“Of course, my lady,” Robert said politely. His spirits lifted at the thought of seeing Edward again. He was a good friend. They had spent a year at Cambridge together, before Robert had decided to study history at Oxford instead. Robert had liked Edward’s open, uncomplicated manner and friendly ways. He followed Lady Averhill into the house, his mother walking beside the countess.
“Robert!” Edward greeted him, crossing the wide tiled floor of the entrance way. He clapped him on the back, shaking his hand informally. “Grand to see you. Where’s that delightful child of yours?”
Robert smiled. “He’s exploring your stable. I told him to come back in five minutes. I hope he can stay out of mischief for such a short time.” He recalled, vividly, how Henry had surprised Miss Brooke on the path. “It’s grand to see you, Edward,” he added, shaking his hand and smiling with real warmth in his gaze.
“I’m sure he cannot get up to too much mischief. The garden is big enough for one small boy not to break anything,” Edward said with a grin.
Robert hid his smile. “Do not be too certain,” he said warmly.
They both laughed and Robert followed Edward to the stairs.
“The other guests are already here. Charles is not here yet, and nor is Victoria, sadly,” Edward replied, naming Robert’s younger brother and sister, who would also be staying with the earl and countess for a month in Bath. “But Lord and Lady Elworth are here, and Viscount Barrow.”
“Grand. Grand,” Robert said distantly. He winced. Lord and Lady Elworth had a daughter, Amelia, to whom his mother would insist that he talked. His fingers tightened, gripping the edge of his coat-sleeve, a nervous habit.
“Your Grace!” Lady Elworth greeted him as he entered the drawing room, her voice warm as honey. “How grand to see you. Do join us. Amelia, you must recall His Grace, the duke of Clairwood?”
Robert bowed low. Lady Amelia was very pretty, with thick dark hair, black eyes, and pale skin. She had a neat, pretty mouth, a small nose and a tall, elegant form. She was wearing a fashionable red silk dress, and she curtseyed low; just the right curtsey with which a marquess’ daughter might greet a duke.
“Lady Amelia,” he greeted her politely, bowing low. “I am honoured to meet you again.”
“I am honoured to meet you again as well, Your Grace,” Lady Amelia murmured, straightening up from her curtsey.
“Amelia will be in London later in spring, for the Season,” Mama commented, standing beside Robert. “Is that not a pleasant prospect?”
“Most fine,” Robert said stiffly. His mother had arrived with Lady Averhill, and he saw his mother’s gaze narrow as she came over to join them. He felt a wash of devilment—if she was trying to force him to talk, then he would say as little as possible. Guilt followed the thought instantly—it was not Lady Amelia’s fault that his mother was trying to force him to talk to her. He bowed low to the young lady.
“If you will excuse me a moment, my lady?” he asked politely. “I must find my son.” He crossed the floor and headed towards the door, going to find Henry. He heard his mother suck in a breath, and he knew she was furious. If he made a game out of beating her at her manipulations, then it helped him to feel less resentful. All the same, it did not sit well with his conscience, as he did not like to play games.
“Henry!” He greeted the boy as he ran in through the front door. “There you are. Just on time. Now, mayhap you should join Mrs. Wellman and have a rest?” he asked. Mrs. Wellman was the maid who had traveled ahead to care for Henry.
“I don’t want to sleep, Papa,” Henry countered a little sulkily. Robert ruffled his hair.
“Just an hour, son; while I have tea. Then we can go for a walk, I promise,” he told him honestly. He would far rather escape and take Henry for a walk straightaway, but he felt obliged to remain for a while with his hosts.
Henry held his gaze but nodded. “Yes, Papa,” he said, not sounding happy about the prospect. Robert smiled.
“Just an hour, son. Then we can go for a walk. I promise.”
He followed the butler to the chambers that he, Mama and Henry would share, and left Henry with Mrs. Wellman. He thanked the matronly older woman and hurried back to the drawing room.
“You will of course borrow horses from us while you are here?” Edward asked him as he returned. “You’re welcome to use our stable. And Henry, too, if he wishes,” he added with a warm smile.
“Henry is too little for anything but a pony yet,” Robert said quickly. That was not strictly true—he himself had ridden a full-grown horse at seven, but it was dangerous, and he did not want to put his own son in the same danger.
“Well, if you find a horse in the stable that might suit him, or yourself, then you’re welcome to ride anytime,” Edward commented.
“Thank you.”
Robert stood at the window chatting with Edward for a few minutes. He was aware of his mother’s anger from across the room—she stood with Lord and Lady Elworth, and he could see from her stiff posture that she was still seething with anger towards him. He ignored it. He felt a sour twist in his stomach as he recalled how she had shouted at Henry. The thought made his mind drift to Miss Brooke, and he looked around the room, wondering where she was. As Lady Averhill’s cousin, she would surely be joining the guests at tea, would she not?
“Where is...” he began to ask Edward, but before he could complete the question, the butler appeared in the doorway, accompanied by two more guests.
“May I have the honour of introducing Lord and Lady Balford?” Edward asked the assembled guests. “My lord? My lady? Allow me to introduce our many guests to you,” he added, addressing the young Earl and Countess in the doorway.
Robert smiled and bowed and shook hands along with everyone else, but his mind was elsewhere. He could not stop thinking about the young lady in the garden—Miss Brooke. Her pale gray-blue eyes haunted him. She was so lovely, so untamed in a way he could not describe. She had demonstrated no awe for his status. She had looked straight at him, as though all the trappings of society and wealth were invisible, and she could see straight to his heart.
That’s fanciful nonsense,he told himself firmly.Why would she?Guilt swamped him, Elizabeth’s face filling his thoughts. She had seen him for who he was. Why did he imagine that a young baron’s daughter would instantly know who he was, or even care? He pushed the thought away shamefacedly.
