“Of course.” He stared at her innocently.
“I am content as I am,” she protested—perhaps a tad too vehemently?—which meant that she was not.
Content, that was.
“Buy some new gowns, do something with your hair, practice fluttering your lashes.” He dared suggesting before handing her the plate of biscuits.
She was staring at him with her mouth half-open, dismayed, no doubt, at his audacity. He resisted the urge to stuff one of the biscuits between her lips.
With large, expressive brown eyes and thick hair that was only slightly darker, she was a very pretty woman.
If she’d allow herself to be.
“I smile.” She stared down at the dish with a grimace. “And my gowns are perfectly fine.”
“Of course they are,” he responded. “Is there anything else that you require right now?”
“What’s wrong with my hair?” She all but ignored the sweet bread in front of her.
“Nothing at all, Aunt Violet,” Posy chimed in. “If you’re trying to look like a governess.”
“Or a vicar’s wife.” Simon teased with a grin as he closed the drawing-room doors behind him. More and more, he enjoyed these little run-ins.
Strolling back to his office, he chuckled that he’d gotten a rise out of her this morning. Because as much as Violet Faraday pretended to be happy as a spinster, Simon suspected otherwise. She was too resigned, too strait-laced. Greystone ought to have noticed and done something about it the day she arrived.
But since that wasn’t happening, Simon would challenge her himself—with a little flirtation, a little teasing. And this morning, he’d achieved just that. Because just before he’d closed the door to the drawing-room, Simon had caught Miss Violet Faraday staring down at her hands and pinching her mouth together.
But she hadn’t hidden her smile completely. And that, he decided, was progress.
Suspicious Behavior
“Good morning, Aunt Violet, Uncle Greys,” Posy mumbled in a very un-Posy-like manner as she dragged herself into the morning room.
“Good morning, Posy.” Greys barely flicked his gaze up from the paper he was reading.
“You look tired today,” Violet offered, remarking on the dark circles etched beneath Posy’s eyes. “Please tell me you did not stay up late playing chess with Mr. Cockfield again.” At Posy’s innocent look, Violet turned to her cousin. “Your butler ought not to be fraternizing with your ward, Greys. Can’t you speak with him?”
“Don’t be such a stickler, Auntie. And I’m not fraternizing with him. I’m getting walloped at chess. Mark my words, though. I will beat him at least once before we return to Yorkshire.”
There were so many things wrong with her niece’s words that Violet hardly knew where to begin. “First of all, if you would only go a little easier on the gentlemen you’ve met, you wouldn’t need to return to Yorkshire—not permanently anyhow.” Violet inhaled a calming breath. Despite having a successful come-out ball by all accounts, and attending all of the most sought-after events in the month since they’d arrived, Posy had made very little progress in securing a husband thus far. This wasn’t because she hadn’t attracted any worthy gentlemen, however, but because Posy had done nothing whatsoever to encourage any of them.
Because, apparently, her niece was only interested in frittering the Season away with Greystone’s butler.
“I told you—”
“But you haven’t given any of them a chance.” Violet cut off Posy’s objections. She had heard them all before. Lord Tibbons was too old and boring. Mr. Spencer was too intent on his music. And Sir Frederick’s breath was foul.
Besides all that, Posy complained that she didn’t want to have to move to another shire, nor did she have any desire to manage her own household, forced to host parties for her husband while acting hoity-toity. And—a point she was most adamant about—she didn’t want babies.
Violet dismissed such complaints. Surely, her niece would feel differently when she met the right gentleman?
Because those were the very things a proper lady did. If Posy didn’t achieve all the accomplishments of a lady, it would mean that Violet had failed Adelaide.
It would mean that she, Violet, had failed, period.
“If spinsterhood is good enough for you, why isn’t it good enough for me?” Her niece could be relentless in her objections.
“Greystone, would you say something?” Violet begged.
