His aunt stood and took the kettle warming in the fireplace and poured herself another cup.
She offered him one, but Daniel declined. not knowing if it was the doctored brew she’d shared with the housekeeper.
With her graceful movements, Lady Shrewsbury could’ve been a theater performer, as her oyster-colored gown trimmed in pearls floated and sparkled in the glow of the hearth. No one would ever suspect such a little woman was an evil mastermind, well not evil, not until this evening.
“I’m sorry, Daniel. It’s your right to raise Hope as you see fit, but I will still offer suggestions.”
Lady Shrewsbury never backed down.
Never.
This must be a new tactic.
Daniel moved to his sideboard and checked his reflection to see how hardened of a grimace he wore. His eyes looked black and beady as night behind his spectacles. His bottling up of his anger had failed.
The decanters of liquors he kept on display to offer guests held a gleam. Fear was in those potions, but Aunt had slayed most of his demons. Daniel had used the law to kill the rest.
“Brandy is your favorite, Aunt. I think it’s cream for your tea.”
She smiled at him with rosy cheeks, then he sat again, this time settling into his mother’s seat. Very comfortable and honorable, and very much missing.
“Thank you,” Lady Shrewsbury said as she set the kettle on the hearth. “Why is your mood so foul?”
“Everything. The Widow’s Grace business, the Lord Mayor’s suspicions. He believes someone at the Lincoln’s Inn is helping in a conspiracy. I thank you for not needing me for your capers as of late, but have you considered in the smallest way stopping?”
Aunt rubbed her finger along the wrought iron poker as if dust dared to show itself in a house run by Mrs. G.
“No.” Lady Shrewsbury sipped her tea, leaving the crackle of the fire to echo her resistance.
“Well, I thought I’d ask.” He shook his head at the stubborn woman. “I’ll ask again before one of us is carted away to prison.”
“Why were you kissing Mrs. St. Maur at Sandlin Court?”
“Rumors? Aunt, I didn’t think you listened to such.”
“Why you are so fickle, Daniel? First Lady Lavinia, now Jemina?”
Well, if Aunt wouldn’t answer his questions, he’d be selective too. “I’m not interested in Lady Lavinia, particularly now.”
Lady Shrewsbury heaved a long breath. “I was concerned when I saw her eyeing you. She’s looking for a fourth husband. The debts from number three have been staggering. Your elevation and fortune make you an appealing candidate.”
“I was appealing to her before. I’m not exactly a new mark for that one.”
Sherry eyes rolling up, she poured more amber cream into her teacup. “This I know, but now she wants to be your countess. She probably showed to save you from the nanny, a compromising witness for your character. You deserve better than a leech.”
“That’s a cross between a naked nanny and a hard place.” He chuckled. “It’s amazing how the matchmaking forces who once eschewed their daughters from dancing with the dark barrister of the courts have no qualms about my swarthy tan or ancestry now. Progress?”
“It’s twisted. Your brilliance and spotless character should be enough. But let’s talk about Jemina. She does fit with your collection of art and lost souls.
He pushed back against the chair’s spindles. “What?”
“Collector, Daniel. The stray dog you saw begging outside the Old Bailey.”
He petted his beloved hound. “Max is a loyal beast. And you don’t collect, Aunt? Don’t you save downtrodden women everywhere?”
“That’s the Widow’s Grace. But you hire a sixteen-year-old pickpocket after you’ve convicted him.”
“Mr. Anthon was wrong, but he paid his due. Now the lad is eighteen and has become the best man-of-all-work around. He even keeps my horses exercised and with a ready saddle in case I have to ride off to keep one of your widows from the magistrate.”
