As she began to pull off her gloves, one finger at a time, Alister ran a hand through his hair. Dealing with Euphemia when he was in the process of a highly sensitive case was thelastthing he needed right now.
“I don’t have time for this,” he growled.
As he turned to leave, she sputtered, “Aren’t you even going to apologize, Ali? You should be ashamed of yourself! I traveled all night just to come here and speak with you. Why, the embarrassment I felt when I went to the pump rooms and was told I was no longer allowed to extend—”
Alister spun back to her. The ferocity of his mood must have been apparent in his gaze, for her eyes actually widened and she backed up a step.
“You know, I’ve always hated it when you called me,Ali.My name is Alister, or if you prefer, Your Grace. I am a duke, in case you’ve forgotten.” At this point, he stood nose to nose with her. “As far as the termination of funds, you gave me no choice but to drastically reduce your spending habits. It’s not my fault that you go over your widow’s allowance, causing me to pick up the slack. At this rate, I’ll end up in debtor’s prison before the year is out.”
She blinked, but then that haughty chin lifted a notch. “I don’t know what has gotten into you,Your Grace,” she spat. “But I hope that it doesn’t continue. While I had to cut my holiday in Bath short because of your cruelty, I have a house party that I simply must attend—”
He crossed his arms. “And you shall go without another ha’penny from me.”
This time her mouth dropped open. “How can you do this to me? Did I not care for you after our parents died? Now you would deny me this small chance at happiness in my later years?”
“You’re three and forty, Euphemia,” Alister returned dryly. “You are hardly in your dotage.”
“You dare to mock me!” she practically screeched. She drew her shawl around her as if it were a shield. “I shall be in my room. When you are ready to talk sense, maybe I will find it in my heart to forgive such rudeness.”
Alister watched Euphemia ascend the staircase with a grim twist of his mouth. While her husband had died by completely natural means, he could imagine the man had perished because of a willingness to die. He suspected that sounded rather harsh, but he didn’t know when his elder sister had become such a shrew. But then, he supposed she had always been like this. She was twelve years his senior and had always tried to act as a mother hen to him, even now. She had never had any children of her own, although she didn’t appear to mind as she attended most society events with women much older than she was. Remarrying didn’t seem to be a question either, for after speaking with her about it on previous occasions, she had shown no interest in entering the wedded state for a second time.
So like it or not, he was going to have a find a way to get through to her on his own.
Surely the pyramids had been easier to build.
Shaking his head, he returned to his study. He would deal with Euphemia later. Right now, he had more pressing matters to attend to.
* * *
“Is something wrong, my lady? Is the duck not to your liking?”
Lyra glanced up from where she’d been picking at the poor, dead creature on her plate. His demise had been pathetically useless, for she’d failed to take even one bite of his dark, perfectly cooked flesh. To ease the mind of her cook, she said, “The meal is spectacular as usual, Mrs. Raleigh. I don’t know why the housekeeper bothered to send for you.”
At the reassurance, the cook quit tying her apron into knots, and her face instantly softened. “I’m sure Mrs. Jenkins is just concerned over your melancholy these past couple of days. We thought for sure once Mr. Lyridon came by to tell you that all the murder charges had been dropped you would have perked right up.”
Lyra would have thought so too, but then Mr. Lyridon wasn’t the man she had been yearning to see. “Of course I’m relieved that I won’t be facing the hangman. I just wish I knew who was responsible.”
“We all want to see justice for Lord Weston,” the cook stated firmly. “But you can’t let yourself waste away in the interim.”
Lyra forced a smile. “I appreciate everyone’s concern, Mrs. Raleigh. I’m sure that after a good night’s sleep I will feel more revived.”
That seemed to pacify the woman, for she gave a nod and took her leave.
The moment she was gone, Lyra pushed her plate away and did her best not to give in to the urge to cry. She wasn’t as upset over the wasted life of the duck as she was over Alister’s promise to return. But then, after the barrister’s visit the day before, he really had no reason to come back. She was a free woman, no longer under house arrest.
And now, he was a free man.
For him to stay at Weston House any longer would have only courted a horrific scandal, as it could only look like they were lovers. While most affairs among society were overlooked, they were carried out with discretion. No one dared to remain under the same roof for longer than a customary “visit.”
Unfortunately, what made Alister’s absence even more notable was the fact that Mrs. Birdwell was gone as well. Awellah had returned to her townhouse in London, and amid a few tears of farewell, the elderly companion had been forced to return to her permanent post.
Left to her own devices, Lyra found that the silence surrounding her at night, after all the servants had gone to bed, was deafening. She would have much preferred the noise of an ill-tuned orchestra parading through her chamber than to endure that awful stillness for one more day. But because she was still in mourning, she had no choice but to remain in this house and remain a veritable outcast. It wasn’t considered proper for her to attend even the most modest of social gatherings.
So here she sat. Alone.
Barton cleared his throat. “You have a caller, my lady.”
Lyra glanced up at the butler in surprise. And more than a little bit of hope. “Who is it?”
