He moved away and fell into his own bed instead, vowing to wake in time to speak to Drew tomorrow. He would seek her out before she began work with the twins. He would apologize for leaving her bed after their first night together.
He would make amends.
He would not lose her.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Eight hours later, long after the household had awakened and embarked upon their day, Ian roused from a dead sleep. He cursed his sloth, dressed quickly, and trooped downstairs.
Breakfast, he learned, had been cleared an hour ago and Miss Trelayne was in the ballroom, converting French verbs with Ivy while Imogene took a tennis lesson.
Ian pilfered an apple and a piece of honey cake from the kitchens and, heartbeat kicking up, sought out his family.
When, he marveled, clipping up the stairs to the ballroom,did I acquire a family?
Only “family,” surely, could compel him to erect a tennis court in his ballroom.
Imogene’s first two lessons had convened in the garden but Miss Trelayne had quickly seen the very great limits of the uneven paving stones and balls swatted over the stone wall. When she pointed out that tennis in general, and the tennislessonsin particular, seemed to represent Imogene’s first-ever true passion—an activity to which she’d committed fully, no complaints or criticism, no cynicism—some solution was in order.
Miss Trelayne had hired a robust instructor called Mrs. Chutterbuck, or Bucky, as was her preference, who tromped about in men’s battle boots and could easily palm three tennis balls in one hand. Bucky saw immediate potential—whether in Imogene or his purse, Ian was never sure—and suggesteddailylessons for the girl at the tennis club in James Street.
Miss Trelayne promised to take this into consideration—daily lessons in Haymarket would involve various logistical challenges, not the least of which included transport, chaperone, and wardrobe (Imogene had taken to wearing a skirt that fell just below the knee and long pantaloons for her lessons). In the meantime, Miss Trelayne suggested they make use of the expansive second-floor ballroom. Bucky saw the genius of the notion and cordoned off an approximated court in the center and strung up a net.
Imogene had been so very thrilled that Ian sent out inquiries about constructing a proper clay court on the grounds of Avenelle. He’d not played in years but had been fond of the game at Oxford, and Imogene would need someone against whom to play.
He ambled into the ballroom now, crunching the apple. Imogene was bouncing a ball on her racquet and frowning at Greenly, the butler, while Miss Trelayne and Ivy leaned over a book. Across the room, Bucky made adjustments to her makeshift tennis net.
“Your Grace,” Greenly was saying, extending a silver tray over her head.
Miss Trelayne and Ivy did not look up.
“I believe he means you,” Imogene said, still bouncing the ball. “Aunt.Duchess.Your Grace.”
“Oh,” said Drew, looking up, “forgive me, Greenly. I’m not accustomed to the, er—That is, it will take some time to answer to the title.”
Greenly bowed graciously.
“But what is this?” she went on. An ivory card rested in the center of the butler’s tray. “I’m expecting no one. But are you certain the caller is for me?”
“Quite, Your Grace,” droned Greenly. “She is ever so insistent.”
“She?” asked Miss Trelayne, eyeing the card. “Well, it couldn’t be Princess Cynde, she doesn’t bother with cards. Ana will make me come to her.”
“We could run through every female in your acquaintance,” said Ian, stepping to the tray, “or we could simplyread the card.”
At the sound of his voice, Miss Trelayne looked up. Their eyes met, and the cream of her cheeks and throat warmed to pink. Ian winked at her, enjoying the oddest surge of gratification. But perhaps she was not damaged from last night.
He took up the card and flipped it. “Mrs. Betina Covington-Leeds,” he read. “Lady Blicken. Who the devil—?”
Ian, who’d paid a small fortune to acquire a rushed special marriage license, suddenly remembered the name from the stack of documents.
Drew’s mother.
Betina Covington-Leeds, Lady Blicken, was his new mother-in-law.
“Oh no,” Drew said. She took two steps back and stared at the card like it was a severed limb.
“Drewsmina?” Ian asked carefully. He studied the card again. “Should we tell her—”
