“Nonsense. Out with it.”
Thomas sighed, clutching the waistcoat. “It’s a beautiful thing, my Lord. The waistcoat, I mean. But does Lord Wrenwood not disapprove heartily of such fripperies? Perhaps a more sombre waistcoat would be more to his taste.”
Clayton eyed his reflection for a long moment. A muscle feathered in his jaw.
“You are correct, Thomas, and I appreciate your attempts to keep me on a good standing with my father. But I do not, and will not ever, dress for that man. I must mind my tongue in my father’s house, but I can wear whatever colour waistcoat I like, and so I shall.”
Thomas bit his lip. “Of course, my Lord. My apologies.”
Clayton smiled weakly at his valet, patting him on the shoulder. “No apologies necessary, old boy. Now, give me a hand with this cravat. It simply won’t cooperate.”
***
Within an hour, Clayton was standing outside his childhood home, eyeing the familiar line of the building, silhouetted against the sky.
Hideous place, he thought tightly. I would set it ablaze once the old gentleman has passed; however, I insist that Eliza andthe children have a place to reside.
Tucking the brown-wrapped parcel, containing Amelia’s present, under his arm, Clayton forced himself to walk forward. He was a little early, but that might give him time to give Amelia her present before Auric deigned to join them. If he deigned to join them. There was always hope the man would forget or choose to attend his club instead.
No such luck this time.
Clayton could tell immediately from the strained faces on the face of the footman and butler that the master of the house was home, and in a bad mood.
“The family is in the drawing room, my Lord,” the butler announced, not meeting his eye.
There was no point in hanging around in the hall, so Clayton sucked in a deep breath and forced himself to move.
The first thing he noticed in the drawing room was the tense atmosphere.
Eliza was sitting in her usual seat, a fixed smile on her face, back ramrod straight. Edward hunched over on a footstool beside his mother, leaning against her as if for comfort.
Amelia knelt on the rug before the empty hearth, staring down at an open box. Auric stood over her, hands on his hips, face red.
Uh-oh.
“Good day, everybody,” Clayton announced loudly, making his stepmother and Edward jump. “What a lot of long faces. Where is the birthday girl, then?”
Amelia scrambled to her feet, hurrying over to fling her arms around Clayton’s waist. She squeezed tightly.
“Many happy returns, my dear,” he murmured, bending his head down to whisper in her ear. “What’s wrong?”
“Papa took away all of my dolls,” Amelia whispered back.
Just like that, all of Clayton’s determination to behavehimself and stay civil melted away. His head shot up, and he glared at his father.
“Her dolls? You took away her dolls?”
“None of your concern, sir,” Auric shot back. “She’s full thirteen years old. High time to leave toys and nonsense behind her and think about growing up. She’s a woman now.”
“She is not a woman, she is thirteen,” Clayton barked. “A child still.”
Auric snorted, turning on his heel and marching over to a high-winged armchair, plumping down with a thud. “I bought her present to make up for it, did I not? And was she grateful? Of course not.”
Amelia had not released Clayton’s middle, so he was forced to waddle forward, all but carrying her with him, in order to peer into the open parcel in the middle of the rug. It contained a thick, square book, covered in unappetizingly brown cloth.
“Sir Topkins’ Comprehensive Encyclopaedia On The Behaviour Of Young Ladies And Proper Decorum,” he read aloud. “Sounds like a page-turner.”
“Enough of your sarcasm,” Auric bit out. “It’s a necessary read for any woman. Amelia enjoys reading, does she not?”
