Lady Mary
Istrode intothe dining room, a small skip to my step that morning. I wasn’t the only one cheered by the break in the storm, or the thought of what Clem might have made for breakfast. Miss Smith stood by one of the windows, her face uplifted to a solitary ray of sunlight shining through a break in the clouds, a soft smile on her lips.
“Good morning, all.” I nodded to the guests as I made my way to the sideboard.
“Good morning.” Miss Smith closed her eyes. “Glorious day, isn’t it?”
Glorious seemed several complimentary adjectives too far, but the house no longer felt like a shroud, and that was something.
“When do you think we shall be able to send for the constable?” Lady Havenstone asked.
“Not for another day or two, I wouldn’t think.” Mr. Evans refilled his coffee from a silver urn. “The rain hasn’t fully stopped, and it will take time for the mud to dry enough to become passable.”
Lord Havenstone stole a sausage from his wife’s plate. “Well, we will be returning home the first moment we can. If the constable wants to talk to us, he can hire a carriage and come find us.”
“Will he let us leave?” Miss Walker pushed her half-eaten plate away. “I would like to get back to my father. My aunt is staying with him, but she’s nearly as old as he.”
“We shall have to wait to see what the constable advises.” Mr. Evans said this with some authority; as he had been Perrin’s attorney, no one disagreed. At least not aloud.
I moved to an empty seat, my plate loaded, when Southey came barreling through the door, headed straight for me. Sighing, I plucked a slice of bacon from my plate and went to the casement doors that led to the terrace. I opened one, tossed the bacon through, then closed the door in triumph as the dog chased it. I returned to my seat.
“It is still quite cold outside,” Miss Smith pointed out.
“He has fur. He’ll be fine.” Especially with one of my slices of bacon to warm his belly. I looked to the sideboard but decided it wasn’t worth the trip to replace it.
“If you keep feeding the dog, Lady Mary, he is certain to follow your footsteps even more fervently.” Mr. Ryder looked over the offerings at the sideboard, sniffing appreciatively.
I frowned. “That is hardly possible.” But I made a note. No more treats.
Miss Smith wrapped her shawl more tightly about her. “More coffee, Father?”
He held up his cup. “Thank you, my dear.” He watched as she replenished it. “I’m sorry for your sake you won’t be a countess, Katherine, but as for my part, I never concerned myself about titles. It seems the loftier a gentleman is, the more likely he is to be a scoundrel. No, we’ll find a nice industrialist for you instead.”
“Because they are always so honest?” Miss Smith arched her eyebrow as she placed the steaming cup in front of her father.
“A man who’s had to work for his wealth is far less likely to squander it in gambling and risky investments,” Mr. Smith retorted.
I pursed my lips. There was some truth in that, perhaps.
Mr. Ryder sat next to me, holding his own cup of coffee. “Vice isn’t limited to any strata of society. Every member of society falls victim to it. Especially gambling.”
My body heated. The man just couldn’t help himself. “No breakfast? I do hope you aren’t feeling ill, Mr. Ryder.”
“I am in the best of health,” he said mildly, though he could hardly have missed my sarcasm. “I don’t eat breakfast.”
Of course, he didn’t. Having too full a stomach was probably some sin in his mind.
“What about love?” Mr. Taylor flushed when all eyes turned his way. “I’m just saying, if a title isn’t important, surely the thing that is important is that your daughter is loved by the man who marries her.” He turned his limpid gaze on Miss Smith.
Mr. Smith burst out laughing. He dabbed his eyes with his napkin. “Love. That’s a good one, boy. You must have amused Perrin with that wit.”
Miss Smith frowned at her father, the idea of love clearly not as amusing to her.
I looked between her and Perrin’s secretary. I couldn’t see it. I had no problem with marriages between those of different social standings and wealth levels. My nephew, the duke, had married a woman that had almost had him ostracized from society permanently and they were the happiest of couples. But a marriage between people of different temperaments and intelligence was another matter. I’m sure Mr. Taylor was a competent secretary, but he didn’t seem suited to the little I knew of Miss Smith.
Bertram rose and went to the window. He tapped his fingers on his thigh as he looked out. “I do hope that dog doesn’t destroy my sister’s garden. She spent many a happy hour in it.”
“If the storm didn’t destroy it, I think it is safe from a small dog.” I pinched my mouth. Everyone was so concerned, either about the dog’s health or the garden’s. But what of the health of my boots and my gown’s trim? No one seemed to consider that.
