oren paced the dank library. Even with the curtains open, the wood-paneled walls absorbed the light. He strode to the windows and pulled out his fob. He’d been waiting ten minutes already. There was a tap at the door, and the housekeeper walked in bearing a tray of tea and biscuits.
“My apologies, yer lordship. Lady Maudsley is speaking with her children. She says if ye don’t mind waitin’ she’ll be a few minutes more.”
Loren tipped his head. “Of course. At her convenience, then.” He spoke calmly, though the red-hot of this temper lay dangerously close to the surface. He was not a man used to waiting. Perhaps her late husband had his reasons for—
“Lady Maudsley will see you now,” her butler said from the arch of the door. “Follow me, sir.”
“Lord Griston, milady.”
Ginny rose and glanced at the brass bracket clock mounted on the wall above the mantel over the hearth. “It seems hours early.”
Griston appeared around Kipling, smiling. “Only a few minutes, my lady. I’m here for our drive in the park.” His confidence was something to envy as not a repentant note spilled from him.
She sputtered, embarrassment flaming her face. “Heavens, I’m hardly prepared for a drive in the park.” She studied the earl in his buff pantaloons and shiny hessians. He was pleasing to look at, despite lacking Brock’s rugged demeanor and harsh facial contours. Nor did Griston possess the chiseled jaw and creases in his forehead and around his eyes. His hair was a little too perfect, his etiquette precise and above reproach.
There was no doubt the man was a catch, but why her? He had an heir. She had two girls and was the widow of a horrible, brazen libertine. Her hair, while not an unfashionable color, was unruly, and she was uncommonly tall. His interest made no sense.
Perhaps it was time to accept perfect for herself. She could use a break from Brock’s arrogance and the complication his presence added. It wasn’t as if she was in the market for a husband. She turned a brilliant smile on him. “Good afternoon, my lord.”
“And who might these two lovelies be?” Lord Griston said winningly. He moved into the drawing room and bowed over Celia’s outstretched hand while her other covered her giggles.
“May I present my daughters, Lord Griston? My youngest daughter, Lady Cecilia.”
Irene edged to Ginny’s side. Ginny didn’t blame her. Her elder daughter had been drugged and kidnapped along with Lorelei, all while Ginny had lain in an unconscious stupor, completely oblivious, the year before.
It was the very reason Ginny was determined to give her daughters an advantage she hadn’t had. Nothing could eradicate her guilt for leaving them unprotected. She should have known. Something. Anything. A good mother would have picked up on such evil. Ginny wrapped an arm around Irene’s shoulders. “And this is”—she cleared the croak from her voice—“Lady Irene.” That bastard husband of hers had apparently had nefarious plans for Irene. Just thinking about that time threatened Ginny’s ability to stand.
Irene cowed into Ginny’s hold.
Ginny kneeled before Irene, clasping both her hands within her own, and whispered, “It’s all right, darling. You’re safe. I’m right here with you.”
She stood again, humbled by Irene’s fear, and turned to Griston. “You’ll have to forgive my elder daughter, my lord. She is reserved.” Irene’s apprehension solidified Ginny’s notions for giving something innately valuable to her girls—the confidence to take care of themselves should the need arise. It bothered her greatly to make an excuse for what, in her daughter’s mind, were genuine fears.
Griston glanced at Ginny, his eyes filled with compassion and understanding. He smiled at Irene but did not approach. “I am a stranger, my lady.” He winked at her, and Ginny gave him a grateful smile. It would be all right. “In my eyes, you are wise indeed,” he said to Irene, and his smile encompassed them all. “Perhaps we could all use a ride in the park, hmm?”
“You are quite gracious, my lord.” She turned to Irene.
Irene gave a quick, short shake of her head.
Lord Griston was not to be put off. “It’s a lovely day, Lady Irene. What of a short walk? My man, Farcle, will accompany us as well. There to keep us safe.” He lowered his voice to a stage whisper. “I shall tell you a secret. He’s quite intimidating.”
“I would like a short walk,” Celia announced.
“All will be fine, darling. I’ll be with you the entire time,” Ginny said.
Irene’s flinch was slight, but true to her nature of propriety, she nodded. “I’ll find Miss Lambert, Mama.” Leaving a wide berth around Griston, she hurried from the room.
“We hardly ever get to go to the park, Lord Gwiston.” Celia’s impish lisp made her sound younger than Irene had at Celia’s age. Ginny didn’t remember Irene ever acting as young as Celia.
Griston faced Ginny, his smile touching her deep. “How engaging. You have much to be proud of, Lady Maudsley.”
“Yes. Yes, I do.” Her grin matched his. “Thank you. A walk would well suit all of us.” Heart full, she paused and considered him. “I hope you didn’t take Irene’s shyness as rude, sir. I’m afraid she does not trust so easily.” She weighed her words, then made a leap of faith. “I was infirm for a time just before my husband’s death,” she said, holding back the entirety of the events. Her shrill laugh, however, burst out of its own volition—her body’s way of handling her fears through nervous energy. A most annoying trait. “Er, it was a near thing,” she finished on a weak, hushed tone. “Irene has become more reserved as a result.”
“Quite understandable, my lady.”
The skin at her hairline tingled. She laughed again. “Please forgive me, my lord.”
“Not at all.” He held out one arm to her and the other to Celia. “Shall we, ladies?”
