He was either obtuse or purposely ignoring her, and she’d wager her favorite hat on the latter.
Greystone had opened a drawer and pushed a stack of envelopes in her direction. “Trouble with separating them like that, my dearest cousin, is that all the bachelors happen to be male. And knowing how they think, I’m inclined to withhold my approval perpetually.”
“Not all males are animals,” she said. “There must be a few decent ones.”
Violet drew the collection of invitations toward her, casually flicked through the envelopes, and frowned. The names were familiar as the same families had made up the ton for as many years as it had existed.
However, as to their on-dits, she wasn’t nearly as confident in deciding who was and who was not appropriate for Posy to mingle with.
But before she could voice her concerns, the stack of envelopes was plucked out of her hands. Mr. Cockfield began flicking through each of them one by one, building three separate piles.
“What—?”
“Trust my butler in these matters, Violet,” Greys said. “He’s a better handle on ton affairs than both of us put together.”
“Lady Ravensdale finalized the guest list last week,” Mr. Cockfield said. “As to the invitations, Posy shouldn’t miss these….” He sifted through the stack, tossing envelopes one by one onto the desk. “Send your regrets to these.” He pointed to a second pile. “And leave these to her own discretion,” he tapped the third pile.
Which, Violet realized, effectively cut her out of the decision-making process altogether.
Mr. Cockfield leveled his gaze on her. “Avoid an introduction to Lord Tempest’s brother, Mr. Gilcrest. Other gentlemen to steer her clear of are Viscount Trident, and the Marquess of Lockley if he is in town. They’ve always been troublemakers.”
Violet wanted to appreciate his opinions, only they didn’t sound like opinions at all. They sounded more like orders!
“I am in full agreement,” Greys said.
Violet wrote down the names and, feeling more than a twinge of exasperation, turned to face Mr. Cockfield. “And which gentlemen should she encourage?” Violet asked, not bothering to tamp down the sarcasm in her voice.
“Aside from the names I’ve provided, whoever she fancies.”
“But there must be someone…”
“Miss Faraday. To set your sights on one or two potential husbands for your niece would be an exercise in futility. Why don’t you simply wait and see who she likes? When one of them catches her eye, we will vet his suitability then.”
“But…” This wasn’t at all how her family had handled such matters. In fact, it had been Adelaide who had introduced Violet to Christopher, the man she’d become engaged to. And what did he mean, we will vet? “With all due respect, Mr. Cockfield, I cannot imagine you have much experience in this area. A lady requires a guiding hand. And Lord Greystone and I will be the ones to provide that.”
She turned to her cousin, but Greys, who’d gone back to reading the paper in front of him, provided no assistance whatsoever.
Mr. Cockfield studied her with eyes that seemed to know more than they ought. “As you wish,” he said, rising from his chair.
“I do wish,” she grumbled beneath her breath.
She wished this butler would learn his place; that was what she wished.
“But Lord Shortwood seemed so sweet, Posy, and his estate isn’t all that far from Yorkshire,” Miss Faraday reasoned, not convincing her niece in the least. And then she added, “those spots on his face will fade as he gets older.”
Simon resisted the urge to smirk when Miss Faraday set her knitting aside, obviously exasperated with her niece.
“Perhaps you ought to marry him then,” Posy returned. “Aunt Iris and I agree that you ought to look for a husband for yourself. Where is she this afternoon, anyway?”
“Another game of piquet with Lady Sheffield.” Simon winked at Lady Posy as he lowered the tray of tea onto the table.
“Really, Aunt Violet. It couldn’t hurt for you to put yourself out there while we’re here.”
“I had my chance, and it was not meant to be,” Miss Faraday answered, shifting in her seat. “Besides, it’s not your concern.”
“But you’d be setting an excellent example.” Simon couldn’t help but toss fuel onto the fire.
“This isn’t your concern either, Mr. Cockfield.”
