He flopped into the chair by the window, leaving the other free for me. As I sat, Mr. Grayson wordlessly passed one of the tarts in his hand to me. I tore off a piece and savored the sharp bite of raspberry and the buttery softness of the pastry.
“So,” Mr. Grayson started. “I was wondering something.” There was a hopeful note in his voice. I knew precisely what the next words would be. I’d heard the tone more than once when Dav first entered society. Before she’d set down every gentleman to try to win her favor.
“You need her permission,” I replied simply.
“What?”
“You need Davina’s permission. To court her. The Lord himself could not force her into a courtship she did not wish. I’m certainly not going to attempt it.” I ripped free another bite of pastry and plopped it in my mouth to ease the sting of my brief moment of attraction.
After another bite with no response, I tipped my gaze up to his. There was something familiar in those blue-green depths, underneath the glaze of alcohol.
“I wasn’t going to ask to court your sister,” he said. There was a hint of incredulity in his tone, as though the thought were absurd.
“You weren’t?”
“No! I envy the men brave enough to court Hasket women. I’m not one of them.” His glance toward Will was significant and I had to bite back a grin.
“Well, what do you want then?” The question burst from me, the hand free of pastry dancing in front of me.
“I was just wondering where you decided to go for your trip.”
I snagged another bite of the tart. “My trip?”
“You were planning a trip the last time I saw you,” he said. His lower lip was trapped between his teeth and the image was giving me entirely indecent thoughts.
Shaking them away, I finished the last morsel of tart. “Oh, I’m for Scotland.”
“Scotland… Highlands? Lowlands? For how long?”
I was missing the tart now that the conversation had turned into an interrogation. “Near Edinburgh. I’m planning to make it my primary residence. Why do you have so many questions?”
His expression shifted into something I couldn’t name. “I… you… Nothing. Just making conversation.”
“Right, sorry. I’m a bit… distracted at the moment. What with my sister.” I tipped my thumb toward the wall shared with Mr. Summers’s office.
“Of course. When… uh, when do you leave?” he asked, picking a piece of fluff off his waistcoat—this one was less unfortunate, a simple dark grey with leaves of various lighter grays scattered across it.
“That depends on what Mr. Hart has managed to find out for me. Hopefully within the next few weeks.
“I suppose I should leave you two to it then,” he said, tipping his head toward the main area.
I turned to Will, who was watching us with a queer expression.
“I have answers for some of your questions,” he began. “Surprisingly enough, neither the Rycliffe residence nor Hasket House are entailed. Only the Yorkshire property. If you wanted to sell the Rycliffe residence after your departure, you could, and the money would be yours to do with as you see fit. It would be untouchable by any heirs. You could stay with your mother whenever you return to town.”
My heart leapt. “I can sell that house? You’re certain?”
“Yes. Your father treated it as though it were a part of the courtesy title. But it was only purchased by your grandfather for your father.”
“I don’t have to live there? Where he died?” My chest felt lighter than it had in nearly a decade. Until precisely this moment, I hadn’t realized it bothered me to live in that house.But now—with an alternative before me—I wasn’t certain I could abide another night.
“No. If you would rather, you could use the funds to purchase a different house in town. I did not realize you wished to give it up. I deeply regret that I did not look into that earlier.”
“No,” I said, brushing the apology away. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”
He raised his hand to brush the back of his neck uncomfortably. “Yes, well. Lady Davina’s dowry, such as it stands, is untouchable, even if she remains unwed. I could set up anything additional you wish to add to it for her to have access to at an age you deem appropriate. Normally, I would suggest twenty-five. But…”
“Thirty? Do you suppose she will mature by thirty?”
