Married to the Rogue (Season of Scandal #3) - Mary Lancaster Page 0,25
herself back together.
“Please sit down,” she managed.
Her visitors sat, both gazing around the room as though trying to work out what was different about it.
Ellen, the new maid, stuck her head around the door.
“Tea, if you please,” Deborah said. “And ask Mrs. Dawson to have bedchambers made ready for their lordships.”
“Yes, ma’am.” The maid curtseyed and vanished.
“Who the devil is she?” Hawfield demanded.
“We’re taking on new staff,” Deborah murmured.
Hawfield smiled, but only with his lips. “You’re not letting the grass grow under your feet, are you?”
“Indeed, no, there is much to do.”
Tea arrived speedily, much to Deborah’s relief. Dudley, Lord Bilston, began to make polite conversation about the weather to Deborah, and to Christopher about family news and mutual friends. It might have eased the tension had she not felt Hawfield’s gaze constantly upon her, as though waiting for her to betray some hint of depravity, or at least clumsiness.
Somehow, she got through the next half hour, but it was with considerable relief that she heard Christopher offering to show their guests to their rooms. The old man barely remembered to nod to her, but at least the younger bowed civilly as they left the room.
Deborah counted to ten, then fled to the library and picked up her duster.
Ten minutes later, she was still gazing at it as the door opened, and Christopher came in. He was frowning, but she realized, with surprise, it was a frown of concern, not anger.
He searched her face. “What are you thinking?”
She swallowed. “That without you, I would have fled weeping like a scolded child.”
His lips twisted. “Well, without me, you wouldn’t have been in this situation in the first place. For what it’s worth, without you, I would have had a flaming row with him and said things that would never have been forgiven. But I knew you would hate it, and in biting my tongue, I discovered a better way to deal with him. It seems we make a good partnership.”
He took the duster from her numb fingers and dropped it on the nearby table. “I think you have done enough here for today. Come, let’s walk down to the lake.”
“Don’t you want to return to Mr. Gates at the dower house?”
“No, I’ve left him arguing with the builders. I think we both need an escape.”
He did not even trouble to fetch a coat, and she was only able to snatch her old bonnet from the stand on their way out.
The fresh air filled her lungs, the birds’ songs soothed her mind back into proper thought.
“The word is spreading,” she observed. “About the scandal. Is Lord Hawfield not right that it will do you harm?”
“Only if he insists on shouting his mouth off about it. If he accepts you, it could well help scotch the whole nonsense.”
“I doubt he’s going to do that,” she said wryly.
“He’s still in the house. His one hope was to scare or shame us into seeking an annulment. Otherwise, it’s not in his power to part us.”
“I can’t understand why he is so upset. What is it to him whether you have Gosmere now or in two years?”
Christopher shrugged. “He doesn’t like being thwarted, and to give him his due, he still thinks I am playing at politics and am a dilettante at heart.”
“Are you?”
He flashed her a rather charming smile, half-deprecating, half-mischievous. “I’m serious about some things. Just not everything.”
“And he thinks it should be all or nothing?”
“Perhaps. And I suppose he is concerned about family honor. But I won’t allow him to go on thinking you threaten that.”
“You can’t stop him thinking, Christopher.”
“No, but stopping him talking is a start. And from there, we’ll just have to change his mind.”
She gave him an unhappy smile. “Just? I can’t charm him, you know.”
“You underestimate yourself. No one expects you to flutter your eyelashes and flatter him. In fact, on the whole, I would rather you didn’t! Just be yourself. He is only an old bluster-bag.”
She couldn’t help laughing at the description, and he smiled back, taking her hand and swinging it upward, almost as though they were children playing together.
“I should have brought my coat for you to sit on,” he observed as they paused by the gently rippling lake.
She sank down onto the grass. “My dress is already filthy, as your grandfather noted.”
“You have other gowns,” he said comfortably, then glanced at her. “Though perhaps you need more?”
She shook her head. “Not unless you wish me to wear something different every day and every evening.”