“Northumbria."
The Willoughbys responded in unison, her harsh rasp in odd harmony with his military crispness.
A hiss of sound came from Lady Serena. The Willoughbys looked at each other, disconcerted, then laughed thinly.
“Actually, Miss Grantley, we have two properties. One in Yorkshire near York proper, and the other in what you would term the wilds of Northumbria,” explained Lord Willoughby with strained joviality. He drew a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his brow.
Lady Willoughby nodded. "The York house is my favorite. Probably because I come from York,” she said, hesitating over each word.
“I see,” Jane said, smiling at them. Lady Willoughby struck her as a frightened little mouse of a creature, her husband a domineering bluff fellow. A strange couple to be so devoted.
In the light of day, it was easy to tell Lady Willoughby wore an excessive amount of cosmetics. Her skin was caked with layers. Her hair was also powdered in the old style, but under the lace cap she wore it was evident she had applied the powder unevenly. Her hands particularly caught Jane’s attention. They were smooth and delicate, out of keeping with her age. Jane found herself staring at them where they lay, clutching the tapestry workbag.
“Tell me, Miss Grantley, have you ever been to the north country?” asked Lord Willoughby. He cleared his throat and mopped his upper lip, then rested the hand clenching the handkerchief on his ample stomach.
“No, Lord Willoughby. I haven’t had the pleasure. You shall have to tell me about it.”
The sound of the doorknocker saved Lord Willoughby from answering.
“If you’ll excuse me, I sent Jeremy on some errands. Consequently, I’d best go see to the door myself,” Jane said, rising to her feet.
Millicent snorted inelegantly. "Oh, really, cousin,” she said with exaggerated disgust.
Jane ignored her, glad for an excuse to get away from their company. She hurried out of the room, her mind mulling over the strange situation. If the Willoughbys were from the north, then she was an Indian. She also doubted their claim to a peerage. The question was, did Lady Serena? She bit her lip. She shouldn’t have been so hasty to silence Jeremy, but she could not now ask him what he'd heard, for that would be granting him tacit permission to continue in like manner. Were the Willoughbys, in the vulgar cant of the streets, caging the lay?
No, that couldn’t be the answer. They were not unrefined, yet there was a certain studiedness about their speech and manner.
She shook her head. She could not fathom the set-up. Perhaps she’d best discuss it later with Elsbeth.
She was surprised and amused to see young David already assuming Jeremy’s position. The young man was acting ridiculously proud as he escorted Lord Royce and Lord Conisbrough into the house. He was trying too hard to fill the oversized shoes she’d asked him to wear. Jane sighed. Perhaps she’d been too harsh on Jeremy. She went forward to greet the earl and his friend. In light of Elsbeth’s story, her curiosity was piqued as to the personality of the Marquis of Conisbrough. All niggling thoughts of the Willoughbys and Jeremy vanished as she approached the gentlemen.
She went forward, smiling. It was a smile that pierced and melted the frost mantle that habitually swathed her. It was the smile she unconsciously used whenever she greeted the Earl of Royce.
Royce was glad to see her smile so. He went forward to take her hands in his and kiss the tips of her fingers. His manner was formal, though his eyes gleamed with carefully banked fires. A little shiver ran down Jane’s arm, and she knew a momentary confusion. She inclined her head at Lord Royce, her smile slipping as she murmured a little inarticulate greeting that brought a grin to the earl’s face. Then she struggled to regain her composure. She turned toward Lord Conisbrough and held out her hand to him.
“My lord,” she said, bowing her head slightly. She looked up at him, her head tilted. "I’m delighted to see you again. A pity we did not have a chance to converse last evening. I understand you once held an interest in herbs,” she said evenly, though her eyes glittered with warmth.
Lord Conisbrough’s fair brows rose, and years fell away from his expression. He smiled. "Yes, I still do. I maintain a large herb garden at my estate in Leicestershire. But I am afraid it is more for ornamental purposes than anything else. However, the honey we collect is superior, owing, I am told, to the abundance of herbs on the property.”
“How fascinating. You must tell my aunt, Lady Elsbeth, about your garden. She has a great interest in herbs also, you know. Do not be surprised if she plagues you with permission to see it,” Jane said carefully.
An arrested expression came over the marquis’s face. He looked at Jane intently, his face serious, his eyes dagger gray.
Jane shivered and wondered if she’d overstepped her bounds. She thought to subtly tell the marquis that Elsbeth still cared for him. Perhaps she’d been wrong to do so. She searched frantically in her mind for something to say, for something to break the unnatural silence that fell between them. Without thinking, she looked helplessly at the earl.
Royce felt his heart twist unnaturally in his chest. He frowned, blinked, then rallied. “Reverend Chitterdean was telling us only last evening of the marvelous medicines Lady Elsbeth makes. I understand the entire neighborhood is indebted to her.”
Jane turned toward him with relief and led both men toward the parlor. "Since we’ve been here, she has been like a child playing happily outdoors. She has added countless plants to her pharmacopeia and conducted experiments on cultivating others.”
David went before them to fling open the doors to the parlor. At that moment, Mr. Burry began to descend the stairs, followed by Sir Helmsdon. Sir Helmsdon was dressed for riding, as were the earl and marquis.
Millicent, spying the earl, strolled languidly but purposefully to his side, her arm threading his.
“Miss Grantley,” called Sir Helmsdon as he reached the bottom stair. "Lady Elsbeth wished me to convey to you that she is having some trouble with your nephews. It seems the youngest is upset that his elder brother is to ride and he is not, or something to that effect,” he drawled.
“You do not mean to have the children come with us, do you?” asked Millicent in scandalized accents.
“Yes, why not?”
