“The marquess knows I like watching the mews.” She was being polite. “There is something comforting in hearing the comings and goings of the household.”
Simon jerked himself away from the doorframe to cross the room and join her at the window, which, indeed, provided an excellent view of the tidy stable and carriage house.
“Most women prefer a view of the park.”
“Yes, well, I am not most women.” She backed away from the window, which incidentally moved her away from him, and then hugged her arms in front of her. “That will be all.”
Simon blinked a moment and then bit the inside of his mouth to keep from laughing. By God, she was dismissing him.
Greystone had deigned to do the same on only a few occasions, and he’d mostly only been joking, but this woman was firmly putting him in his place.
Clasping his hands behind his back, he bowed. “Very good, madam.” He could hardly remember when a woman had charmed him more.
Not for the first time, Simon mused to himself that this spring might prove enjoyable after all.
Getting to Know the Butler
After spending the first night settling in, Violet woke and dressed bright and early the next morning intent on meeting with Greystone. In addition to finalizing the plans for Posy’s coming-out ball that Greystone had promised, Violet needed to go through the various invitations to select which affairs would be best suited for a debutante. Once she decided on their calendar, she would go right to work finalizing Posy’s wardrobe.
No lady could embark on a Season without at least a dozen gowns made up by Madam Chantal. While making plans in Yorkshire, they had, of course, ordered several dresses from London’s most sought-after modiste. But those gowns would require alterations—for which Violet needed to schedule appointments. With any luck, the famous dressmaker would be able to get them in without delay.
When Violet burst into her cousin’s study, she was more than enthusiastic about getting to work.
“Good morning—” Her smile faltered when she realized Greystone was not alone.
Mr. Cockfield—the butler—was seated across from her cousin, reclining, actually, with one foot resting on the opposite knee.
“You’re up early this morning,” Greys greeted her.
Both men rose.
“Greystone,” she acknowledged her cousin. And then, “Mr. Cockfield.”
Violet lowered herself into a second chair facing Greystone’s desk, expecting the butler to excuse himself.
He did not.
“You are a sight for sore eyes, Vi,” Greys said as both men lowered themselves back into their seats.
Keeping her gaze locked on her cousin but aware that Mr. Cockfield was watching her, she shifted and straightened her spine. “I don’t wish to interrupt if the two of you are discussing household business.”
“Not at all,” Greystone answered. “I suppose you’d like to go through the stack of invitations I’ve been ignoring.”
“That and the guestlist for Posy’s ball.” She appreciated the reminder of why she’d come. And since Mr. Cockfield showed no indication of excusing himself, she addressed another concern. “I also wanted your opinion on Posy’s prospects.” Unfortunately, she wasn’t nearly as familiar with society as most sponsors were, and she’d need to rely on Greystone’s judgment.
Her cousin shook his head. “If it was up to me, I’d steer her clear of all of them.” He frowned. “But I suppose that’s not an option.”
“She is nearly twenty,” Violet reminded him.
Her cousin exhaled loudly. “I know.”
Violet had wanted to bring Posy to London two years ago, but Posy had been reluctant, and Greys had indulged her.
“Anyone, in particular, she ought to avoid?” Violet opened the small book she liked to keep notes in, pencil poised.
“How much time do we have?” Greys chuckled.
“Perhaps it would be easier to list the names of those you approve.” She slid a dismissive glance in Mr. Cockfield’s direction. In answer, the man reclined and recrossed his legs.
