He shrugged.
“A shrug is not an answer.”
“I knew everyone was keeping you updated with the news. I had nothing else to tell you.”
She gritted her teeth and looked into the fire. Warwick had always had the ability to annoy her with very little effort on his part.
“It would have been nice to hear from you,” she managed to get out in a civil tone.
“I’m not good at correspondence.”
“Well, let’s hope when you find a wife, she never leaves for an extended visit, as it’s likely she would want a letter from you.” She’d said the words with a snap and hated herself for it.
“Forgive me, I hadn’t realized my lack of correspondence would upset you so much.” He looked contrite but she was not fooled. He used that expression when he wanted to placate someone, even if he did not agree with what they were saying.
“Even Ellen Nightingale wrote to me,” she snapped.
“That was nice of her.”
“Yes, well she is very unhappy.” Damn, she sounded snippy now, and she could say in good conscience that she had not been snippy since leaving London a year ago.
“Things have not improved for her then?”
“They have not. She is quite distraught.” Ellen’s father was gambling their family’s money away, and there was very little she could do about it.
“Can’t be that distraught. After all, Viscount Lester has proposed to her. It’s my understanding she’s accepted. He is a man of means and will ensure she and her family do not go without. She will be well provided for.”
His offhand manner fueled the flames of her anger.
“Just because a man of wealth and circumstance is about to propose to a woman does not mean it will make her happy,” she snapped. “Besides, he is thirty years her senior.”
He shrugged, and if she wasn’t so tired, she would get out of her chair and slap him.
“You do know who my sisters are, don’t you, Samantha?”
“Of course I know who they are.”
“Well then, you must also know they would never allow me to make an assumption about any woman.”
He was grinning at her now, which told her he’d been deliberately annoying her. She made herself smile and say, “And how are your aunt and uncle?”
His eyes narrowed as if he couldn’t quite work out her response. Normally she would have yelled a reply at him, or demanded he cease teasing her, but instead she changed the subject.
“Well, thank you. Uncle has had a chest inflammation, but Essie treated him with tonics and rubs, and he is vastly improved now. Harry’s grandmother is back in London for the season.”
Samantha loved that woman. She was born to poverty and slept in a bed with many siblings, and yet when her grandson, Warwick’s cousin Harry, made his fortune, she stepped into the role of a wealthy lady with ease.
“Yes, she is certainly a character.”
Her yawn nearly made her jaw crack.
“Get into bed, Samantha. I will sleep here on the floor before the fire.”
“That will not be comfortable.”
“I’ve had worse, and I’m not leaving you alone in here.”
“Don’t be silly, I will be fine.”
