“Then you also must realize they will fight this will no matter what you believe at this moment.” He had no idea if the two would fight it or not, but he felt an irrational need to keep this lady talking in the hopes that she might accidentally reveal her troubles.
Her smile turned bitter and defiant. “I can promise you, Lord Raines, they will not fight this will. There is no doubt regarding that.”
“Celia! You did not tell me Lord Raines had arrived.” The dowager duchess stood in the doorway, pale yet lovely in her morning walking dress of a cambric print with tiny yellow flowers and a matching Spanish robe of jonquil muslin. Today, she carried a gleaming black cane, its golden handle decorated with inlays of colored glass. Even though she steadied herself with the stylish walking stick, she moved forward with the flawless grace of a swan gliding across a pond. “Lord Raines. So good of you to accede to my wishes for expediency regarding my documents.”
Miss Bening cocked a brow and turned away with an almost gleeful air, leaving him to his own devices. “Would you like some Madeira, Your Grace?” she asked the duchess.
“Madeira?” The dowager frowned. “Have you not ordered tea?” She glanced around as though suddenly realizing where she was. “And why ever in the world would you receive Lord Raines in the library? And alone?” Her loveliness puckered with a furious scowl. “We shall discuss this matter later, Celia.”
“Yes, Your Grace.” Miss Bening dutifully guided the duchess to a chair. “But with you here now, I am no longer alone with Lord Raines, the most infamous rakehell, risking my reputation even with doors propped wide open and servants filling the halls. I shall order tea immediately.”
As Miss Bening left the room, the dowager eyed him. Her gaze became a cutting stare, as if she was sorting through his mind to find the thought she wanted. “You did not complete my will as I requested.”
Shocked at her astuteness, Elias flared his eyes wide despite his best efforts to remain unreadable. There was naught to do now but bow his head and beg forgiveness. The lady might be unwell, but she was far from confused, or the least bit foggy-minded. “I did not complete it, Your Grace. However, everything is ready to proceed as soon as I receive a response from your solicitor in Germany—and your son.”
“And who, might I ask, instructed you to contact either of them?” Her glare became as cold as the Thames in the dead of winter.
“As solicitor over the Hasterton estate, it is my duty to protect the interests of all my clients. A last will and testament that fails to benefit all of you, namely the duke and Lady Cecilia, must be thoroughly investigated before it is finalized.”
“You do realize that correspondence from Germany could take weeks and quite possibly months?” She clutched the ornate handle of her cane with both her petite hands, as if trying to control the urge to beat him with it. “I am dying, Lord Raines. I have no time for an unlicked cub whose sole concern is padding his self-importance by tattling to a vainglorious duke rather than acceding to a mere old woman’s wishes. Complete the document or I shall find another solicitor who will.”
Elias realized his jaw had dropped, and promptly closed his mouth. He was torn between begging for forgiveness or applauding the woman for the impressive dressing-down she had just delivered. Perhaps the dowager was healthier than she realized.
He bowed his head. “I am quite clear now on Your Grace’s requirements, and I do beg your pardon.”
The duchess huffed and looked away, as if still too angry to tolerate the sight of him.
Miss Bening returned and motioned to the chair next to the duchess. “Do be seated, my lord. Gransdon shall have the tea for us shortly.”
With a sense of self-preservation solidly in place, Elias moved to stand in front of another chair that placed him well out of reach of the dowager’s cane—just in case. He made a flourishing wave at the chair Miss Bening had recommended. “After you, Miss Bening.”
She appeared to be trying not to smile, but an amused twinkle in her lovely eyes betrayed her. After a faintly mocking nod, she seated herself next to the duchess. With them seated side by side, he could not ignore their uncanny resemblance. After a pint too many one evening, Master Hodgely had once described the Duchess of Hasterton as an incomparable beauty. The man was sorely mistaken. Miss Bening’s loveliness demanded the same adoration.
“Your Grace, again, I do apologize for failing to finalize your documents,” Elias said. “As recompense, might I offer a rejuvenating ride through Hyde Park? My barouche can be readied at a moment’s notice, and I believe you would find it quite comfortable on a day as glorious as today.” The open carriage would suit the duchess much better than a tiring walk to announce her presence in London. Such an outing would also buy him some time and offer yet another opportunity to become better acquainted with the enchanting Miss Bening.
The regal matron studied him as though plotting the most efficient way of disposing of him after clubbing him senseless with her cane. She shifted, propped the fashionable walking stick against the arm of her chair, then folded her hands in her lap. “I fear I must beg off, since I have committed to attending Lady Bournebridge’s ball tomorrow evening.” Her expression hardened. “As I noted earlier, my health does not permit a crowded schedule of activities.” With a sly glance Miss Bening’s way, she smiled. “However, I do not wish to hold Miss Bening prisoner in this stuffy house on what you describe as such agloriousday. If Lady Sophie or Lady Ardsmere is available to join her, she may go while I fortify myself for tomorrow’s outing.”
“Lady Sophie?” he repeated, not familiar with the name.
“Lady Sophie is the daughter of the Dowager Countess of Rydleshire,” Miss Bening explained. “And I believe you met Lady Ardsmere on a prior occasion. Your partner, Lord Parkerton, is her husband’s solicitor.”
“Yes, I have made Lady Ardsmere’s acquaintance, but I have not yet had the pleasure of meeting Lord Ardsmere.” Elias felt the fool for not knowing Lady Sophie—or at least not hearing about her in passing conversation. He prided himself on keeping an ear to the talk of thetonand staying informed about those in London for the Season. It was just good business to do so. He offered Miss Bening a hopeful smile. “After tea, I would be delighted to have my vehicle and coachman readied for an afternoon outing. Would that be acceptable to you, Miss Bening?”
“You have a barouche and employ a coachman, yet you travel from your office in a hackney?” Miss Bening arched a brow, challenging him to explain.
“Celia!” the duchess said. “Such rudeness is unacceptable.”
Elias lifted a hand to belay the scolding. “Actually, it is a valid question, Your Grace. After all, I am in your employ, and you have the right to know everything about your solicitor.”
The dowager huffed and kept a hard look trained on Miss Bening.
Gransdon entered the room and stepped aside, supervising the pair of footmen following him. Each of them carried a large silver tray. One tray held a fine china tea set, the teapot, cups, and saucers decorated with pale pink roses centered between bands of deep blue bordered in gold. The other bore matching plates and delightful platters of finger sandwiches and seedcakes.
“Shall I serve, Your Grace?” Gransdon asked.
“Thank you, no, Gransdon. Miss Bening will serve while Lord Raines regales us with the story of his barouche and coachman.” The duchess’s acerbic tone left no doubt that she considered today a complete and utter failure.
“Very good, Your Grace.” Gransdon tipped a subtle nod that shooed both footmen out ahead of him. He softly pulled the door almost closed but did not latch it.
