“Master Christian,” Christian added. He immediately saw the chaperone’s eyes flare.
“I’d like to speak with the viscount alone, if you don’t mind,” Mrs. Goatsocks said to the doctor.
Dr. MacTavish nodded and bowed and wiped the sweat from his brow. He left the room quickly, no doubt pleased to not have to stay and play host to a viscount and a proper English lady.
Once they were alone, Mrs. Goatsocks narrowed her eyes on Christian. “I’m certain you’ll understand that the doctor knows nothing of Lady Sarah’s presence in this area, and for reasons that should be obvious, I intend to keep it that way. Mr. Fergus was quite accommodating on that score and I hope you will be also.”
She clearly wasn’t asking. She was telling.
Christian wasn’t in the habit of taking orders from servants, but for Sarah’s sake, he would suffer this woman’s brusqueness. “Suffice it to say our interests lie in the same direction, and that is what is best for Lady Sarah,” Christian said, bowing to the woman.
A bit of tension left the corners of her eyes. She looked him up and down. “Berkeley, eh? Mr. Fergus failed to mention you’re aviscount.” She paused and looked up at the ceiling, as if trying to recall something. “Berkeley. Estate in Northumbria. Generous income. Fine if unremarkable reputation. More handsome than I’d expected, but the beard is questionable.”
“You know yourDebrett’s,” Christian said, inclining his head and stepping closer to her.
She settled her folded hands over her middle. “It’s part of my duty to knowDebrett’s.”
Christian stopped a few paces away from the sofa and braced his feet apart. “Would you be surprised to learn that Lady Sarah didn’t know who I was?”
Mrs. Goatsocks blinked only once. “Lady Sarah is young and doesn’t pay much attention to things like titles. She’s more interested in whether a person is kind and good than what his title is.”
“Yes. I’ve learned that about her.”
“It’smyduty to worry about titles,” the chaperone continued.
“Like that of the Marquess of Branford?”
“Precisely.” Her nose lifted higher into the air.
“And what do you think of the marquess as a match for Lady Sarah?”
“I think what I am paid to think, which is that the marquess is exactly the match Lady Sarah’s parents had hoped for her.”
Christian eyed the woman up and down. Like any good servant, she wasn’t about to gossip about her charge or the family that employed her. The lady didn’t move in the slightest. The only clue that she was indeed alive was the occasional blinking of her eyes. He understood why Sarah said she’d never broken a rule. With this formidable matron looking after her, no wonder she was so proper. Which made it all the more interesting that she’d run away and that the venerable chaperone had followed her.
“Is Sarah well?” Mrs. Goatsocks asked.
Christian held his hat near his hip. “Yes, and she sends her regrets for the state of your ankle.”
“It’s not her fault.” Her voice was flat, emotionless.
“She blames herself,” Christian said.
“That’s because she’s a kind girl.” Ah, a bit of emotion had sneaked through there. The chaperone obviously admired her charge.
“But you haven’t come just to tell me that Lady Sarah is in good health, have you?”
“No.” Christian could already discern that coming out with it was the best way to handle a woman as straightforward as Mrs. Goatsocks seemed to be. “I’ve come to tell you that I intend to help Lady Sarah get back to London with as little incident as possible. I believe it’s in her best interest if she and I leave as soon as possible and not wait for your ankle to heal.”
The frown lines around Mrs. Goatsocks’s mouth deepened, but her voice was perfectly calm and clear. The lady was obviously not one to display histrionics. “How will it look if she returns to London with no chaperone?”
“I intend to employ my friends Lucy and Cassandra to help. We’re leaving tomorrow for Northumbria to meet them.”
Mrs. Goatsocks’s eyebrows arched. “Lucy and Cassandra? Do you mean the Duchess of Claringdon and the Countess of Swifdon?”
Christian had to smile at that. He’d been right about her. The lady did know herDebrett’s. “Yes, they are my friends. They’ll help and be discreet, I assure you.”
“You’ve got some illustrious friends, Viscount.”
