“Is there something you wish me to relay to His Lordship?” Ottilie asked.
“Yes, Miss. Tea has already been served in the dining room, and Her Ladyship is there awaiting your arrival.”
“Oh dear—thank you, Benson,” Ottilie said and scurried after her cousin.
“Henry,” Ottilie whispered urgently, coming up behind him.
“Be sure and remembernotto mention our visit to Bastin when Mama returns.” Henry marched into the dining room without turning to look at Ottilie. He stopped abruptly.
Ottilie came up behind him. Lady Hudsyn sat with a cup of tea in her hand and glowered at them with an expression frightening enough to make Medusa whimper.
“How could you, Henry?” Lady Hudsyn put down her teacup.
“How could I what, Mama?” Hudsyn sauntered to the tea tray and picked up a biscuit.
“You took your cousin, unchaperoned, to see that rapscallion?”
“Rapscallion?” Hudsyn frowned. “I know no rapscallions.” He lifted the teapot. “Is this tea fresh?”
“It’s a half-hour old. You are late.”
“Well, I suppose it will have to do.” He poured two cups of tea. “And to be clear, Ottilie wasn’t unchaperoned. She was under my protection.”
“A man is not an appropriate chaperone for an unmarried lady.”
Ottilie groaned inwardly. Why did her aunt insist on treating her like some nubile debutante instead of the independent, grown woman she was?
“I’m notjusta man. I am her cousin. Don’t you trust me to protect Ottilie?”
“Of course, I trust you. But if you refuse to take a chaperone, people will talk.”
“I don’tneeda chaperone, Aunt,” Ottilie said. “I am not interested in—”
“She didn’t need a chaperone,” Henry interrupted loudly, “because Mr. Bastin employs a respectable widow called Mrs. Wilson who remained present during our entire visit.” He handed Ottilie a cup of tea and a plate heaped with an assortment of biscuits.
Ottilie accepted the plate and peered at the dark liquid in the teacup. “I drink mine with two lumps of sugar and cream, remember?”
“Sorry, I got distracted.” Henry swept the cup back to the tea tray.
“And what of your reputation and your responsibilities to your title?” Lady Hudsyn’s voice grew shrill. “I assume you still intend to marry well and do your part to increase the wealth and status of this family.”
Henry laughed and dropped two lumps of sugar into Ottilie’s teacup. “I am a man with a title and a fortune.” He stirred cream into Ottilie’s tea. “It does not matter what I do.”
“I hardly think socializing with a rogue will do you any good.”
“There is no need to be so dramatic, Mama.” Henry glanced at his mother’s sour face. “Jack Bastin is a famous author and has as much chance of being shunned by society as the king himself. No one will blame him for last night’s fiasco. Certainly, they will gossip and fuss for a few days, but in the end, society will blame Madame Baudelaire for cuckolding her husband.”
Lady Hudsyn sucked in her breath sharply.
“And—” Henry continued—“for making a spectacle of herself in public. She is French, after all—so not one of us.”
“And Mr. Bastin is an American!” Lady Hudsyn trilled.
“He is not an American. He is an Englishman who spent a few years in America. I spent the first ten years of my life on the continent, and you spent over twenty. Does it make us no longer English?” Henry handed Ottilie her tea and went to retrieve his cup.
Lady Hudsyn clicked her tongue. “And what did he accomplish in America?”
“I don’t know. Getting rich, it seems.” Henry settled his seat and took a sip of tea. “Now, he has returned to England and charmed society, despite your disapproval.”
