The double doors to the parlor opened with a whoosh, in typical Gwinnie fashion.
Lakehurst noted that Mr. Martin and Gwinnie saw each other immediately and smiled.
Mr. Martin rose to his feet to bow. Gwinnie waved her hand carelessly, indicating he should sit again.
“I lost track of time. Have I missed the discussion?” she asked as she strode forward toward the sofa. “Move over, brother of mine,” she said, putting herself between the Duchess and her brother.
“Yes, I’m afraid you have,” her grandmother said, smiling.
“Bother,” Gwinnie said. “So, Mr. Martin, are you all in the know now? What do you think of this plan to go to Baydon Castle?—Never mind. No need to rehash it now. I shall pester Lakehurst later.”
“Probably when I’m trying to write,” Lakehurst told Mr. Martin.
Mr. Martin laughed.
“Probably,” Gwinnie agreed. “I had a thought,” she said, bouncing to face her grandmother. “We should include Ursula.”
“Why?”
“Safety in numbers. Women banded together.”
“Like a herd of cows,” her brother said sarcastically.
“Laugh if you will, but there is a lot to be said for that. Hard to cut one from the herd for mischief. I’ve seen it stand to good advantage in my work with the women at Mrs. Southerlands’.”
Lakehurst tried not to laugh, but suddenly the vision of the women as a herd had him snorting with laughter. Soon, Mr. Martin and the Duchess joined in.
Gwinnie just smiled.
CHAPTERSEVEN
Gathering
Viscount Lakehurst came downstairs to the gold parlor fifteen minutes before any guests were scheduled to arrive. Since his grandmother had chosen the more formal gold parlor as the gathering location over her Lady Margaret parlor, Lakehurst knew she intended to intimidate the Tidemarks into doing whatever she suggested. He almost felt sorry for them. While his grandmother was a prankster, she wasn’t a mean person by nature. They must have excessively riled her when she met them yesterday.
Before him were his cousin, Ann Hallowell, in a subdued pale blue gown, contrasted to her stepmother Ursula Hallowell’s pink gown festooned with ruffles and tucks. Ann’s fiancé, the Duke of Ellinbourne stood between them, his ever-present sketchbook under his arm.
Lakehurst hadn’t seen his cousin and her stepmother since the betrothal ball, so made his way directly to greet them. His little cousin had blossomed since her engagement. Gone was the retiring, quiet woman replaced by a pleasant, smiling woman—still quiet—however, with that retiring manner replaced with a quiet confidence. She glowed with happiness.
Mrs. Hallowell seemed to have regained some of the bubbly effervescence that she’d lost when she discovered her promising relationship with Colonel Brantley had been contrived to get access to the Malmsby family. Personally, he couldn’t see what the lively woman had seen in Colonel Brantley—a corpulent older man—even if she did prefer older gentlemen, as Ann assured him.
“How are plans progressing for the wedding?” he asked Ann. “Have you set a date yet?”
“The plans are going well; how could they not with Grandmother involved?” Ann said with a warm laugh. “The when remains uncertain. Miles wishes for his sister Margaret to attend. He sent word to her. We are awaiting her reply. Hopefully, in person.”
“She is in Massachusetts, correct?”
“Yes, she is a governess in Boston.”
He nodded. “I remember hearing that at one time; however, I don’t always listen as closely as I should,” he acknowledged.
“Particularly if your mind is on one of your stories,” his cousin said archly, then laughed.
“Guilty,” he admitted.
The parlor door opened to admit Lady Darkford and others he assumed to be her relations.
“Excuse me,” he murmured to Ann and Mrs. Hallowell. He made his way over to Lady Darkford.
