He removed his spectacles, making a show of inspecting the lenses for smudges.
“To what do I owe the pleasure, my lady?”
There, he’d done it. He’d mustered all his self-control to present himself as the dignified, rational man he recognized. His heartbeat began to slow.
She hummed slightly, turning about. “You won’t like it, I fear.”
His heart kicked up again.
“Ought I not be the judge of that?”
“No, I am certain you wouldn’t,” she mused, wrinkling her nose as she paused before the eagle-owl. “For it would require the patience of a saint, amounts of which no man possesses.”
Matthew settled his spectacles back on his face and watched as she drifted back toward the chair he’d previously offered and seated herself. After a moment, he followed to his own chair across the desk, ignoring the lower drawer therein. He felt as if it were calling to him, begging to be opened, its lurid contents devoured.
“I’m a patient man,” he said, thinking of Harriet as a maid of sixteen, her face freshly scrubbed, and as a woman of thirty-six, joyful in her wedding finery.
How different Harriet was from Lady Caplin. Mild and sweet. Uncomplicated. But the woman before him now was anything but mild, from the deep brown of her eyes and rich chestnut of her thick hair to the fullness of her voice and strength of her gaze. The very one she pinned him with just now.
“Are you fond of children, Doctor?”
“Very much so.”
“Is that right? A wonder you never married, then.”
Matthew ignored her observation. He’d begun to suspect she purposefully teased him in that regard, and he would not have it. No matter how nice the words sounded coming from her lips.
“I was recently required to remove Henry, my younger son, from Harrow.” She looked back to the large display case of birds as she spoke.
“Expelled?”
“No.” She looked back to him, her expression and tone flat. “Removed, Dr. Collier. And I shan’t send him back next term, not after the shabby treatment he has received there.”
“Of course.” Matthew frowned, trying to figure out how this concerned him. “Might I inquire as to why you—”
She waved a hand, dismissing his question before he finished.
“It’s not important. But what does matter is that he’s an absolute travesty at cards, which I won’t have. Not with him amongst the tearaways at these schools. Why, you know how school goes. So much mischief. So much gambling. I fear Henry will be grossly taken advantage of. A mark, if you will. He must be able to move within society without fear of sniggers behind his back because he’s dismal at leisurely pursuits.” She drew a breath, steeling herself. “I will not have my son’s living eroded by gaming losses. Why, a few hundred pounds here, a few hundred there… it will add up. And when I am gone, he will have to go to his elder brother, Viscount Caplin, hat in hand. How could either endure such a threat to brotherly affection?”
Matthew nodded, though he hadn’t the foggiest idea of what brotherly relationships were like. He’d been alone all of his youth. Nor did he know how it went at those prestigious schools. Yes, Aunt Albertine had insisted he be packed off to grammar school, but the student body of St. Paul’s grew up to join the Transom Club, not the Athenaeum.
“But you, Dr. Collier,” she said, lowering her lashes, staring very intently at him. “You’re adept at gaming, are you not?”
“My lady, I…”
Oh, blast it. Far too late did he realize where this was headed.
“Please, spare me the false humility. Bosh. I’ve seen you play with my own eyes, and I’ve heard many tales of your… prowess.”
Matthew leaned forward, worried. “From what quarter?”
Since his last experience in the spieler, with Charles Sharples and his toughs threatening him before the Met burst in, Matthew had harbored a measure of paranoia. He hadn’t been careful enough that night. Better to forget this wild streak within him, to move beyond it.
Lady Caplin looked puzzled. “Why, from Sir Colin Gearing, of course. And Mrs. Rickard was more than willing to gossip, if you must know.”
He blew out a sigh, reaching up to run a hand through his hair, but he remembered himself and stopped.
“I beg your pardon, my lady, but I don’t think that is a good idea. Cards are… merely a pastime for me, something I muck about with in my spare time. In all honesty, I’ve neglected my other pursuits—my reading, learning…”
