“I was lucky enough to have the figure of an uncle,” he volunteered suddenly. “A decent, engaged uncle in my life. He cared where my parents did not. It made all the difference.”
“A brother of your mother, was it?”
“God no. My mother has so many brothers I’m not sure I’ve made the acquaintance of all of them.”
“Your mother is still alive?” Drew asked, surprised.
He waved the notion away. “I’d not look to her as a resource, if I were you. She lives in the Scottish Highlands, and she is loath to leave it. Ever. She had almost no part in raising Timothea, the legacy of which is still felt today, I think you’d agree. She had even less to do with me.”
“Oh,” said Drew. “I... I’m sorry.” She took a few more steps, now almost even with him.
He shrugged. “If you take into consideration my mother and the twins’ mother, it’s anadvantagethat you can manage the girls without their interfering. The girls listen to you; they respond to you.”
“They listen, I’ll give them that. Respond? I’m not so sure.”
“Your handling of Imogene after the . . . incident with the boy was brilliant.” He slid his boot from the bench and tapped it against her foot.
Drew stared at the hem of her skirt where his foot had arced beneath.
“Oh. Well,” she said.
Was he touching her? Or kicking her?
No, not a kick. It was the brotherly gesture of kinship, the boot-to-slipper equivalent of clinking glasses after a toast.
“You could have shamed her,” he went on, “which you didn’t, but you made your point just the same.”
“I wasn’t certain what could be heard from outside the carriage.” Had he listened as she detailed her broken heart? Had he heard Imogene’s accusation that she’d never been kissed?
“It occurs to me I should ask you to sit,” he said, dropping his head to the side and considering her. This made no sense, because his body currently occupied all of the bench. To join him, they would have to... crowd.
“I am admiring the art,” she said.
“You’ll force me to stand,” he threatened. “Gentlemanly custom and all that.”
“It’s not necessary to play the gentleman on my behalf, Your Grace. I’m merely...” She paused. Drew’s father had actually been a baronet of some means. Her sister was married to an earl, and her stepsister was a royal princess. Humility had been part of Drew’s transformation, but she found herself suddenly unable to assert that she was not a lady.
She turned away, stepping around his leg. A marble bust loomed nearby and she came to stop before it.
“Never tempt a mannotto act like a gentleman,” he said from behind her.
Drew’s heart sprouted wings and began to flap inside her chest.
She stared at the bust. He was an olive branch–crowned ancient, with flat, white eyes. He saw nothing, and Drewsaw nothing. Her every sense was trained on the booted footsteps coming up behind her.
“I could hear your conversation from the coachman’s box,” he said over her shoulder. “Tom showed me how to listen in. The servants know everything, in case there was any doubt. I’ve no idea why I endeavor to meet with you behind closed doors.”
“Why, indeed?”
“The point is, Miss Trelayne, this afternoon could have ended in a very great disaster for Imogene, but it did not. You reached her in time. You lent exactly the correct amount of muscle to the situation without inflicting lasting damage, I hope. Well done. I cannot believe our luck, honestly.”
Drew turned round. “Luck?”
He propped a hand on the pillar beside her head and looked down at her. “Yes, luck. Prince Adolphus could have attached anyone to us, couldn’t he? We’re very fortunate to have you. You’ve not made out so lucky, I’m afraid.”
She smiled at the praise, looking up into his eyes. Surely she could permit herself to bask in statements like this. Compliments to her professional proficiency?
“Did you hear the bit about T.O.E.?” she ventured, trying desperately to speak only of her work.
