“She is well educated and talks like she belongs in society. That doesn’t suggest to me she was raised in poverty, Zach.” It was a relief to talk to someone about Ruby and his concerns for her.
Of course, he had no right to be concerned about her. He didn’t show Ella’s nanny the same concern, and yet Zach was right. There was something vulnerable about Ruby that touched him.
He just had to hear her voice or smell her scent in the air, and he was suddenly humming with anticipation. His daughter’s tutor was becoming a problem he didn’t know how to deal with.
“Agreed. But as the carriage is slowing and we are about to enter a nest of poisonous wasps, we will continue this conversation at another time, cousin. Brace yourself, as I overheard Phillipa mentioning she had her sights set on you now Michael is taken.”
“What?”
As Zach had the door open and leapt from the carriage, he did not answer.
“I’m killing you,” he muttered to his cousin when he reached him on the doorstep of the Blake residence.
“Hello, Beadle.”
“Mr. Zachariel Deville.” The butler bowed. His face showed a grimace of pain when he rose.
“I promise not to create a ruckus, man. No need to look pained,” Zach said. “This is my cousin, Mr. Howarth.”
The butler bowed again. “If you will wait here, please.”
“I know the procedure, Beadle. I have, after all, been here enough times.”
The butler walked away.
“How often do you have to apologize to Mary?” Forrest asked as he wandered around the front entrance. It seemed crammed full of fussy knickknacks and lace. Flowers were dotted in vases everywhere, the scent almost overpowering.
“At least twice a season.”
“Does she accept?”
“No, but we have peace for a few days. Sometimes she apologizes to me.”
“Do you know what I think?” Forrest said the words to a painting of a man and woman draped in white fabric. Both had expressions of ecstasy on their faces, and he wondered what they’d been up to.
“I shudder to think.”
“I think Mary disturbs you, Zach. In fact, I think it’s far more than just annoyance you feel for Mary Blake.”
“What? The hell you say,” his cousin snapped at him.
Forrest liked the fact that the focus was now off him and Miss Knight.
“Well, whatever other reason is there for you both being like rabid dogs when you meet? If you don’t like each other, do as I suggested and avoid each other.”
Zach made a hissing sound like he was expelling steam. Job done, Forrest thought, taking the reins firmly back in his hands. One-upmanship was wonderful when you were the one-upper.
“If you will follow me,” Beadle said, returning. “Lady Blake, Miss Blake, and Miss Mary Blake are receiving callers.”
They walked upstairs and down a hallway that was even fussier than the downstairs entrance. The scent of flowers was making his head hurt. They entered a parlor, and his senses were bombarded from all sides.
Flowers, perfume, and color. Forrest wasn’t sure but thought he felt a bout of vertigo coming on.
“Mr. Howarth,” Phillipa said. “How wonderful of you to call upon me. Do you see, Mother, Mr. Howarth has called.”
“As she’s sitting next to you, I fail to see how she cannot have seen.” These words were delivered in a cold, hard tone by Mary.
Lady Blake was seated in a chair, and her two daughters on the sofa. Dressed as they always were, fussily, their hair was festooned with flowers and ribbons. While the first two Blakes were smiling widely, the youngest was not. She was scowling.
