She couldn’t seem to concentrate on her drawing, but then she wasn’t the artist her brother was.
“Why does Aunt Isobel hate me?” Brandon’s surliness yanked Lorelei back to her surroundings. “She’s our only relative.”
They were situated in Aunt Isobel’s very extensive, very impressive library, sitting at a table near the windows. A hazy morning sun slashed the dark wood of an unscuffed table. Noting like the scarred version they used at Spixworth Hall.
“I don’t know, darling. I can promise you this, it’s not because she knows you. She doesn’t. I mean you haven’t put a frog in a bed in years.”
He didn’t even crack a smile. His pencil flew over his paper.
Concern, etched with panic, simmered in her. “Brandon, I’ll never desert you,” she said softly. “You realize that, don’t you?”
His flippant shrug shredded her insides. His pencil never slowed.
She reached across the table and gently squeezed his fingers. “Brandon, look at me.”
His hand stopped, and he lifted blue eyes that matched her own.
“It’s you and me, Bran. No matter what.”
He blinked rapidly then dropped his gaze and nodded sharply.
Tibbs knocked and appeared in the doorframe, his silver brows and matching mustache affecting his stoic mask.
“Lady Lorelei, the dowager is requesting your presence in the drawing room.”
“Thank you, Tibbs. I’ll be there directly.” Lorelei let out a sigh. “I’ll see you in a bit, darling. The games begin.”
He frowned. “What games?”
“I don’t know. It’s just something Aunt Isobel said last night.” She ruffled his hair as she stood, though he shook her off. It sent a melancholic nostalgia through her. Did she detect the shadow of hair on his upper lip? He was taller than her now. He was growing up.
Lorelei checked her appearance in the foyer mirror and patted her hair, though not a single strand appeared out of place. She went to the drawing room door, grasped the handle, and took a deep breath. She let it out then entered. Stunned, she pulled up short. The room was so full there were not enough chairs for everyone to sit. She fervently hoped she could remember names. She was not always so good at that.
“It’s about time, Lorelei.” Aunt Isobel was not known for her subtlety. Her voice carried across the room. “As you can see, we have a roomful of guests.”
Surely, every person in that room could detect the blazing heat crawling up her neck. Her fingers wrapped about her locket, and she lifted her chin. “Forgive my tardiness, all.” She made her way through the throng and took a seat on the brocaded settee next to her aunt. Aunt Isobel slipped a missive in her hand.
“Lady Lorelei, you look fresh as a hothouse rose.” Lord Shufflebottom’s feigned charm was as insulting as it was grandiose hauteur. He’d sent yellow daisies.
Aunt Isabel’s fan rapped across his knuckles as quick as a horse’s crop. “That’s enough out of you, Shufflebottom.”
“My apologies, your grace. Mayhap you’re available for a ride in the park, Lady Lorelei?”
Lorelei’s stomach dipped with revulsion. She didn’t care at all for Lord Shufflebottom. If asked, however, she couldn’t have said why but for the overly perfection of his appearance. His hair was primped and tousled just so. His waistcoat, this morning, of marigold silk. Not a single tone he wore didn’t blend perfectly.
Aunt Isobel nudged her shoulder with her own. “You have a note, dear.”
Lorelei glanced at her aunt.
Her eyes dropped to Lorelei’s fingers. Pointedly.
“Oh, yes. I’d almost forgotten.” Lorelei smiled. “One moment, Lord Shufflebottom.” She looked down at the note.
Lady Lorelei, The fashionable hour begins at five for a drive in the park. I’ll shall be by to pick up you and your maid at twenty minutes of the hour.
Yrs. Kimpton
Lorelei glanced up, meeting Shufflebottom’s narrowed eyes. “I’m terribly sorry, my lord. It appears my time will be otherwise engaged.”
