“I don’t like things flying at my face,” Timothea said, “you know this.”
“It’s not flying in your face. It rolled to your shoe. Can you not kick it, Mama?” called Imogene.
“Mybad toe,” reminded her mother, staring down at the ball.
“I’ve got it!” called Bucky cheerfully.
While they watched, the large woman trotted across the room, scooped the ball up with her racket, and jogged to the net. “Out of bounds,” she sang, jolly and unconcerned. “Obviously!”
Ian chuckled, coming to a stop before his sister and the woman who was, presumably, his new mother-in-law.
“How do you do?” he said to Lady Blicken.
Timothea drifted away, distracted by the tennis match behind them.
The older woman smiled at him with an expression well north of warmth but not entirely indifferent. There was a voraciousness to her smile, an assessing.
“Lachlan,” Drew said smoothly, “may I present my mother, Lady Betina Covington-Leeds, Viscountess Blicken.”
The woman’s hungry smile grew, and Ian saw the glint of an incisor. She extended a small, gloved hand. Ian bowed over it. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, my lady.”
“Likewise, Your Grace,” the woman said smoothly. Her voice was melodious and cultured. She was not, Ian observed, unattractive. She looked perfectly pleasant in a smallish, doe-eyed, I-might-be-the-prettiest-one-here, sort of boring way.
Her dress was subtle in color but snug in fit; her gloveswere the perfect match; she would wear them only with this dress. On the outside of the gray leather, she wore a sizeable diamond ring. Her hat was piled to a height that invited notice rather than begged it. On the whole, her appearance projected wealth and quality; but herexpression...
Her face was tight around the eyes, there was a pinch at the corners of the mouth. The constrictions formed something like... shrewdness? She was actively slotting the world into a hierarchical cone inside her mind. She would not necessarily put her own self at the top of the cone, Ian thought, that left no room for ambition. Instead, she slotted everyone else well lower than herself.
“What a surprise, Mother,” said Drew. “Obviously we were not expecting you.”
“How could you be, you’ve extended no invitation.” She gave a little laugh. “I was forced to take matters into my own hands. A mother’s prerogative. Now that you are a mother, perhaps my motives will be less of a mystery.”
“I am not a mother,” said Drew calmly. “I’ve been made anauntby marriage, as I’m sure you know. You’ve made the acquaintance of Lady Tribble, mother to the duke’s nieces.”
“Ah yes, the baroness,” said Lady Blicken, casting an amused glance at Timothea.
“I’d hoped to receive you in a more comfortable room. Let us retire to a salon, and I’ll ring for tea,” Drew said.
“Oh, it’s too early for tea, surely,” dismissed Lady Blicken with a chuckle. “If I had my wish, I should have a tour of this beautiful home.”
Ian frowned. He didn’t like her. And not simply because Drew did not like her. It made himtiredto look at her; and Ian had enough exhaustion in his life without being forced to squire around a judgmental bag that his wife did not like and to whom he owed nothing.
“A tour,” Drew had repeated. She’d not expected this, clearly. And now he knew Drew was off her game, becauseshe was generally prepared for most things. Meanwhile, Lady Blicken had the look of someone who, if given half a chance, would happily paw through the silver.
“Yes, of course, a tour,” cooed her mother. “Unless you are not yetcomfortablein the home. If you do notknow your wayor are uncertain of whatlibertiesyou may enjoy here. Forgive me if I presu—”
“I’m perfectly comfortable, thank you,” clipped Drew. “You’ve simply taken us all by surprise.”
“Surely you can be torn away from these athletic feats and shows of strength,” Lady Blicken went on, squinting over their shoulders at Imogene and Bucky. She looked at Ian, shaking her head. “Since girlhood, I have dissuaded Drewsmina from any activity not serene or ladylike. What choice did I have? She is a giantess among men, and that says nothing of other females.” Now she laughed. “It would’ve been unsightly to watch her bound after balls and charge about courts. Can you imagine? At her great height? How fortunate that your niece is so very... fetching and petite. When men see her play, she willentice, rather thanastound.”
Ian blinked, uncertain of which statement to address first. Beside him, Drew dropped his arm.
“This way, Mother,” Drew said flatly. “Let us return to the ground floor. You’ll be bored by the family rooms and you’ve seen the ballroom.” Without waiting for Lady Blicken, she began walking away.
Lady Blicken gave a little laugh, and eyed Ian conspiratorially. “Oh, we’re in trouble now, Your Grace. Takes offense at the slightest wrong word, that one.” She slid her tiny hand under his elbow and over his arm, a rodent squeezing beneath a cellar door. She tucked herself to his side.
“I’ve been told she aspires to set herself up as some manner of expert on style and comportment,” continued Lady Blicken. “She’s revealed no such thing to me, mind you, perish the thought; but I hear things. Take heed: If she endeavors to instruct your nieces, keep a close watch on whatshe allows them tosay. Her own speech has become limited to the weather or the health of the King. She’s ceased all intelligent conversation. You’ll not want your nieces to become bores.”
Ian looked down at her. But was this atest? Did she fish for a chuckle or a chortle? For him to say,Ohyes, my new wife is out of her depth as a stylist, not to mention, boring?
