Sometimes, he had wondered why it mattered to him how she fared in London. Having been tasked by Cam with coming to find her at Angsley Hall, and now seeing her again, however, left him in little doubt of his feelings for her.
He was smitten with Miss Blackwood.
“My mother retired a couple months back as her eyesight was too poor to continue as Lady Angsley’s seamstress,” Grayson explained to Eleanor before glancing at his mum. “By the way, whereareyour spectacles?”
When she shrugged, he sighed and set the filled teapot on the table, before reaching for three cups. She was always losing her new eyeglasses.
“Do you have any milk?” he asked, recalling how Eleanor liked milky tea.
“Of course,” his mother said. “Lift the stone. It was delivered fresh an hour ago.”
He lifted a flagstone from the floor to reveal his mother’s cold storage and drew out a stoppered jug of milk, knowing the thick cream was on top. If Eleanor hadn’t been there, he would have scooped it off with a spoon and devoured it.
“I know what you’re thinking, lad,” his mother said, and he cringed, hoping she wouldn’t tell Eleanor.
Thankfully, she didn’t say anymore, but the smirk on Eleanor’s face indicated she’d guessed.
“I won’t be offended if you want the cream, Mr. O’Connor,” she said, then offered him an impish tilt to her head.
“Do you call my boymister?” his mum asked, surprised.
“Mum,” he warned her, shaking the jug to blend the cream for all of them, and then pouring some in the bottom of each cup.
“I’m only wondering why she doesn’t call you Gray like everyone else.”
“Because she’s not family,” he said. “And she’s a lady.”
Eleanor laughed, and he felt as if he might be blushing at his ownfaux pas.
“Don’t listen to him, Mrs. O’Connor. I am simply a regular miss. My sisters are titled ladies, but none of us by birth.”
“I’ve not met your eldest sister,” his mother said, “but Lady Cambrey is certainly diverting and quite the beauty.”
“Yes, she is,” Eleanor said without a hint of jealousy.
Maggie had handled her London Seasons in absolutely the opposite manner to Eleanor—from all accounts, enjoying every moment of sparkle and dazzle, of dancing and champagne, and the attention of men, especially the Earl of Cambrey, whom she snagged for her own.
“Does she stop by here?” Eleanor asked.
“What, here?” His mother’s tone was horrified, and they all laughed at the notion. “Before I retired, when I was up at the hall, Lord and Lady Cambrey would come over to dine with his relations. The Angsleys aren’t like other families, they treat all us servants as family, too, and I was invited to meet your sister one evening. I even got to hear her play the piano. Didn’t I, Gray?”
“Yes, Mum,” he agreed.
“Do you visit your son at Turvey House?” Eleanor asked, and Gray watched his mother’s face cloud over as it always did at any mention of the place.
“No,” she said simply, then turned in her seat to look at him. “Lad, there are biscuits in the tin. Nothing like Mrs. Latbury’s homemade shortbread, I’m afraid, but tasty.”
They passed a pleasant few minutes before Eleanor suddenly frowned at him.
“I only just recalled, you said you were looking for me. Is that right?”
He paused.
“Yes, I rode over here late last night—”
“I saw you,” she interrupted, “from my bedroom window. You were the horseman in the storm.”
The thought of her in her bed caused a tightening in his loins. For a moment, he said nothing more.
