“We thought, perhaps, when Emmaus is ready to return, he could escort—”
“Emmaus,” Pen interrupted, “has no plans to return to the Americas.” Not ones he would share with a stranger, anyway.
“Ah.” Lord Thomas’s approach saved her from further inquiry. “If it isn’t my charming cousin. Lady Cheverley, may I introduce, Madame LaVoie?”
“Delighted, Madame,” Pen replied.
“And Madame,” Lord Thomas continued, “may I present my cousin’s widow, Lady Cheverley?”
“Your husband was of great renown.” Madame LaVoie spoke in clear English and roughly resonant tones. “I am delighted to meet you, Lady Cheverley.”
“If you’ll pardon us,” Thomas spoke to the vicar, “I’d like to escort my cousin to the refreshment table.”
“How thoughtful of you,” Mrs. Rowe commented.
“Scripture commands attendance on widows,” Lord Thomas answered smoothly. “Is that not correct, Vicar?”
“‘Honor the widows who are widows indeed,’ wrote Timothy.” The vicar smiled. “However, I’m not certain he had ratafia in mind.”
Lord Thomas shrugged. “Well, one must work with what one has.” He held out his arm. “Shall we, cousin?”
Reluctantly, Pen placed her hand on his arm.
“Careful,” Thomas said as they moved beyond the vicar’s hearing, “I detect a root of bitterness in your stance.”
“You interrupted a perfectly pleasant conversation.”
“Are you chastising me for wishing to provide you with refreshment?”
“No,” she replied lightly. “I am reprimanding you for practically dragging me away.”
They stopped at the table. He filled a glass. Her gaze fixed on the almonds floating in the bowl.
“Remember”—he handed her the liquor—“there is little that happens on this estate that I do not know.”
“I imagine,” she said dryly, “having confidants within the staff is most helpful. And, I must refuse. Bitter almonds are not to my taste.”
He froze. Then, he laughed. “Oh, you are delightful.”
“You needn’t humor me, Lord Thomas. Mr. Anthony has been honest enough to shed pretense. You may as well.”
“Me?” he said, pointing to himself, but not so closely as to ruffle his cravat. “I only have your best interests at heart. Unlike others.” His gaze moved to Anthony. “Allow me to compliment you on your use of the duchess’s clothes, by the way. Anthony is both incensedanddrooling. You have confused the enemy—Chev would be proud. But”—he turned—“Cheverley isn’t here. Is he?”
“Don’t tell meyouare about to propose, too?”
“Your look of abhorrence wounds, cousin. And here I thought you wise and kind.” He sipped from her glass. “Tell me, if you were compelled to place your loyalty either with Anthony or with me, which would you choose?”
A Hobson’s choice. “I would choose, as always, my son.”
“I’d also remember, then, that Thaddeus is under my guardianship.”
“YouandHis Grace,” she pointed out.
“We both know that the duke cannot tell a cat from a dog.”
“He improves.”
“Yes.” He downed the rest of the glass. “But will he improve in time?”
