“You will refrain, Charlotte, from sharing your unwelcome opinions with me. Indeed, the matter is already settled. Emerson is open to wedding Odessa.”
“But Papa.” Odessa’s fingers twisted together, trying to swallow back her panic. “His brother has only been gone for a few weeks. And—what if Lord Emerson and I don’t suit? You promised—” She hesitated, afraid to show her hand lest Papa become suspicious. “The new Lord Emerson can’t possibly wish to court me so soon after his brother’s demise.” This wasterriblenews, but not insurmountable.
Papa shrugged. “As I said, Emerson doesn’t share your concerns, and matters necessitate he wed sooner rather than later. Just like his brother.” A dark sound came from Papa.
Amusement, Odessa realized. The blue of his eyes, usually so affectionate when they landed on her, now gleamed with cold satisfaction. “But—”
“You’ll get to know each other as I promised.” He tucked his finger beneath her chin. “Have the opportunity to find common ground. I know how important it is to you, Odessa. But I amassuredyou and Emerson will get on. I think him a perfect match for you.” Another guttural sound of amusement, as if Papa were laughing at a joke only he was privy to. “You’ll be Lady Emerson before you know it.”
Odessa looked away, afraid the anger coursing through her veins would show on her face. She had already decided to seek out the dashing cavalry officer, Captain Phillips, as soon as possible with the intent of inducing him to call upon her. Composed a speech to convince her father of his suitability because, though Phillips wasn’t titled himself, he was related to a marquess on his mother’s side.
“You’ll see, Odessa, that this is a good fit.”
“Yes, Papa.” She studied the toe of her slipper, already contemplating the steps that would need to be taken to rid herself of this new Emerson as quickly as possible.
“Lottie, you’ll welcome Lord Emerson and act as chaperone as you have the others. Unless you wish me to, so your tender sensibilities aren’t offended.”
“No,” her aunt said quickly. “I’m pleased to extend an invitation to Lord Emerson for tea.”
“Wonderful.” Papa stood, obviously finished now that he’d delivered his unwelcome news. “I have an appointment and won’t return until dinner. Have Cook make a cherry tart for dessert, Odessa. I know it’s your favorite.”
“Yes, Papa.” She didn’t dare look up from her slippers.
“Until then, Angus.” Aunt Lottie inclined her head. “I’ll send a note to Lord Emerson within the hour.”
Chapter Four
London was exactlythe way Jordan remembered, right down to the sneering look on Lady Longwood’s painfully sharp features. The hatred for Jordan and his siblings which had simmered for years now threatened to boil over with the death of Bentley.
She had the audacity to be seated in Jordan’s drawing room, sippinghistea, when the Sinclairs trudged into the house on Bruton Street, exhausted after the long journey from Dunnings.
Percival, Lady Longwood’s sniveling son and now Viscount Longwood, sat by her side, stomach protruding from his waistcoat. He barely looked up as Jordan entered, too engrossed in stuffing the pastries from Jordan’s kitchen into his mouth.
Lord Longwood didn’t feel the need to stand when Jordan’s sisters entered the room; apparently, the tart he held in one pudgy hand was more important than his manners.
Drew cast him a murderous look.
Bentley’s butler, a snobbish sort who introduced himself with great reluctance as Hart, took Jordan’s hat with a disdainful flip of his wrist, informing them all, in a snippy tone, that the household had been caught unawares with the news of Lord Emerson’s arrival. Rooms were still being prepared.
A blatant lie since Patchahoo had informed the staff on Bruton Street before he’d ever come to Dunnings.
Hart, as well as the remainder of Bentley’s staff, would soon be seeking other employment very soon. Jordan wasn’t about to tolerate such blatant insubordination, nor have a household full of servants whose loyalty was to Lady Longwood. If Bentley’s aunt thought banishment to Northumberland had cowed Jordan or the rest of the Sinclairs in any way, she was mistaken.
“Lady Longwood,” Jordan drawled with just the right amount of insolence. “What an unexpected pleasure to find youandLord Longwood in my drawing room.”
“I wanted to be the first to welcome you to London.” She bared her teeth at his tone.
“You shouldn’t have gone to such trouble. But possibly, Percival needed to be fed.” Jordan circled her chair.
“No trouble at all.” Her fingers, long and thin, rippled over the damask-covered arm of the chair, lips pursed in distaste. “You don’t look very different after so many years.”
Percival chomped away on a sandwich, crumbs dangling from his mustache, a sneer on his lips as he shot his mother a look. “Just like a pig farmer.”
“I’ve a pen that should fit you,” Jordan advised Percival, delighted when the fattened lord reddened.
“My lord, how lovely to see you.” Tamsin, clearly forgetting the half-dozen promises she’d made during the trip to London to behave in a manner befitting a lady, nudged Percival’s rounded form in passing. The plate he held, filled with tiny sandwiches, tilted and bits of cucumber spilled over his shoes.
Percival sniffed, glared at them all, and kicked a slice of cucumber across the rug.
