“The nobility in particular has failed to live up to expectations,” Fiona sighed. “Even in my own family, I’m forced to confess.”
“Surely not,” Alexandra offered, sipping tea to give her cheek muscles a moment to relax.
“Oh, yes indeed. When Lucien’s cousin James died in the war last year, we sent our condolences to Lucien, and I even offered to sit as matron of Balfour House during high mourning.”
“How generous.” She tried to imagine Fiona Delacroix managing a huge, ancient London household draped in formal, deep mourning. After less than an hour’s acquaintance, she couldn’t conjure anything more than yards and yards of black bombazine covering everything. Overdressing seemed to be a defining Delacroix trait.
“Yes, it was exceedingly generous of me to offer, with the way I hate to travel. But do you know Lucien’s response? He sent me a letter. I have it memorized. In fact, I don’t think I shall ever be able to forget his cruelty.” Mrs. Delacroix fluffed a pillow to bring herself more upright. “It said, ‘Madame, I would sooner join James in hell than have you join me here.’ Can you imagine? And when dear Oscar died, he waited nearly seven months before bringing us to London.”
“And that was only because dear Oscar’s—and my father’s—wills demanded it.” Lord Kilcairn stepped into the morning room doorway.
“You see? He doesn’t even deny it!”
The earl leaned against the door, his gaze on Alexandra. It was a full moment before she realized he held Shakespeare’s leash in one hand, and that her dog sat beside one gleaming Hessian boot.
“It’s the truth, Aunt Fiona. I see no reason to deny it.”
“Bah!”
“The same to you, Aunt. You and Rose will have to excuse Miss Gallant for a short time. No doubt she needs a moment to reconsider the terms of her employment.”
“Oh, please stay!” Rose cried. She’d been silent since her mother’s recital began, and Alexandra had nearly forgotten her presence.
Alexandra sipped her tea again. “You jest, my lord,” she said easily. “Mrs. Delacroix was just catching me up on some Balfour family history.”
He glanced from her to his aunt, and she abruptly sensed that he wasn’t pleased. “How pleasant. I require a word with you, Miss Gallant. Now.”
“Of course, my lord.” Clenching her jaw at the order, she set aside her teacup and stood. “Mrs. Delacroix, Miss Delacroix, if you’ll excuse me.”
“I like her, Lucien,” Fiona barked. “Don’t you even think about running her off like the others.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he drawled, stepping back to allow Alexandra to pass.
“I should hope not! Your firing Miss Brookhollow has left me completely without suitable company. And I—”
Kilcairn shut the door on her complaint. “Ah. Much better.”
Alexandra drew herself upright. “My lord, I am—”
“Not accustomed to being ordered about like a footman,” he finished, turning on his heel.
Shakespeare trailed along behind him down the hallway, tail wagging and claws clicking on the polished wood floor. Alexandra hurried to catch up to the pair of them. “No, I am not,” she agreed. “Nor do I—”
“Appreciate being forced to spend any length of time with that batty old—”
“That isnotwhat I was going to say. Stop interrupting me, if you please.”
The earl halted so quickly she nearly ran into him. Alexandra looked up into his eyes, startled by what she saw there for a fleeting moment. She had surprised him.
“What was it you were about to say, then?” His gaze continued to hold hers.
“I…May I be forthright?”
“You have been to this point.”
“Why did you hire me?”
With a scowl the earl turned to the staircase. “We have been through this already, Miss Gallant.”
