dry eyed, she’d looked quite upset and Lucinda wondered who had written the letter.
Lucinda made her way to the wide marble foyer and saw Laurent talking to a man—a tall, slender, and handsome man—while two of the family’s burlier servants stood by the butler’s side.
“I will march past you and open every door on the family wing if you do not fetch her immediately.”
“Laurent?”
“Ah,” the man said. “You must be the niece. Miss Lucinda?”
“Please refrain from shouting at our butler. It is his job to guard our family. You have me at a disadvantage, sir. Who are you, and what business do you have here?” she asked.
But he did not reply. He was looking over her head to where Aunt Louisa was coming slowly down the steps.
“Mi querida,” he said softly. He went to where Louisa stood in the foyer and bent down on one knee.
“Do you know this man, Aunt Louisa?” she asked, and her aunt nodded, her gaze at some point over all of their heads.
“What are you doing here?” she asked him.
“Won’t you look at me, my darling?”
The man stood slowly, taking her cheeks in his palms, bringing her face in line with his. The look of longing on Aunt Louisa’s face was an intimacy that made Lucinda want to look away, but she didn’t. She couldn’t. He kissed her slowly then, Aunt’s arms and shoulders dropping.
Lucinda turned to Laurent, as she had no intention of allowing the only mother she’d ever known to be embarrassed in front of her or the staff. “Please get everyone back to work and have a tea tray delivered to the yellow salon.”
“Yes, Miss Lucinda. Right away,” Laurent said, and soon the foyer was empty other than Louisa, Lucinda, and the man now kissing her aunt’s knuckles.
“Should we adjoin to a sitting room, Aunt?”
“Oh, oh yes,” Aunt Louisa said, color flooding her face. “Yes. Please.”
“Would you care for some tea, sir?” Lucinda asked.
“Yes. And perhaps something a little stronger,” he said and smiled, following her down the hall, Aunt’s hand tucked over his arm.
The tea tray arrived as they were seated, and Laurent asked the gentleman his preference and soon returned with spirits in a crystal tumbler. Lucinda and her aunt were seated side by side on the sofa, and she poured the tea since her aunt’s hands were shaking so much she would have never been able to do it without spilling some in every saucer.
“Lucinda?” Aunt said and stopped to take a breath, her eyes closing as if in disbelief. “May I present Mr. Renaldo Delgado. Mr. Delgado, my niece, Miss Lucinda Vermeal.”
Mr. Delgado bowed over her hand. “How do you do, Miss Vermeal?”
“Well, thank you, sir. Won’t you please have a seat?” He settled in the chair directly opposite them.
“I was so sorry to hear of your wife’s passing,” Aunt Louisa said finally.
Delgado sat back in his seat and stared into the tumbler in his hand. “Thank you. Ann was British, you know. Her father was a diplomat, and after you left Spain, my parents arranged a marriage between the two of us; I think because they were concerned I was too depressed. And I was depressed. I didn’t believe there would be any joy in my life again and did not object to the match.” He looked up at Louisa. “Ann was not a happy person, not before our engagement and wedding, and not after our marriage either. But I was determined to be kind and faithful to her, and I owe her my respect as the mother of my children.”
“How many children do you have, Mr. Delgado?” Lucinda asked.
“Three. Millicent, only nineteen, recently married after the year of mourning had passed. She is very young, but I believe she loves Edward and that he loves her.” He looked at Louisa. “I don’t believe it is right to separate young lovers. It can have disastrous consequences. My two youngest are at my hotel with the governess. Geoffrey is sixteen and Susannah is twelve.”
“I’m sure they are saddened by their mother’s passing,” Lucinda said.
“They are. But Ann was not terribly involved in their daily lives. She was . . . ill and spent most of her time abed with her maid for company since Susannah was born. The children were with me mostly, even going to my place of business occasionally, and that has not changed. We breakfasted together every day, well, not Millicent after her marriage, of course. The four of us dined together each evening unless