The lord soon made his way into the room with ease, his arms stretched out wide in greeting.
“Your Grace, what a delight,” Lamfort chirped, bowing low over Isla’s hand as he kissed it. “I simply could not allow you to escape London without conveying my sincere regrets for the unfortunate disturbance the other evening. A terrible misunderstanding, I assure you. You do accept my most heartfelt apology, Your Grace?”
Isla, ever the polite hostess, masked her annoyance with a tight smile. “Yer apology is accepted, my lord. We are quite prepared to forget the matter entirely.” She indicated the tea tray that was sitting on a nearby table. “Will ye take tea with us this afternoon?”
“Delighted,” he said, settling into a comfortable armchair as if he lived there, and fixing his attention on Oliver.
The boy was trying to shrink behind a stack of books in the corner, clearly uncomfortable with the sudden and unexpected visitor.
“Dear young Oliver,” Lamfort said, his smile too wide to be sincere. “Growing up so fast, aren’t we? Tell me, my boy, are you pleased with your new stepmother?”
“Her Grace is most kind,” he said, stiff-backed as he put down his book to look up at Lamfort.
“Oh, yes, and she is quite a striking woman. Though, perhaps a touch… rustic. At least for us English folk,” he said with a wink, taking a sip of tea and grabbing a biscuit.
“Her Grace is very kind, my lord,” Oliver continued as he rose to his feet. “She was just going over some history lessons with me, and when we are in the country, she is going to show me how to play shinty,” he replied politely.
Lamfort chuckled, but the sound was thin and flat as a piece of parchment. “Shinty. Indeed. An amusing Scottish country diversion, I’m sure. Cannot say I have heard of it.”
“It is a grand game! Her Grace says it is important to stay active, no matter what and?—”
“Do you find that Her Grace gives you proper guidance, Oliver? Especially with your…ailments…”
“I’m not sure I understand the question, my lord,” Oliver said, his voice growing low. “What do you mean?”
“Well, you are the future Duke, after all. Do you discuss finance, perhaps? Or the responsibilities of your extensive holdings? Or is it all just flights of fancy?”
Isla stepped in, sensing Oliver’s rising discomfort and the trajectory of the conversation. “Me lord, Oliver is currently focused on his Latin and history, as is appropriate for his young age.”
“Perhaps for some,” Lamfort said sharply as he grabbed another biscuit.
“Exercise is the cornerstone of any young Duke’s future. And as for the rest, I am sure His Grace will see to it,” Isla pressed.
Lamfort waved a dismissive hand, turning his full attention back to the boy. “Nonsense. A boy of his station needs preparation for the real world. Your father was quite precocious as a young man, you know. I recall when he was your age, he was already discussing the finer points of the market with certain people.”
He paused, leaning toward the boy as he took a bite of his biscuit, crumbs falling on his lap.
“Tell me, do you ever confuse Her Grace with your late mother? They are quite different sorts of women, I must say. Night and day!”
Oliver’s face went pale as his hands tightened into little balls by his sides. He clamped his mouth shut, shaking his head almost imperceptibly.
“Oliver,mo chridhe, how about you alert the maids to fetch us some fresh biscuits from the kitchen as our guest seems to like them so, so much?” Isla suggested gently, offering the boy an escape.
Oliver scrambled from the room with no more than a nod. Isla then turned to Lamfort, her eyes sharp and piercing on the interloper.
“Me lord, I believe the lad has offered ye all the conversation he is comfortable with this afternoon. Thank ye for payin’ a call, but I do believe we must focus on our preparations to leave.”
Before Lamfort could retort, the front door boomed shut, and the heavy tread of Benedict’s boots echoed in the hall. Suddenly, the Duke appeared in the doorway, shedding his great coat with an air of cold displeasure.
He stopped dead when he saw the Viscount.
“Lamfort,” Benedict’s voice cut out like grinding stone. “To what do we owe this visit? And without invitation, may I add? We have much to attend to and no time for unscheduled social calls.”
Lamfort remained flawlessly charming as he rose smoothly, extending a hand that Benedict did not take.
“Your Grace! What timing! I was merely calling to pay my respects to Her Grace and, as a great family friend, check in on the young, future Duke. I happened to be passing by is all. No need to fret!”
“I do not fret, Lamfort,” Benedict barked.
