Lord Hungerton’s eyes held annoyance. “I know you mean well, but I am more familiar with my daughter than you are.”
Putting his hand up, Caleb said, “I did not mean to imply otherwise.”
While Lord Hungerton and his father engaged in conversation, Caleb resisted the urge to excuse himself and seek out Simone’s company. She was far more entertaining than her father. And he knew the truth about her. Simone was obstinate, headstrong, and utterly delightful. She was someone that he could fall for, but he was not foolish enough to do so.
Chapter Six
With a cup of tea in her hand, Simone sat in the drawing room with the ladies as they waited for the gentlemen to return from having a glass of port. The conversation was pleasant enough, but Simone did not see a need to interject her thoughts. She was, after all, playing the ruse of being a wallflower.
Lady Roswell shifted her gaze towards Simone. “What are your thoughts on our Prime Minister, Lord Liverpool?”
“I have none,” Simone lied. She had many, but she didn’t dare express her opinion. Not here. Not now.
With a lifted brow, Lady Roswell responded, “You have none? Not even one?”
Simone leaned forward and placed her teacup onto the table. “A lady does not express her opinions on politics.”
Lady Oxley spoke up. “Well said, Miss Delacourt,” she praised. “Anette would be wise to remember that.”
“I am married now, and my husband encourages me to speak up,” Lady Roswell remarked. “I do not believe that Miss Delacourt is truly this boring.”
“Anette! That was uncalled for. Apologize to Miss Delacourt,” Lady Oxley chided.
Lady Roswell put her hand up. “My apologies, Miss Delacourt, but I think you do have an opinion on a myriad of things. Quite frankly, I would like to hear them, all of them.”
Simone found Lady Roswell’s directness to be refreshing, but she didn’t dare reveal too much about herself. But she could, at the very least, share one or two opinions about which she felt passionately. “Very well. I do believe Lord Liverpool is doing a decent enough job, but his attentions are more focused abroad rather than the suffering of his own people.”
“I agree,” Lady Roswell said with approval in her eyes. “The taxes that are being inflicted on the poor are unjust and something should be done to alleviate their suffering.”
Lady Oxley frowned. “I do not think this is an appropriate conversation to be having in the drawing room.”
“When is it appropriate, Mother?” Lady Roswell asked.
“Miss Delacourt is a guest in our home, and I do not want to make her feel uncomfortable for any reason,” Lady Oxley replied.
Lady Roswell shifted in her seat to face Simone. “I daresay it takes much more to make Miss Delacourt uncomfortable. Am I wrong to assume so?”
“No, you are not,” Simone admitted.
With a curious gaze, Lady Roswell asked, “What are you truly reading? And please do not say a book on poetry. No one reads poetry for their own enjoyment.”
A laugh escaped Simone’s lips and she brought her gloved hand up to cover her mouth. “You wouldn’t be wrong. Poetry is dreadfully boring.” She glanced at the empty doorway. “I am, in fact, reading the book that was written by A Lady.”
“I knew it!” Lady Roswell exclaimed. “It is all the rage right now.”
“Miss Sutherland gifted me the book, and I found it to be captivating,” Simone shared. “I started devouring it the moment I received it.”
Lady Roswell took a sip of her tea before asking, “Why are you hiding it from your father?”
Simone hesitated before revealing, “My father is not progressive at all. He is set in his ways and I am forced to tiptoe around him.”
“I am most fortunate that my parents supported me,” Lady Roswell remarked.
Lady Oxley bobbed her head. “Yes, most fortunate, and you would be wise to remember that,” she said with a smile.
“My mother was much more progressive,” Simone revealed. “She encouraged me to read whatever books I could get my hands on, and to have a voice. But my father is different. He expects me to fall into line and keep my opinions to myself.”
“That must be awful for you,” Lady Roswell said.
