She nodded, a faint smile reappearing. “I have. I’ll be giving Wingfield Hall to you instead of your cousin Horace, and I’ll begin the process at once. It’s past time I did so, really. I have been holding on to it as if your grandfather were still there, but returning to Wingfield Hall reminded me that he isn’t, and the memories will always remain in my heart.”
He wasn’t certain how to feel about her revelation. He had come here, having already accepted that Wingfield Hall would no longer be his.
“Did you love my grandfather?” he asked, though he suspected he already knew the answer.
“Very much so.” Grandmother sniffed, her green eyes sparkling with unshed tears. “Now then, I find myself weary and in need of a nap. Thank you for paying me a call, Brandon. I hope you might do so again soon, and you may as well bring young Pandora with you.”
The invitation made him smile. “Of course. I think Pandy would like that.”
She would also adore the overfilled drawing room—the chance to see and touch and potentially knock over so many objects would be a potent lure.
“The mutt, however,” his grandmother warned sharply, “must remain. She isn’t civilized enough to meet my beloved pugs. I’m still suffering nightmares about the scent of that wretched trotter.”
He chuckled. “As you like.”
“And Brandon?”
He gave the pug a pat on the head. “Yes?”
“I wish you luck with Lady Grenfell.”
He inclined his head. “Thank you.”
He feared he was going to need it.
CHAPTER 20
“You have a caller, my lady.”
Lottie started at the unexpected pronouncement of her butler. For a moment, her heart seized. Had Brandon come? They had not spoken since they had parted in silence at dawn days ago. He hadn’t sent her a missive, nor had he appeared at her house. She had supposed, at first, that he was angry with her for refusing his proposal of marriage yet again. As time continued to pass, however, she had begun to fear that he had decided to sever their association. That he was indeed courting Lady Lavinia as she had told him he ought.
The butler approached her with a silver salver bearing a calling card, which was decidedly not Brandon’s ordinary mode of announcing himself. She retrieved the card, and no, it was not Brandon who was awaiting her. Rather, it was his august grandmother. She knew of the widowed Mrs. Carrington-Smythe, but they had never spoken.
Lottie frowned, wondering what the woman could possibly want from her. “See her in, if you please,” she directed her butler, deciding it would be too impolite to refuse Mrs. Carrington-Smythe, even if Lottie harbored some misgivingsabout the reason for that lady’s call. “And send in a tray of tea as well.”
Brandon’s grandmother crossed the threshold with the grace of any queen, though she relied heavily upon a gilt-handled cane, thanks to her arthritic gait. She was dressed primly in black silk trimmed with navy lace, quite as if she were in mourning. She greeted Lottie with cool civility and a shrewd gaze that was the same emerald green as her grandson’s.
They exchanged pleasantries and seated themselves as the tray of tea arrived. The maid had scarcely taken her leave of the room when Mrs. Carrington-Smythe spoke.
“I hope you can forgive me for paying you an unexpected call, Lady Grenfell.”
Her forthrightness was unexpected, but Lottie appreciated it, nonetheless. “You need not ask forgiveness from me, Mrs. Carrington-Smythe.”
Briefly, she wondered if somehow Brandon’s grandmother had learned of their affair and had come to take her to task. Heavens, she hoped not. How mortifying.
Brandon’s grandmother gave her a small, unreadable smile. “You needn’t look so ill at ease, my dear. I haven’t come here to browbeat you, but to speak with you, privately and without the potential for curious ears to overhear our discourse.”
Had her worries been so easily read on her face? Apparently so.
She took a sip of her tea, fortifying herself for the unknowns that lay ahead. “I am relieved to hear it, madam. Though I do hope you might enlighten me as to what you would like to speak about.”
Mrs. Carrington-Smythe inclined her silver head. “Fair enough. I’ve come to speak with you about Brandon.”
Everything inside her seized at his name, her body tensing. “Is something amiss with His Grace?” she asked quickly, teasloshing over the rim of her cup as she jolted, fear lacing through her.
“Brandon is well.”
“Pandy?” she asked next, belatedly realizing the familiarity she displayed in referring to his daughter by her pet name.
