The marchioness’s carriage had deposited them at the village green. Xenia had a list of errands to run, and her first stop was at the draper’s to acquire more linens for the guests. As she and Lady Blackwood strolled toward the shop, they were shadowed by a pair of footmen.
“My husband would have a fit if I did not bring an escort.” Shaded by a ruffled parasol that matched her walking dress, the marchioness gave Xenia a knowing look. “The Harrington men tend to be overprotective.”
Since Xenia couldn’t think of a response that wouldn’t give away too much, she said nothing.
“May I call you Xenia? It is a lovely name.”
“Of course, my lady. Thank you,” Xenia mumbled.
“In return, you may call me Pandora. Or Penny, if we are to become friends.”
“Oh no, I couldn’t, my lady.”
Xenia glanced around nervously. She’d already waved at a few villagers who were watching her and the sophisticated lady with unabashed curiosity. The last thing she needed was to fuel the gossip mill by appearing overfamiliar with her employer’s mama.
“Come, my dear. We are women of the world, are we not? As such, I hope we may speak frankly, without the pretensions of formality.”
The marchioness, Xenia observed, had a talent for getting her way, but doing so in a fashion that was disarming and gracious. It was a talent that she had passed on to her daughter.
“Now, my son introduced you to us in a way that states his intentions quite clearly,” Lady Blackwood said. “What remains less clear to me areyourintentions.”
Xenia knew the tattered brim of her bonnet didn’t hide her flaming cheeks. Never in her life had she been so embarrassed—so caughtin the act of wanting something beyond her reach. It was how she’d felt when Ethan noticed her eyeing the green dress, only this was a thousand times worse.
“I-I do not have any, ma’am. Intentions, I mean,” she stammered. “His lordship is my employer?—”
“Dukes have married shopgirls and ladies eloped with footmen.” Lady Blackwood’s shoulders moved in an eloquent shrug. “Since my son does not seem to care about such things, I do not see why you should. His father and I raised him—and all his siblings—to follow their hearts when it comes to making the most important decisions in their lives. My question to you is whether you return Ethan’s affections. Whether you care for him…and not just the life that he can afford you.”
At the marchioness’s pointed words, indignation burst in Xenia’s chest.
“I don’t give a whit about his money or title,” she said tightly. “I’ve been fending for myself since the age of sixteen and getting by just fine. I do not need anyone to give me what I can earn for myself. It’s a simple, peaceful life I want—the kind of happiness that, no offense, my lady, money cannot buy.”
“None taken, and I happen to agree,” Lady Blackwood said easily. “If it is not my son’s fortune that interests you, I hope it is not his fame. As much as it grieves me to say it, Ethan is unlikely to perform again. I assume he has mentioned that his former fiancée ended things because of his injury?”
Xenia narrowed her eyes. “From what I understand, his fiancée ended things because Lord Ethan was getting better, and she could no longer play the role of nurse and martyr.”
The marchioness arched her brows. “I take it that you have been talking to Gigi.”
“No, ma’am. I have been talking to the person whom this concerns—the person whomyoushould be having this conversation with. Since you asked, however, I will say this: my only worry about Lord Ethan’s injury is the pain that it causes him. Not the physical sort, which he has learned to cope with, but the emotional loss that comes from being deprived of one’s art. Yet your son is strong, my lady, and he is not allowing his disability to define him. Did you know that he is now composing? Even if no one hears his beautiful piece, it will not matter because the important thing is that he is making music again. He is doing what he loves most, what he was born to do…”
Too late, Xenia realized she’d let her emotions get the better of her. Lady Blackwood was staring at her as if she’d suddenly sprouted two heads.
Blooming hell, did I just give a marchioness—and my lover’s mama, no less—a blistering lecture? Must I ruin everything all the dashed time? What is wrong with me?
“I’m sorry.” Xenia’s chest constricted. “I shouldn’t have?—”
“It is all right, my dear.”
To Xenia’s shock, a faint smile played on Lady Blackwood’s lips.
“To be candid, I was wondering what Ethan saw in you,” the lady said thoughtfully. “Now I think I understand.”
“There is nothing to understand, ma’am. Believe me.” Xenia was desperately glad they’d arrived at Mr. Duffield’s. “Here we are at the draper’s. I’ll just, um, pop in. There is a dress shop across the way, if you would care to browse. Or the Leaning House offers a fine cup of tea…”
“I will amuse myself.” Lady Blackwood waved her on. “Attend to your business, my dear.”
Not needing to be told twice, Xenia dashed into the shop.
Mr. Duffield, a dapper blond fellow in his thirties, was the genius behind the manor’s new curtains and upholstery. As he was patient, kind, and handsome, he was popular among local matrons. Currently, he was besieged by a circle of women vying for his opinion on various decorating projects.
