Lucas listened to the story, which he had been assured would not give him nightmares, and admired the kite. He listened attentively to a lengthy, technical description of its intricacies given by Susan and the frequent interruptions by Timothy to correct her. He declined to return later to help paint the kite on the grounds that he might splash paint on his boots and his valet would scold him and might even quit his service. He accepted an invitation,however, to attend its maiden flight in Hyde Park on the first day there was enough wind to hold it aloft but not so much that it would be whipped out of their hands and blown away to kingdom come.
“I will send you a letter to tell you when, Uncle Luc,” Raymond promised.
“Why shouldyou?” Susan demanded to know. “Youdid not make the kite.”
“Thenyoucan write it,” her brother said, smiling falsely to display most of his teeth. “Everyone knows you get half your letters backward and could not write in a straight line if your life depended on it.”
“Perhaps,” Lucas suggested to his niece, “you will writeDear Uncle Lucat the top of the page andLove, Susanat the bottom, and Raymond will fill in the rest of the page with a formal invitation to come view the maiden flight of his brother and sister’s kite.”
“What about me?” Sylvester bleated, and picked up Susan and wrestled her to the floor in a heap of flailing arms and legs and giggles while Timothy warned them to mind the kite.
“You will think we are a family of barbarians, Luc,” Charlotte said, clucking her tongue. “Once upon a time I used to be perfectly sane.”
Actually, Lucas always found them rather delightful, though admittedly he only ever had to endure small doses of his niece and nephews.
He went with Sylvester to White’s Club, where he was greeted by a few men to whom he had been introduced at his aunt’s tea party yesterday, and one university friend he had not seen for a few years. Sylvester introduced him to a number of other members, and the two of them joined a group for luncheon. Lucas had been a member of the club since he turned twenty-one but had rarely been there.
His brother-in-law would have taken him to Jackson’s boxing saloon later to take out a membership, but Lucas had other plans for the afternoon and reluctantly declined. He must not be distracted from what he really ought to do today. He didnotlook forward to it one little bit, and of course there was every chance the ladies would not be at home anyway. But he must at least try. He would leave his card with the butler if nothing else.
He went home to change his clothes and sent word for his curricle to be brought to the door—he had brought it with him from the country, as well as his carriage. He stopped on the way to Grosvenor Square to buy a posy of flowers from a street vendor, and found himself wondering if the Dowager Countess of Stratton knew of that incident four years ago at the maypole dancing. Surely if she did, though, she would have given him the cut direct yesterday afternoon instead of greeting him with warmth and charm.
Had Lady Philippa Ware toldanyonein her family? Had James Rutledge or any of the other men told anyone else? He would wager James had not. He would have been too ashamed of the guest he had invited into the neighborhood. Had she held it all inside, then, until she saw him again yesterday? It hardly bore thinking of.
He almost lost his courage after turning his curricle into Grosvenor Square and stopping outside Stratton House, but it was too late. He had been seen. The doors had opened and a footman was hurrying down the steps to take the ribbons and hold his horses’ heads while he descended from his perch.
The ladies were there, though the butler who met him at the door with stiff formality did not admit as much. He invited Lucas to wait a moment in the hall while he checked to see if her ladyship was at home. Less than five minutes later Lucas was being ushered into a library rather than the drawing room. It was a cozy room. He always loved libraries. It had something to do with the smell ofbooks and leather, he supposed, though he did not dwell upon the subject at the moment. The dowager countess was rising from a chair before an elegant escritoire. Her daughter was seated by the fireplace, one finger holding her place in a book she had already closed. Another very young lady sat near her. She was looking up from what appeared to be a letter in her hand.
He bowed. “Ma’am?” he said, addressing the dowager. “I hope I am not inconveniencing you by coming here unannounced.”
“Not at all, Lord Roath,” she said, smiling as warmly at him today as she had yesterday. She indicated a chair. “Do come and sit down. Meet Stephanie, my younger daughter. May I pour you a glass of wine?”
“Thank you,” he said, and nodded to Lady Stephanie Ware, a plump, moon-faced, pleasant-looking girl, who was regarding him with open curiosity.
“Lady Stephanie,” he said.
“The Marquess of Roath,” she said. “Mama and Pippa met you yesterday at Lady Catherine Emmett’s tea.”
“She is my aunt,” he said before turning his gaze upon her sister. She was dressed today in pale blue—a slightly faded blue, perhaps. Her blond hair, smooth over the crown of her head, was twisted into a simple knot at her neck. Yesterday’s glamour was absent, but to his eyes she looked even more stunningly lovely today, if that was possible. Hers was a beauty that did not need embellishment.
“Lady Philippa?” he said, and was about to sit down when he noticed the posy of spring flowers clutched in his hand. He smiled and held them toward her, feeling like a bit of an idiot, though he was not sure why.
She looked at them, withdrew her finger from her book and set the volume down on a table beside her, got to her feet to pull the bell rope beside the mantel, and finally took the posy from him.
“Thank you,” she said, looking up into his eyes at last, not even a suggestion of a smile in her own.
The butler must have remained outside the door after admitting him. He came almost immediately, and she held out the flowers to him.
“Will you have these put in water, if you please, Mr.Richards?” she asked, and he crossed the room to take them from her.
She resumed her seat and Lucas sat down while Lady Stratton set a glass of wine on the small table beside him. He wished he were somewhere else far away. Almostanywhereelse would do.
“My aunt was pleased with the success of her tea party yesterday,” he said. “I hope you enjoyed it, Lady Stratton? Lady Philippa?” Asinine words. How could they possibly say anything other than that they had?
“It was lovely to see Kitty again,” the dowager told him. “It had been quite a long time. We were very close friends when we were young and have corresponded regularly ever since. It was a delight too to meet Sir Gerald, her son, whom I have not seen since he was a boy, and to be introduced to her niece, your sister.”
“Jenny was pleased to make your acquaintance too, ma’am,” he said. “She is quite hoping she has made a friend of Lady Philippa.”
“I like her,” that young lady said, but she did not elaborate.
