Chapter 5
“Are you aware that Lady Isabella and her parents are attending Chaswick’s dinner?” Violet asked, eyeing Greys from where she sat while the two of them waited for Posy and their Aunt Iris to join them.
Greys glanced away from the window where he’d been appreciating a surprisingly brilliant London sunset from the comfort of his drawing room. With a near cloudless sky, the midnight hours ought to be excellent for viewing the stars.
Violet sat knitting as they waited, working her needles so fast that they were practically a blur—no doubt making mittens for some homeless orphan or widow back home. She always had been a good sort.
“How did you come by this information?” he asked, even though he already knew the answer.
When Greys had accepted the invitation, Chase had promised it was to be a small family affair to welcome Spencer and Lady Tabetha home after their short wedding journey. Greys had been looking forward to it.
“Aunt Iris,” Violet answered. That it had been his aunt should not have come as a surprise. “She told Lady Chaswick last week that you would be grateful for it.” His cousin winced with an apologetic shrug. “And I believe Lady Chaswick desires to be helpful. You know how these happily married people are—wanting to see all of their acquaintances in equally satisfying relationships.”
Violet was like a sister to him, even though they hadn’t seen much of one another after reaching their majorities. Of the same age, and with neither having siblings, his cousin likely knew him better than most.
Undoubtedly, she was aware that he did not appreciate being managed.
Tonight, he’d had no intention of beginning his pursuit of Lady Isabella—certainly not at a dinner where the woman he was going to be pretending to court was related to the host and hostess.
Greys tugged at the lace on his sleeve, annoyed at his aunt’s audacity. “I wish she hadn’t.” However, the circumstances weren’t impossible. He could finesse his way through such a predicament, although he’d rather not have been forced into it.
Greys propped his hip against the narrow table placed behind the leather settee and studied his cousin. Violet was rather a lot like him. Not in looks, but in personality—dutiful, proper, and diligent—and just sarcastic enough to not be boring.
Furthermore, although more modest than most ladies, she wore fashionable and expertly tailored gowns that perfectly suited her tall, slim figure. Her attempt to coax Posy into doing the same, unfortunately, had been unsuccessful.
If Violet wished to find a husband, Greys did not doubt that she could land a proper gent even at the ripe age of nine and twenty. He assumed, however, that if she had any desire to marry, she would have done so by now. And her decision to remain a single woman had worked out for his benefit, in that she’d tended to their niece, Posy’s upbringing and education.
She lowered her lashes, and Greys reconsidered. Was it the other way around? Had it been Violet’s dedication to Posy that prevented her from seeking out a husband? He ought to speak with her about it before she and Aunt Iris returned to the country. If his cousin wished to marry, indeed, there must be something he could do.
“I assured our Aunt that you did not require her assistance. I told her you were a grown man who would court the lady of your choice when you saw fit. But you know as well as I that she isn’t going to listen to me.”
“Aunt Iris does as she pleases,” Greys said. “But I appreciate your efforts,” he added, teasing. Because Aunt Iris was likely more stubborn than the two of them put together.
And, of course, she did not know the promise he’d made to Miss Diana. Had that been a mistake? He’d found himself annoyingly distracted by the transparency of her gown after their ducking.
“It’s fine.” He reassured his cousin.
The door opened just then, and Blackheart ushered Aunt Iris into the drawing room.
“Thank you, young man. I can’t imagine where I left that blasted cane.” Aunt Iris leaned heavily on the duke, but her bright grey-blue eyes were as alert as ever. “Good evening, Greystone, Violet. Posy is complaining of a megrim, but I’ve told her she’s coming anyway. She promises to be down in ten minutes. Megrim, my eye!”
Violet pinched the bridge of her nose. “She told me the same, but I, too, insisted that she could not cry off this evening. Gwen promised me she’d have Posy dressed and ready to go in time.” His cousin shot an odd look toward Blackheart, but then flicked her gaze back to Greys. “That girl is going to be the death of me. I’m beginning to believe coming to London was a mistake.”
“She’ll be fine.” Then Greys’ thoughts shifted to another impetuous young lady. Miss Diana Jones was similar in age to Posy, but she seemed older—more mature than his niece. Whereas Posy meandered through life following whims, Chase’s sister had focus. Yes, she sighed over officers and enjoyed a rather peculiar manner of dancing, but behind her eyes, he’d noticed a determination his ward lacked. Miss Jones deemed herself responsible for her own future, and even with the support of Chaswick and his baroness, the uncertainties that developed with an upbringing such as hers weren’t easily erased.
Her lovely youthfulness and wary courage made for an intriguing combination.
“I hope you are right,” Violet grumbled.
“I’ll talk with her.” But he wasn’t going to force Posy to find a husband if she didn’t want one. Not when he was able to provide her with everything to live comfortably long after his demise.
“That one is going to require a strong man to take her in hand,” Aunt Iris harrumphed and took a seat. His mind went immediately to Miss Diana before he realized she was referring to his niece.
“I disagree,” Blackheart inserted. “She needs a gentleman to take herby thehand, not in hand—one to protect her but also allow her to blossom into the woman within.”
Iris turned to stare at Blackheart, who was going about his business collecting the few empty glasses sitting on a low table and making it appear effortless even with one arm in a sling. “You certainly are opinionated for a butler.”
“Merely stating the facts, my lady.” And ignoring her expression of outrage, Blackheart slipped silently out of the room.
