Beth motioned for Mary to join her on the settee. “Sit. Put down your book. Wait. I will speak first.”
Mary nodded and sat, smoothing her skirt.
After a moment, Samples knocked once on the parlor door and opened it, announcing, “Lord Thaddeus Bolton, Your Grace.” He stepped back and Lord Thaddeus entered.
“Oh, my,” muttered Beth.
Mary, too, stared. The unkempt young gambler from the Lyon’s Den had been spit polished. His unruly curls, now plastered into one of the latest styles, framed a clean-shaven face. Smooth dark lines of kohl shadowed his eyes—a trend Mary had noticed among the young blades of theton, although she had not completely gotten used to it. The effect was startling, making the gray-blue of his irises even more prominent. He wore a pristine afternoon kit of a purple tailcoat—the tails narrowing to fine points—a lavender waistcoat with black embroidered swirls, and a sparkling silver-gray cravat. His spotless white trousers had a slightly flared waist and legs that tapered to his ankles. His black shoes had been buffed to a high sheen.
Mary suddenly felt a bit dowdy in her dark-blue day gown, simple straw and silk bonnet, and kid boots.
He executed a precise bow to Beth. “Your Grace.” And another. “Lady Mary.”
Beth extended a hand toward a nearby armchair. “Please, Lord Thaddeus. Sit and tell us why you have come.” She let her hand rest again across Bastet’s body, who stretched and purred.
Lord Thaddeus’s eyes widened. “You have a cat. In the house.”
Mary swallowed a grin.
“Yes,” Beth said. “One of our residence mousers, although Bastet is more of a companion than servant.”
“As one would expect a goddess of Egypt to be. The guardian of women’s secrets, if I recall.”
Mary’s eyebrows arched. “You know the origin of the name.”
He nodded. “Unless you know of another.”
Mary sat a bit straighter. “Not at all. I have just grown accustomed to explaining the names of all our mousers. Ptah, Mihos, Sekhmet.”
He smiled, his eyes gleaming. “A regal quartet. Do they live up to their names?”
Mary glanced at Beth, then whispered to Lord Thaddeus, “Mihos recently brought Cook a squirrel.”
Beth gasped. “What?”
“Oh, I do not think she cooked it. But she did have a moment of panic, thinking it might get loose in the kitchen.”
Lord Thaddeus chuckled. “But it did not.”
“No, it was rather dead at the time.”
“Mary!” Beth’s whispered scold silenced the room.
Lord Thaddeus looked at her, confused, but remained silent, and Mary let out a sigh. “My apologies, Lord Thaddeus. My mother and my sister-in-law have tried desperately to coach me on appropriate topics of conversation for young ladies of theton, but the lessons have not always succeeded. As I suspect chats about deceased yard rodents would be one of the more inappropriate ones.”
Beth and Lord Thaddeus responded simultaneously.
“Indeed.”
“Not to my ears.”
More silence. Then both spoke again.
“I should send for tea.”
“Would you prefer a walk... in the park?”
Those last three words sounded alone in the room.
