Lady Harriet Westbrook—Aunt Harriet to him, but “the formidable Lady Westbrook” to the rest of Society—descended with her usual energy. A patroness of Almack’s and arbiter of fashion, she had long been a power in theton, her approval courted by debutantes and dowagers alike.
Tall, sharp-nosed, and never a beauty, Aunt Harriet had been clever enough to realise early that wit and character were far more valuable commodities than looks. She had charmed her way through her Season, and later into marriage with one of the richest men in London. Now a widow, she was still brisk, commanding, and utterly indomitable.
She alighted from the carriage with surprising agility, her black gown trimmed with pearls that gleamed against the fabric. Her hat, wide-brimmed and festooned with painted wooden fruit and vegetables, was unmistakably hers.
“Neil, darling,” she called, surveying the façade with disapproval. “You’ve let the place go to rack and ruin. Look at those gardens.”
Neil forced a smile. “The gardens are fine, Aunt. What brings you here?”
She blinked innocently. “Why, I’ve come to visit. Did you not receive my letter?”
“I received no letter.”
“How odd,” she said airily. “It must have gone astray. Well, we are here now.”
She climbed the steps to stand beside him, leaving her footmen to assist the other occupant of the carriage.
“There was no letter, was there?” Neil muttered under his breath.
“Really, Neil, what an accusation. And even if it were true, family requires no invitation. Now, where is my darling great-niece? I long to see her.”
“She is at her lessons.”
“Ah, so she is. Well, later then. Ah! Here is the young lady I wished you to meet.” Aunt Harriet gestured grandly towards the carriage. “Neil, allow me to introduce Lady Constance Fairfax. Her father is the Earl of Farendale—a most respectable connection. Constance, come along, my dear.”
The young woman emerged, a little flushed from her efforts to descend gracefully. Once free of the carriage, she smoothed her skirts and regained her composure at once.
“It is a great honour to meet you, your Grace,” she murmured in a soft, cultivated tone that spoke of an expensive education. She sank into a deep curtsey, lifting her eyes to him as she rose, lashes fluttering.
Oh, confound it,Neil thought darkly.I’m to be hunted for sport in my own house.
Another carriage rattled up the drive. He barely glanced at it.
“I assume that one contains Lord and Lady Farendale?”
“Of course,” said Aunt Harriet briskly. “I could hardly bring Lady Constance without a proper escort. The Farendales are eminently suitable people, and you ought to know them. Now, where is the butler? Crawford—Ah, there you are. I’ll take the Blue Suite as usual. It is ready, I trust?”
“It is, Lady Westbrook,” Crawford answered, with commendable composure.
“Excellent. Find a couple of spare rooms for Lady Constance and her family, and have them shown up at once, if you please. I shall speak with my nephew in the meantime.”
Crawford hesitated, glancing towards Neil. Biting back a sigh, Neil nodded. The butler sprang into action at once.
Lady Constance shifted, her composure slipping for an instant. Neil could feel her gaze on him—a careful, assessing curiosity—and wondered if she truly wished to marry him or had merely been ordered to try.
“Go to your parents, Constance,” Aunt Harriet directed. “You’ll be shown your rooms and may find me in the Blue Room later. My nephew runs his household like a regiment, so I advise punctuality at dinner. You’ll meet my great-niece then, I hope. Now, walk with me, Neil.”
Without waiting for a response from anyone, Aunt Harriet turned and sailed into the house, gesturing for Neil to follow her.
He was not the most attentive of hosts, but even he knew that leaving guests lingering on the doorstep, shifting awkwardly while servants fetched them in, was quite beyond the pale. Still, this was Aunt Harriet—and these wereherguests, not his. Suppressing a sigh, he offered Lady Constance an apologetic smile before hurrying after his aunt.
***
Aunt Harriet’s favourite room, the Blue Room, was decorated exactly how one Aunt Harriet’s favourite chamber, the Blue Room, was exactly as its name implied: every possible shade of blue, from deep navy on the bedspread to pale turquoise curtains at the window. A glass table stood in the centre, surrounded by blue-and-white brocaded chairs. Aunt Harriet carefully unpinned her hat, dropping it down on the table.
“Now,” she said briskly, “you look fit to explode, my dear boy. Say what you must and let’s have done with it.”
Neil exhaled sharply. “How dare you invite people to my house without asking me? You are family—you may come uninvited if you wish—but they are not.”
