“Will you become a barrister?” Nana sighed and shook her head. “I would have wanted more for you.”
“Well, as far as I see it, it is that or starve,” he said dryly, though neither prospect inspired him greatly. “I’ll have to make my living somehow. But, Nana—” He leaned forward. “I may not have been fortunate enough regarding birth order, but Fortuna saw fit to give me a good head sitting upon these shoulders,” he tapped his finger against his temple. “I have sharp wits up here, an even sharper tongue and a tremendous amount of ambition. Don’t you worry about me. I shall do well enough.”
“My Bastian. I have always said that you are the brains of the family. You’ll make it far. I have decided to give you Westwood Hall, you know. You’ll be my sole heir.”
He started. “It is an honour, but I’m determined to make it on my own in life.”
“And so you shall. I am proud of you, my boy.” She reached up to pat his cheek. “And where is George?”
“He is at the Peninsula, Nana,” Sebastian said patiently.
She shook her head. “That is not good. Not good at all. Call Viola.”
“But Nana. Lady Viola is in Inverness.”
“Nonsense. Call the maid now.” She pointed at the bell pull.
“If you insist.” With a repressed sigh, Bastian tugged at the bell pull. A maid appeared.
“Tell Lady Viola I want to see her,” she told the maid, and to his surprise, she curtsied.
“Yes, ma’am.”
He frowned at the maid. Was it advisable that the domestics played along to that extent? As far as he knew, his brother George’s betrothed was currently in Inverness. He’d never actually met her, but George’s letters were full of her. They met at a ball while his regiment was stationed at a garrison in Scotland. It had been love at first sight. She was the daughter of an earl, and George had made her appear to be a veritable paragon of virtue, grace and beauty.
“I want there to be a ball,” she was saying now. “A wedding ball for George and Viola. It will be the biggest, grandest event of the year. I have decided.”
“But Nana, George and Viola?—”
“Yes. I must see them married first. It will be the happiest day of my life. Only then shall I be at peace enough to go. George? Come here, my boy.”
“I’m Bastian, Nana.”
She shook her head emphatically. “But George is standing right there.”
He stared, disconcerted, at the space at the far end of the bed. “Oh Nana. George is not here. But I am, and I am Bastian.”
“Bastian.” She nodded. “Bastian. Of course. Did you call Viola?”
“I told a maid to fetch her.”
“Good,” she mumbled. “Wake me when she is here.”
He watched with a frown as his grandmother closed her eyes, and she seemed to have fallen into a brief nap. It was far worse than what he’d feared. He was used to her confusing him with George—she wasn’t the only one who did so—for he and hisbrother were only a year apart. But he was worried about how to break it to her gently that George could not come to the ball she so desperately looked forward to. A ball in Westwood Hall. He shook his head. With his Nana in this state, it was folly. George would not want it either. How could he talk her out of that notion?
Footfall by the door made him look up.
It was the maid, no doubt, bearing a tea tray. He glanced up swiftly and looked away again. Then his glance crashed back.
It was her. That girl!
That impossible creature. That… “Milkmaid?”
He could have bitten off his own tongue. What the deuce was she doing here?
The girl had changed her dress to one that was clean, but of an equally simple cut. She balanced a tray that appeared heavy, and on it she had piled a teapot, teacups, and a tiered tray filled with scones and biscuits.
Her eyes, focused on her task of carrying the tray, shot up and met his. They widened in surprise. “Heaven’s above, it’s the prepossessing prig.”
