Georgie gave a muffled laugh. “You are a truly terrible liar.”
Chapter 18
“Violin!” Lady Tolliver declared with the air of a commander marshalling troops. “It must be the violin. No wedding of mine shall be marred by the bleating of a flute.”
“I had understood it to be Hetty’s wedding,” murmured Mari from behind her novel.
Lady Tolliver pressed on, undaunted. “I have dismissed the flautist. The man had a mole upon his cheek the size of a currant and I could not bear the notion of it bobbing through the Wedding March. It would cast a pall over the entire proceedings.”
Lottie gave a most inelegant snort into her toast.
“And of course,” Lady Tolliver added, pausing for dramatic effect, “all of this shall be rendered quite irrelevant should poor Lord Langley fail to survive long enough to stand at the altar.”
“He is not dying, Mama,” said Hetty, rather sharply, as she reached for the teapot with more vigour than the object warranted.
“I did not say he was dying,” her mother replied, placing a hand upon her bosom. “I said poor. And wounded. It is entirely possible he may take a fever and expire before Thursday.”
At that very instant, the breakfast room door opened, and in stepped Theo. Though pale, he was upright and, save for the slight rumple of his coat and a loosely tied cravat, appeared in tolerable spirits. One hand braced the doorframe, while the other held a walking stick, which he wielded with just enough flourish to suggest it was more for effect than necessity. “Good morning,” he said, as though his entrance was entirely unremarkable.
Hetty sprang to her feet so swiftly her chair scraped across the floor. “What in Heaven’s name are you doing out of bed?”
“Lord Langley!” cried Lady Tolliver, sweeping towards him like a frigate under full sail. “You ought to be abed this instant, with a cool compress upon your brow! How is your colour? Do you feel faint? Are you clammy?”
“I feel quite restored, Lady Tolliver,” he said amiably, making his way to the chair beside Hetty and lowering himself into it with the careful dignity of a man determined not to be fussed over. “I was resting, but now I am breakfasting. It seems the logical progression.”
“You were shot, my lord!” she gasped, fanning herself. “You cannot simply traipse about the house as though you were not perforated by one of my daughters!”
“Miss Charlotte merely grazed me,” he said with diplomacy. “It was, I daresay, a charming display of sisterly affection.”
At the far end of the table, Benedict emitted a sound that could only be described as a warning growl.
“I assure you, Lady Tolliver,” Theo continued, “I am quite equal to the demands of sitting. And I am resolved to reacquaint myself with toast.”
“You look ghastly,” Hetty said, frowning.
“Thank you,” he returned. “I dressed to impress.”
“I shall have Cook prepare a restorative broth,” Lady Tolliver declared, already bustling from the room in a flurry. “Do not eat the ham. It looks aggressive.”
“I shall risk it,” Theo smirked, reaching for the teapot with one hand while steadying himself against the table with the other.
Hetty snatched the teapot from him and poured it herself. “You are an utterly ridiculous man.”
“I have been called far worse,” he said, flashing her a grin so irrepressibly roguish that, despite her best efforts to maintain a frown, the corner of her mouth threatened treachery.
“Besides,” he said, leaning closer and dropping his voice to a murmur intended for her ears alone, “I missed you.”
To her own astonishment, Hetty did not roll her eyes. She did not scoff, nor did she issue one of her usual sharp retorts. Instead, her fingers twitched where they rested near the sugar spoon, and she kept her gaze trained very determinedly on the toast rack. “I suppose,” she said at last, “I missed you as well.”
Theo blinked slowly, his smile softening just enough to make her regret saying anything at all. “Then why did you not come to see me?”
“If I had hovered over you like a mother hen, you would have declared yourself oppressed and demanded fresh air.”
“On the contrary,” he said, spreading butter onto his toast. “Your presence would have improved my convalescence immeasurably.”
Nell, perched two seats down, squinted at them in suspicion. “Why are you two whispering?”
“We are not whispering,” Hetty said swiftly.
