“Hannenfeld supported peace negotiations with Bonaparte, and I won’t have him in my house.”
“Oh, that nasty Bonaparte!” Fiona exclaimed, accepting another biscuit from a footman. “If we’d made peace with him, perhaps your dear cousin James might still be alive.”
The past hour’s mild annoyance flared into anger. “What in damnation do you think you—”
“My lord,” Alexandra interrupted.
He continued to glare at Fiona. “You have no right—”
Miss Gallant slipped her warm hand over his clenched fingers. “Lord Hannenfeld will not attend,” she stated, and crossed the name off her list in a black, thick line of pencil. “If Lord Kilcairn says he is not welcome here, then he is not.”
She was comforting him, easing his anger. No one that he could recall had ever made the effort before. He turned his hand to grip hers, then let go before she could pull away. Let her long for a more prolonged contact between them, as he did. “Good,” he said, pulling his temper back in check. “We can’t have Hannenfeld and Wellington at the same soiree, anyway.”
Rose gasped. “Wellington? Do you think he’ll attend?”
“I imagine so. He’s particularly fond of my private stock of port. I’ll send over a bottle with the invitation.”
Alexandra looked at him sideways, the hint of a smile touching her lips. “That’s a bit devious, don’t you think?”
“We want Rose’s party to be unforgettable, don’t we?”
“Ooh, write his name down, Lex,” Rose urged, giggling.
“You’re a good boy, Lucien.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “I beg to differ, Aunt.”
Alexandra cleared her throat. If she considered it her duty to distract him, he had no intention of discouraging her. In fact, he knew several ways he could stand to be distracted.
“I hesitate to mention this,” she said, amusement touching her voice again, “but I notice a dearth of female guests. My lord, don’t you have a list of ladies you’d care to invite?”
Fiona glared at the governess. “It’s Rose’s party.”
Lucien had been about to answer in the same vein, but he had no intention of siding with his aunt. “I imagine I can name a few who are about Rose’s age,” he said reluctantly.
Alexandra looked at him. “I thought you preferred more mature ladies.”
“I do.” He smiled, watching the pretty blush rise in her cheeks in response. He liked knowing he affected her as much as she affected him.
“That reminds me,” Aunt Fiona broke in, straightening Rose’s sleeve. “Have you finished thatParadise Lostyet, my dear? I know how you were enjoying it.”
Rose shook her head. “No, Mama. It’s very difficult to rea—”
“Difficult to make time for, yes, I know, darling. That’s how I know you’ve liked it so much.” Fiona leaned forward to pat her nephew’s knee. “She has no time for such frivolities. I tell her that all the time, ‘Rose, you have no time for reading,’ but she insists on it, anyway.”
“You enjoy Milton?” Lucien asked, unable to keep the deep skepticism from his voice.
“Oh, yes…He’s very…poetical.”
“Yes, he would have to be,” he agreed dryly.
“Now, now, you two, you can discuss your literature later. I have no patience for it myself.”
Rose hadn’t suddenly become a literature aficionado. Whatever nonsense his relations were up to, Lucien had run out of the patience to tolerate it. He pulled out his pocket watch and flipped it open. “Delightful as this has been, I have an appointment,” he said, rising.
“Oh, Lord Kilcairn, I nearly forgot,” Alexandra blurted, rushing to her feet. “I needed to ask you something.”
“Yes?”
