“Ah, but you should take note, for it is delightfully in keeping with your play. I believe he and Lady Romella Wisgart, the widow of our piece, appear destined to wed. Now who do you suppose will get the fair Helene’s hand? Freddy, mayhap? They have been seen, you know, reciting poetry to one another.”
“Really? I once accused Freddy of turning poetic; however, that is doing it rather too brown.”
“Be thankful you have not been within earshot of their renditions,” Branstoke said drily. “It is like listening to a young debutante with a tin ear pushed to singing before company.”
“You know, Branstoke, you have a way with words that makes me laugh.”
“I’m glad, for such was my endeavor, my friend, such was my endeavor.”
St. Ryne looked at him quizzically then laughed again, causing several heads to turn inquiringly in their direction. Branstoke, as always, met the world with a bland smile.
Though irritated by Branstoke’s blithe words concerning his feelings for Elizabeth, being a basically honest man, St. Ryne was eventually forced to admit his reaction was part and parcel of his own growing attraction for his wife, an attraction which, quite curiously, appeared to be growing the longer he stayed away from her. After considerable thinking, he decided to return to Larchside on the morrow, determined to change the course of his wooing.The Taming of the Shrewwas after all only a play, its characters little more than paper dolls, and as such, woefully deprived of the complexities of flesh-and-blood individuals.
He excused himself early from the select gathering so as to make arrangements for his departure. This time he would bring his valet, horses, and head groom. He wondered howwell Elizabeth rode, already anticipating a few enjoyable canters across the fields.
To his surprise, his town house was ablaze with light. That was not like his butler. St. Ryne quickened his pace, taking the steps in front two at a time.
Predmore had been on the lookout for him, agitation plainly written across his features.
“Good God, man, what is it?” he asked, tearing off his greatcoat and flinging it on a hallway chair.
“It is the Countess, my lord.”
“My mother is here?”
“Yes, my lord, installed in the parlor. She arrived with the Earl shortly after you left, and says she’s determined not to leave until she speaks to you. She is much distressed, my lord. She has already knocked over the Sevres tea service in her pacing, quite shattering it, and I am afraid the ebony and ormolu table by the fireplace will never be the same. I did contrive to remove other items I deemed fragile when we cleaned up the broken china.”
“Is that you, Justin? I thought I heard your voice.” Lady Alicia Harth, Countess of Seaverness, swept out of the parlor brandishing a newspaper in her hand. “What is the meaning of this?”
“It is nice to see you also, Mother.” He stepped close to her to kiss a heavily scented cheek.
His action set her back apace, yet she rallied quickly. “I’ll have none of your cozening ways! I came here for answers, not mealy-mouthed platitudes!”
“I understand from Predmore that Father is with you. Shall we join him?” he returned urbanely. He leaned close to her ear. “This is unlike you, Mother, to forget servants are present.”
Two high spots of color flared on Lady Alicia’s cheeks, and with ill grace she allowed herself to be led back into the parlor.
St. Ryne had difficulty hiding a smile at the picture of his mother much on her dignity. He didn’t give a button for the servants; they’d seen and heard worse in rumor over the past few weeks. His words were meant to serve as a slight respite from the harangue his mother appeared intent on delivering, and lending him a moment to gather his scattered wits.
Leading his mother to the sofa, he then turned to the facing chair where his father was seated, and extended his hand to his sire. “This is an unexpected pleasure, sir. I had thought you both firmly fixed in Paris for a few weeks more.”
The Earl of Seaverness looked up at his son, a light of amusement in his eyes. “Your mother would have us return. She suddenly discovered in herself a desire for your company.”
With the snap of the latch as the footman slowly closed the door behind them, Lady Alicia once again launched into her diatribe.
“Are you not aware of the insult, the shame we have suffered as a result of your actions?”
“Shehas suffered,” amended the Earl.
The Countess ignored him. “I own I discounted the rumors of a betrothal when they reached my ears, and said as much to anyone with the audacity to question me. But oh, the mortification to read of it in theMorning Gazette!I pushed and harried your father to return and put an end to such outlandishness, only to find when I set foot on English soil that the deed was done almost a week past!”
St. Ryne sat down in the chair opposite his father. “Mother, I’m afraid you find me all at sea.”
“Wouldn’t mention sea to her, if I were you, my boy. They don’t get along.”
St. Ryne’s lips twitched as he offered a sideways thank you before continuing. “Prior to your departure for France, you alluded to me that marriage was an event consummately to bedesired. Your arguments spoke strongly of duty to the family. It was only my desire to please you that hurried my steps to the altar."
From next to him came a snort of laughter. He studiously refrained from looking at his paternal parent for fear they would both start openly laughing.
