As they drew near the flock of older women, Lanora realized there was a rooster among the hens, though an elegantly clad one. He stood at least a foot taller than the mamas and aunts clustered around him. His back was to her, but she recognized the unruly mane and the indolent stance. If those clues weren’t enough, the breathless quality to the giggles he was enticing spoke volumes. Lord William Greydrake, future Marquess of Westlock.
Lanora’s steps faltered. The terrace or perhaps the library would be preferable to Lord William’s rakishness, so disappointingly at odds with her hopes for a man raised by her father’s friend, Mr. Darington, in the land her father inhabited. Lord William turned his head, looked over his shoulder, and caught her gaze. His mouth stretched in a lazy smile.
She clenched her hands, but would not be seen to back away. Her face a mask, Lanora followed her aunt, who marched directly to Lord William. The circle of women gave way as he turned, stepped forward, and bowed.
“Lady Edith.” He had a rich, deep voice. Experience told Lanora she could recognize it across a room. “I do not know if you recall, but we were introduced some time ago. I’m--”
“Lord William.” Her aunt’s tone was impartial. “You have the look of your father about you.”
Did Lanora imagine the shadow that darkened his eyes?
“You will hold that against me, I take it?” His tone was light, but the shadow remained.
Aunt Edith shook her head. “No, for you’re more your mother’s son, I think, and she was a good soul.”
The surrounding women murmured, exchanging looks. Everyone must suspect Aunt Edith meant to insult the future marquess, accusing him of being like his mad, violent mother. Knowing her aunt, Lanora thought not.
Lord William certainly seemed offended, though, all light leaving his eyes. Smile frozen in place, he looked past Aunt Edith and bowed to Lanora. “I’m afraid I have not had the pleasure of being introduced to your niece.”
