He took a sip, savoring the burn as it traveled down his throat. “What can I do to help?”
“I don’t know. Mary is generally a sensible woman. She wants a husband and children. Yet I very much fear she has deluded herself into thinking she has a choice about whom she will wed.”
Kit wanted nothing more than to hit something. “If you have any ideas at all as to how I can bring her around, I’d appreciate hearing them.”
Lady Eunice shook her head. “At this point, I don’t know what to do. Perhaps sleeping on the problem will help.” She set her glass down on the table and rose. “Gentlemen, I shall see you in the morning.”
He and the rector stood. “Good night.”
Doust reached out, taking her hand. “I’ll take my leave now. Walk me to the door, if you will, my lady.”
She smiled. “Gladly.”
Cursing Mary’s and his grandmothers, Kit made his way to his bedchamber. He began engaging in what-ifs. What if they’d brought Lady Mary to Town, where he could and would have courted her? But that wouldn’t do anyone any good now. He’d have to deal with what he had, and she wasn’t going to make this easy for him. “Piggott,” Kit said, opening the door, “I have a job for you.”
His valet paused in the midst of polishing Kit’s boots. “What would that be, sir?”
“Have a talk with Lady Mary’s dresser, and find out what her ladyship’s tastes are.”
“Are you planning to court her ladyship?”
Kit drained his glass. “I am, and I must do so quickly.”
Before word got out and there was a scandal that could not be contained.
CHAPTER NINE
The next day turned to rain. Feeling as low as the clouds overhead, Mary decided to remain in her room and pretend she had the headache. Mathers ferried messages from Cook and her housekeeper, brought meals on trays, and made cryptic remarks about those who should know better. Mary did not ask, indeed she didn’t want to know. Instead of hiding away and moping, she would be better occupied doing something, anything. Making plans, writing lists. But the more she considered the problem, the harder it was to see her way out of this mess without creating just the sort of talk that would ruin her.
On the afternoon of the following day she sat on the sofa pretending to read as she gazed out her window over her newly planted garden. Perhaps a ride would help. She could sneak down the back stairs and out the side door. What she couldn’t continue to do was stay in her chambers, yet neither could she face Mr. Featherton. What had possessed her to behave so rudely? Oh yes, her sensitivity. There was only one thing to do, and the sooner the better.
The door opened. Eunice entered, followed by Simons with a tea tray.
Mary waited until he’d left, before announcing, “We shall depart early to-morrow.”
“No, we will not.” Eunice sat on a chair next to the sofa where Mary was ensconced. “Where would you go?”
“London. I’ll join Grandmamma at Bridgewater House.”
“What if Gawain is watching it? He must be in a panic by now, and what if you run into Diana, and she tells someone you are Lady Mary Featherton?” Mary shuddered as her aunt continued without mercy. “Mr. Featherton’s departure during the Season is probably a topic of discussion. He is quite well-known.”
Everything her aunt said was true. Still . . . “Then I’ll go elsewhere.” She fought the tears threatening to fall. “I just cannot stay here. It is impossible!”
“You must.” Eunice’s tone was as cold as ice. Lines bracketed her mouth. “The servants are already beginning to talk. You are a Tolliver. Behave like one and not some missish—”
“That is enough.” Mr. Featherton’s firm tone caused Mary to jump and Eunice to stop talking. He strode across the room to them. “Lady Mary, allow me to call your maid. We shall say you are still in bed with a sick headache.”
That wasn’t far from the truth. Her nose started to run, and he handed her his handkerchief. At least she wasn’t weeping.
Her aunt’s lips formed a thin line. “She must realize . . .”
Mr. Featherton glanced over his shoulder. “She will, but this is not the way to do it.” He pulled a chair to the other side of the sofa from Eunice, then rubbed his large palms up and down Mary’s arms, warming them. “Lady Mary, will you drink some tea? It might help.”
Trapped, she was completely trapped, but at least he wasn’t yelling at her. “Thank you.”
He poured, adding milk and two lumps of sugar. She couldn’t believe he’d remembered how she liked it.
The rector had entered as well, and took her aunt to the far corner of Mary’s parlor, where they spoke in hushed tones.
