared at the man lounging in the open doorway. “Go away.”
Mr. Quincy Nesbitt chuckled and pushed away from the door, closing it before sauntering into the room. “If you didn’t want company, you should have shut your door. Then you could have stormed about and cussed to your heart’s content.”
Peter threw himself into a chair, busying himself with rolling up his cuffs. If he looked in his friend’s eyes and saw the humor that no doubt filled them, he would hit something. Namely Quincy. “I’m not good company. If you wish to keep your face pretty for the ladies, you will leave now.”
With an ease born of years of friendship, Quincy came close and sank into the chair opposite Peter’s. He crossed one booted foot over a knee and leaned back. “Oh, you don’t expect me to ignore this little bit of temper, do you? You’re so damned calm and controlled all of the time; this is a real treat.”
Quincy was right, of course, damn it. He truly had lost control, something he wished he could lay squarely on Lady Tesh’s narrow shoulders. Yet it was not just that woman and her manipulations that had Peter so furious. No, there was one other thing that had added to his frustration, that had pushed him over the edge of reason.
He had a quick flash of a pretty, heart-shaped face, hair gold and glinting in the fickle sun, pale green eyes with the longest lashes he’d ever seen.
He exhaled a tense breath and ran a hand over his face. The woman he’d nearly run over in front of Lady Tesh’s house had haunted him all the way back here, distracting him from the very real problem of how he would deal with the older woman’s sly reminder of his promise to his mother. But who was she? Her companion, the one with the mousy brown hair, had called him cousin. Was the blonde related to him as well?
He nearly growled. He’d done it again, allowed himself to be distracted by that sweet face. With incredible will, he pushed the image of her down and focused on the matter at hand. “Lady Tesh would not allow me to pay her back.”
Quincy’s unconcerned ennui faded away in an instant, making way for a sharp watchfulness. “What, not a bit of it?”
Peter shook his head, his nostrils flaring. He motioned to the leather pouch where it lay on the floorboards.
Eyes narrowed in thought, Quincy cocked his head and crossed his arms over his chest. “What now? Are we to get on with the rest of it then and sail back for Boston?”
“I would, and gladly.”
“Why do I sense a ‘but’ in your next sentence?”
