“It is,” she reassured him.
A gentle knock preceded the butler’s entrance. His head was bowed apologetically.
“What ho, Wardle? Topping dinner, by the by,” Arthur said with a lazy grin. “Pass my compliments on to cook.”
“My lord,” the butler said, offering the young viscount a perfunctory bow. Then he turned his complete attention to Cressida. “My lady, there is a bit of a to-do down in the kitchens at the moment.”
Cressida sat up, her eyebrows raised.
Wardle glanced sidelong at Arthur, then cleared his throat.
“A gentleman visitor. A… rough sort, if you will, my lady. He was rather insistent.”
“Then I hope you sent him off with a flea in his ear,” Arthur said harshly.
“That I did, my lord.”
“Well then, that’s that, isn’t it?”
The stern butler looked from Arthur back to Cressida, hesitant.
“Go ahead, Wardle. You may speak frankly. It is, after all, Lord Caplin’s house,” Cressida said.
Wardle cleared his throat, then explained flatly, “The man was desirous of an audience with you, my lady.”
“What?” Arthur exclaimed, sitting up in his seat. “My mother? I should bloody well think not.”
“He claimed to know Dr. Collier, my lady,” Wardle added, choosing not to respond to Arthur’s outburst.
“What?” Cressida breathed.
“Dr. Collier?” Arthur repeated. “You mean Henry’s tutor?”
Cressida’s thoughts were all at sixes and sevens, her deepest fears and worries unleashed, wreaking havoc not only on her mind, but on her heart. Somehow she managed to gather herself, even as she was panicking on the inside.
“Wardle, did he mention the doctor by name?”
“That he did, my lady.”
“I see.”
“Why, you ought’ve sent someone to fetch me. I’d’ve surely given the tosser something to think on,” Arthur said, his countenance murderous.
“Darling, there’s no need to be crude,” Cressida said mildly, even as her whole body shook, as if she had a fever. She looked back to Wardle, her voice as placid as she could manage. “And did this man say anything else?”
“No, my lady. One of the footmen, Robert, sent him off.”
“Very well. Thank you, Wardle.”
When the butler had bowed and left them alone, Arthur stood up, furious.
“Mama—”
“No, thank you, darling.” She held up a hand as she spoke. “I’ve no wish to discuss this further; I can see it will only upset you.”
“But this is not to be borne! Strange men calling late in the evening, demanding admittance to Rowbotham House, demanding an… an… audience with you! Hell, you act so calm, but you’re my mother, I can see that you’re unsettled!”
Cressida closed her eyes, willing her heart to slow, wishing dearly that her son were not here to witness what was likely the first crack in her perfectly constructed existence. Yes, she had once been offered up to a horrid, middle-aged viscount in the name of a well-wrought “match,” but her life had truly begun upon his death.
