Honor's Players - By Holly Newman Page 0,50

a hallway chair.

“It is the Countess, my lord.”

“My mother is here?”

“Yes, my lord, installed in the parlor. She arrived with the Earl shortly after you left and says she’s determined not to leave until she speaks to you. She is much distressed, my lord. She has already knocked over the Sevres tea service in her pacing, quite shattering it, and I am afraid the ebony and ormolu table by the fireplace will never be the same. I did contrive to remove other items I deemed fragile when we cleaned up the broken china.”

“Is that you, Justin? I thought I heard your voice.” Lady Alicia Harth, Countess of Seaverness, swept out of the parlor brandishing a newspaper in her hand. “What is the meaning of this?”

“It is nice to see you also, Mother.” He stepped close to her to kiss a heavily scented cheek.

His action set her back apace, yet she rallied quickly. “I’ll have none of your cozening ways! I came here for answers, not mealy-mouthed platitudes!”

“I understand from Predmore that Father is with you. Shall we join him?” he returned urbanely. He leaned close to her ear. “This is unlike you, Mother, to forget servants are present.”

Two high spots of color flared on Lady Alicia’s cheeks and with ill grace she allowed herself to be led back into the parlor.

St. Ryne had difficulty hiding a smile at the picture of his mother much on her dignity. He didn’t give a button for the servants; they’d seen and heard worse in rumor over the past few weeks. His words were meant to serve as a slight respite from the harangue his mother appeared intent on delivering and lending him a moment to gather his wits.

Leading his mother to the sofa, he then turned to the facing chair where his father was seated and extended his hand to his sire. “This is an unexpected pleasure, sir. I had thought you both firmly fixed in Paris for a few weeks more.”

The Earl of Seaverness looked up at his son, a light of amusement in his eyes. “Your mother would have us return. She suddenly discovered a desire for your company.”

With the snap of the latch as the footman slowly closed the door behind them, Lady Alicia once again launched into her diatribe.

“Are you not aware of the insult, the shame we have suffered as a result of your actions?”

“She has suffered,” amended the Earl.

The Countess ignored him. “I own I discounted the rumors of a betrothal when they reached my ears and said as much to anyone with the audacity to question me. But oh, the mortification to read of it in the Morning Gazette! I pushed and harried your father to return and put an end to such outlandishness only to find when I set foot on English soil that the deed was done almost a week past!”

St. Ryne sat down in the chair opposite his father. “Mother, I’m afraid you find me all at sea.”

“Wouldn’t mention sea to her, if I were you, my boy. They don’t get along.”

St. Ryne’s lips twitched as he offered a sideways thank you before continuing. “Prior to your departure for France you told to me that marriage was an event consummately to be desired. Your arguments spoke strongly of duty to the family. It was only my desire to please you that hurried my steps to the altar. "

From next to him came a snort of laughter. He studiously refrained from looking at his paternal parent for fear they would both start openly laughing.

Lady Alicia bristled. “Now see here, Justin, you know perfectly well what I meant. I have taken the trouble to introduce you to any number of eligible young ladies who would grace the Harth name. ”

St. Ryne studied his hands for a moment. “But I am more than a name, and sometimes I believe you forget that."

“Such impudence!” The Countess rose from her seat to pace the floor between the two gentlemen. “I shall never be able to show my face in polite company. The Shrew of London for a daughter-in-law! The humiliation!”

“Humiliation, Mother?” St. Ryne asked, his patience snapping. “Tell me, what exactly is wrong with my wife? Naught that I see. Is it because you did not choose her from your collection of simpering protégés? You’ll catch cold at that! And surely not even you can complain of her lineage—she is, after all, a daughter of an Earl.”

“Who’s been a friend of mine anytime these past thirty years,” his