“Mr. Dickson.” Lucy nodded at the man and tried for a kindly expression.
“Dickson is a surveyor who’s come to snoop about my home and measure and poke and decide how much it will sell for.” Cassandra wasn’t capable of a blank stare, so the one she squared on Lucy was full of emotion, but she couldn’t discern precisely which emotion it was. “Did you know Mr. Dickson was coming, Lucy?”
So, it was anger. Just the thin edge of it, well restrained but breaking through.
“I did not.” The truth in the barest sense, but in Lucy’s experience, angry people were not interested in minutiae or complexities. Plain speaking worked best.
“But you do know why he’s here.” Not a question. More of an accusation.
“Yes, I do, Aunt Cassandra, and I’m sorry for it.”
Her aunt looked as if she might crumple at that. She lifted a kerchief from her pocket and swept it across her forehead, then pressed the back of her hand to her cheek. She closed her eyes for amoment and the tension in her shoulders seemed to ease.
“Cass—” Mr. Blackwood stepped forward, but she stayed him with the flick of her hand.
“I’m ready,” she finally said, then stood tall, chest out, chin up, drawing in a deep breath.
Lucy didn’t know what she meant, and neither Mr. Dickson nor Mr. Blackwood seemed to either. The three of them exchanged confused looks while her aunt started toward the doorway at Lucy’s back.
“I’m ready to meet the earl, who, without any warning or the courtesy of a letter, has come to destroy everything I’ve made for myself.” She swallowed as if working to control her temper or hold back the bile in her throat. “And compromised my beloved niece.”
“Aunt Cassandra—” Lucy found she wasn’t prepared with the right words. She felt the heat of anger boiling in her chest, found herself clenching her fingers into fists. But she had no desire to add to her aunt’s distress.
Then she heard footsteps and recognized the sound of James’s gait.
“Lady Cassandra.” He said her name quietly as he approached to stand on Lucy’s right. Then he sketched a bow. Never very good at the formality, he mimicked what he’d seen at formal parties and in the few ballrooms he’d spent time in. “I have been looking forward to making your acquaintance.”
The ticking of the clock, the sound of servants moving about in the hall, and the labored breath of poor Mr. Dickson were all he heard as the lady took her time assessing him.
She perused him slowly, thoughtfully, examining everything from his hair to his necktie to the part of his boots that stuck out beneath the legs of his trousers. Then she lifted her gaze and stared into his eyes. Unblinking and somehow demanding.
So much like Lucy’s eyes. The same shade, at least. Though there was none of the warmth and sweetness, none of the seductive boldness.
“Ifyou were eager to make my acquaintance, Lord Rossbury, I suspect it was only so that you could get on with the business of sizing up my home and pocketing the proceeds of its sale. Is that about the sum of it?”
“I understand your anger—”
“I doubt that very much. Unless you have been standing where I am, how could you?”
James nodded but was undaunted. He never doubted the lady would be formidable. “I sent you a letter—or rather, I had my uncle’s solicitor do so—before my arrival. I’m sorry it didn’t reach you before I arrived. I should have sent a telegram, so the failure to give you fair warning is mine. Entirely.”
“Well, I’m glad to know I’m blaming the right person.”
“Time was of the essence, but that is my fault too.”
“I’m not charmed by humility, my lord.”
“You see, my lady, I made a grave error,” he continued, giving pause for her barb but not letting it throw him off stride. “I failed at the business I’d built. Lost everything. Betrayed friends and colleagues. And I owe money to an unscrupulous man. None of that excuses my behavior toward you. It is merely the only explanation I can offer.”
For the first time since he’d walked into the room, Lady Cassandra offered no barb in reply. Instead, she did her assessment again, sweeping her gaze up and down as if looking for something she might have missed the first time.
Mrs. Fox entered the room at that moment. Perhaps she’d been waiting for a lull in the conversation. For some reason, she’d come to deliver the tea service herself. Curious, no doubt, about how things were unfolding for her mistress.
James didn’t blame her for that in the least.
“I’ll pour,” Lucy offered.
“Thank you, my dear.” Her aunt spoke to her with genuine warmth, and James was grateful for that. Most of all, he did not want to cause a rift between them.
