When things were arranged to the dowager’s satisfaction, she said, “Lord Marsden, be so kind as to sit here.” She indicated the chair behind a table in the middle of the room. A fitting location for a hearing.
“I could not sit in the presence of so many lovely ladies, Your Grace.” He sent a waggish smile around the room.
His charm did not deter the dowager.“Sit.”
He sat, flopping down in the chair and pushing his long legs out in front of him.
“Very well, everyone. Pay attention.” The dowager faced Gemma. “We are here to see this done right. My lord, this is Mrs. Gemma Estep, the nieceof Andrew MacMhuirich. Gemma, this is Lord Marsden, usually a pillar member of our small community when he apparently hasn’t been obviously hugging a bottle all night—”
“Is it that obvious?” he said, unchastised and unconcerned.
“He also serves as the local magistrate,” the dowager finished, undeterred in her mission. “My lord, you are here to settle the matter of ownership of The Garland. Gemma says her uncle left it to her. As you undoubtedly know from conversation with your recent host, the Logical Men’s Society intends to challenge her claim. Presumably, they wish The Garland for themselves. We expect you to hear Gemma out and make a fair decision.”
“Presumably in her favor, I take it,” he drawled, looking around the room at the women. Their expressions were serious. His brows came together as he realized that they were not in the mood for his humor, such as it was. He turned his gaze to Gemma. “Well, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Estep.”
“Please call me Gemma.”
“A bit too familiar, isn’t it?”
“I don’t like my married name any more than I liked the man I married. I’m sorry it was ever visited upon me.”
The earl looked around the room, puzzled. “Am I in the same village?” he asked. “When I last left Maidenshop, there was nothing but biddable women living here. Things seem to have changed.”
“You are exactly right, my lord,” Mrs. Warbler said without missing a beat. “Andweare here to be certain that Gemma receives all that she should.”
“And we don’t wantyoustalling or patronizing any of us,” Clarissa declared. Everyone in the room looked at her with startled expressions as if puzzled by her forthrightness. As if answering their silent surprise, she said, “Well, we don’t,” to the others.
Heads nodded in agreement.
The earl gave her a cynical look. “Coming into your own finally, eh, Miss Taylor?”
Her answer was a tight smile, even as she leaned close to Gemma and whispered, “I can’t stand even looking at him.”
Lord Marsden took charge. “Let’s be on with it. First order of business—is there anything to drink?”
“I think you’ve had enough,” someone muttered from the crowd.
“Au contraire, I have not had a drop for almost twenty-four hours. It is one of the reasons I look this way.”
He was so cocksure, so completely himself, that Gemma did fear for her claim. “I have tea brewed,” she offered.
The earl looked at her as if she spoke gibberish. Clarissa helped him understand. “Tea. It is served in a pot. One may drink gallons of it and stay sensible.”
The corner of his lip curled up. “I don’t knowhow sensible it would be to drink gallons of anything. I would prefer—”
“Tea would be excellent,” the duchess finished for him, a stern warning on her face.
Gemma could see him wonder if it would be worth doing battle with a duchess, and then he murmured, “Tea would be nice.”
And Gemma had the chance to escape and gather her wits. She practically ran to the kitchen, Clarissa on her heels. “It’s happening,” she said. “It’s my opportunity.”
“Yes,” Clarissa answered, equally excited.
“I need my letter. I need a mug and tea.”
“I’ll pour the tea. Your hands are shaking too hard.”
“Yes, thank you. I need to fetch my letter.”
