“Begging will not be necessary,” Ian cut in. He stepped to the edge of the faux court. “Imogene? Carry on with your lesson. Do not leave this room.”
To Ivy he said, “Off you go. Bedchamber. French. If you encounter the cat, take him too.”
“Yes, Uncle,” said Ivy, hurrying away.
“There’s a good girl.” He turned to Drew. “And what is your vision for me? Am I expected to flee or be reduced to tears?”
“I... I cannot say,” she said, turning to look at him. She looked like someone trapped in a burning house with no idea how to escape.
“Let us remember, just for a moment, that you sailed into the drawing room of a strange townhome and managed to face down this lot—” he gestured to the twins “—almost feral at the time. In addition to my sister with her modified lute,and—worst of all—me. After I’d been terrible at the palace. And you did not bat an eye, did you? In fact, you seemed to enjoy it. When I’d been reduced to pacing and drinking heavily and had moved across the country because I didn’t know what else to do. Don’t tell me you’ll succumb to hystericsnow. Because of one woman?”
“You do not know her,” Drew said softly. “You shouldn’t have to know her. On top of everything else.”
“Oh yes, what a very great burden you are, Miss Trelayne, with your bothersome problem solving and niece wrangling. I’ve seen mortal combat, I remind you. I believe I can handle an estranged mother-in-law.”
“She is terrible.”
“Then let me send her away. Save you the bother.”
“Not terrible for me. I’m accustomed. For you. For the girls.”
“Let’s see, I’ve mentioned the battalions of Frenchmen, bearing down on me with long guns and bayonets? Also, deadly riots. As to the girls, apparently they’ve endured some blaggard called the Reverend Sagg and survived?”
“She will raise the topic of the riots, you may depend on it,” Drew said. “If she knows anything of your sister, she will raise this too.”
He shrugged and held out his arm to her. She stared at it like a hill she wasn’t certain she could climb.
He was just about to tell her that, given the choice, he preferred todiscussthe riots rather than be silently judged on gossip, when Timothea, infamous lute in hand, entered the ballroom.
“Oh no,” whispered Drew. She took his arm and held on.
And then, “Ohno,” she repeated.
Ian looked up. Trailing behind his sister, or ratherfloatingbehind in a pronounced sort ofglide, was a small middle-aged woman in a dove-colored dress and flowered hat. The woman looked... well, if not harmless, then certainly not impossible to defeat in a fair fight. If it came to that.
“Oh yes, here we are,” Timothea was saying, crossing to Ian and Drew. “And Greenly too. How fortuitous. I’m expecting a call from my herbalist and she must be admitted without hesitation. It cannot be a repeat of last week. We’re lucky she’s consented to return, after that incident with the footman.”
Drew froze on his arm, digging her fingers into the wool of his jacket.
In that same moment, a tennis ball whizzed by their heads, bounced twice, and rolled in the direction of Timothea.
Behind them, Imogene hissed a highly inappropriate word.
“Now, now, none of that!” called Bucky. “You overcorrected on the upswing.”
The ball stopped its progress at Timothea’s feet. She stared down at it like she’d been approached by a small dog.
“Perhaps it was ambitious,” Ian said under his breath, “to think she could be contained by the frailty of the pink salon.” He began the short walk across the ballroom.
“I’m so sorry,” Drew whispered back.
“It would be unsporting to do this any other way.”
Drew sniffed, part laugh, part groan. She took a deep breath, she straightened, she squared her shoulders.
“There’s a good girl.”
“Mama?!” Imogene called from behind them. “Toss the ball, can you?”
