His gaze flicked to Lady Gabriella again. Rather than looking alarmed or angry, as he’d expected her to in response to his poor manners, she looked intrigued and . . . pensive. It was almost as though she considered him a puzzle—one that she was presently trying to solve. The thought did not agree with him in the least. He shifted in his seat, aware that he was probably scowling now.
“Thank you,” Lady Everly said, her voice jostling the momentary silence enough for it to shatter. Smiling as though nothing were amiss, she crossed to an armchair and lowered herself into it. “Tea would be lovely right now. Shall I pour?”
The question propelled Lady Warwick and Lady Gabriella forward, both claiming a seat upon the sofa opposite where Raphe and his sisters were sitting. Absently, he watched while Lady Everly served the tea. “Ye live next door. Right?” Raphe found himself saying.
“Yes,” Lady Everly replied. She wore a secretive smile that Raphe didn’t care for.
“My husband is the Earl of Warwick,” Lady Warwick said with pride, as though the title meant that she had made some great accomplishment in life, when all she’d done was agree to marry a man who’d inherited his wealth from his father. Who’d inherited it from his father, and so on.
“I see,” Raphe said. “How fortunate for ye.”
Gabriella coughed, the sound interrupting Lady Warwick’s assurance that it was most fortunate indeed. Raphe allowed a bare hint of a smile at the sight of tea spilling from Lady Gabriella’s plush lips. There was something so satisfying in unsettling these women who believed themselves to be above mere mortals in every conceivable way. One thing was for certain, however. Lady Gabriella was not an idiot. She’d recognized his insult, as veiled as it had been, with immediate precision. And it had shocked her.
Enjoying himself far too much for his own good, he therefore couldn’t help but say, “I suppose it’s equally fortunate for ye, Lady Gabriella, that ye’ve caught the eye of an earl.”
“I err . . . ahem . . .” Lady Gabriella set her cup down.
“How do you know that?” Lady Warwick asked as she leaned forward in her seat. She shot a look at her daughter. “How does he know that?”
Apparently, Lady Gabriella had made no mention of her encounter with him on the pavement the previous day. Allowing his head to fall back against the chair, Raphe stretched out his legs and briefly wondered about her reasoning. Had she thought their verbal exchange so insignificant that there had been no reason to speak of it? Or did he detect something else? Studying her closely, he realized that she appeared more rigid than her mother and aunt, and that her hands were tightly clasped in her lap, as though by keeping them so, she would stop herself from succumbing to some dreaded fate.
But then her eyes met his, strong as steel, and full of courage and determination. “Fielding and I were returning from our drive in the park when we happened upon His Grace,” she said, her sweet voice carrying not a hint of the turbulence that Raphe had just seen.
“They were so welcoming,” he murmured. Narrowing his eyes, he watched as a splash of pink flooded Lady Gabriella’s pale skin.
Denting her lower lip with her teeth, she averted her gaze. “We did not know who you were.”
“Oh dear,” Lady Everly said, clearly discerning what must have transpired.
“Well, if you looked like that,” Lady Warwick said, her hand fluttering in Raphe’s general direction, “one really can’t blame her.”
“Mama!” The note of indignation in Lady Gabriella’s voice was startling.
Raphe stilled, his glass of brandy hovering an inch away from his mouth. “Yer mother is right,” he said. Lowering the glass, he set it aside rather than take another sip. “I’m aware I don’t look the part.”
Smiling tightly, Lady Warwick sipped her tea. “Might I ask where you have come from? Your—manner of speech has me at a loss.”
The prim innocence with which she spoke did little to hide the malevolent intent of her words. For a second, Raphe was tempted to tell her the truth, just to watch her expire from shock. Instead, he thought of his sisters. If word of their previous residency got out, of Raphe’s work as a laborer, not to mention the sport in which he’d frequently engaged and his connection to Guthrie, they wouldn’t stand a chance.
So he did what he knew had to be done and said, “After our parents died . . .” Sensing that Amelia was about to comment, he gave her a slight pinch.
She squeaked.
All eyes shifted to her. “Are you all right?” Gabriella asked.
“Oh . . . err . . .” Amelia moved in her seat.
“She’s fine.” Raphe paused for a second before continuing his explanation. “So, we went to live with a distant relation close to the Scottish border. That’s why it took so long fer news of the duke’s death to arrive.”
“I see,” Lady Warwick said. She’d tilted her head back so that she was now staring down her nose at him.
Awful woman.
“Did they not feed you very well?” Gabriella asked.
Lady Warwick gave her an indiscreet nudge but Lady Gabriella pressed on, her tone slightly lower as though she hoped Juliette and Amelia wouldn’t hear her. “Your sisters look very pale and thin.” She eyed them each in turn before pushing a plate of biscuits in their direction. Leaning back, she folded her hands neatly in her lap, a satisfied smile spreading across her lips as his sisters reached for the biscuits with eager fingers.
Raphe stared at Lady Gabriella. “I believe most women would take that as a compliment.”
