“Grimsby didn’t seem to have figured out who he was. Or if he did, he didn’t mention it. Maybe it wasn’t important. Your grandfather wanted information about you, after all.”
“And got it,” Christopher growled. “I can’t believe the old man sent his valet to spy on all of us. Not just that he’d do it in the first place, but that he’d give the job to one of the servants! Didn’t he know how they talk?”
“I’m sure he did,” I said, tucking my hand a little tighter through his arm as we made our way down along the edge of the road to the village. The road was narrow, and bordered by ditches, and the surface was uneven. “But I imagine he didn’t feel like he had a choice. He couldn’t get around to do it himself, and I can’t imagine he’d ask a family member. You can’t tell me St George, if he’d been tasked with it, wouldn’t have made up horrible things about both of us. Even if only for the fun of the thing.”
“I can’t imagine he could have come up with anything worse than Grimsby did,” Christopher said, and I shook my head.
“About you, perhaps. The truth is already damning enough there, I suppose. Although Grimsby didn’t share that part with your grandfather, did he?”
“Only because he was hoping to profit from it,” Christopher said darkly, which of course was true.
“At any rate, I’m sure St George would have delighted in making up horror-stories about me. If it had been up to him, I would be hiding horns under my hair and a forked tail under my skirt. Cloven hooves in my shoes, too, probably.” I glanced down at them, scuffing along the dirt road.
“He’s just jealous,” Christopher said, and I turned to him, my eyes wide.
He gave me the same wide-eyed look back. “You didn’t realize that? Of course he is, Pippa. Until you came along, he and I were playmates. You can’t imagine that Aunt Charlotte would have let him play with the village children?”
Well, no. Of course not. That would be far beneath the dignity of the heir to the Sutherlands.
“Francis and Robert were older and had gone off to school, so it was just him and me left. Until you came along, and suddenly I had a sister who lived with me and went with me everywhere. You took his place.”
“I had no idea,” I said, as our shared history realigned itself in my head. “Now I feel terrible.”
“Don’t.” He glanced at me. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Pippa. You were perfectly happy to include him. You just wanted to be accepted. He was mean to you almost from the start. None of it was your fault.”
“Still. If I had realized it was because he felt left out, I would have endeavored to include him more.”
“That’s kind,” Christopher said, “but it was a long time ago. We’re adults now, and he still takes every opportunity to annoy you.”
He did. And speaking of— “That was almost painful at lunch, wasn’t it? I know he was being his usual boorish self, but his mother didn’t have to slap him down like that.”
“He deserved it,” Christopher said.
“He deserved something. But maybe not that. Actually striking him across the face might have been less upsetting. And anyway,Ishould have been the one to do it. I was the one he was trying to get a rise out of.”
“As usual,” Christopher said. “He does a beautiful job of getting under your skin.”
“I know he does.” I grimaced. “I wish I could stop rising to the bait. He just seems to know exactly what to say to annoy me the most. Especially now, when I’m at my limit after having to deal with him for three days straight. I’m usually better at keeping my temper.”
Christopher, wisely, refrained from confirming or denying that.
“It’ll be over soon,” he said instead, soothingly. “I guess Laetitia Marsden was one of the girls Grimsby found in his research?”
I nodded. “Along with the three you told Tom about the other night, and half a dozen others. Including one who showed up at Sutherland House holding a baby.”
His eyes widened. “Not really?”
“Really. She isn’t Mrs. Crispin Astley, or more accurately, Viscountess St George, at this point, though, so I assume the claim was dubious. But that happened.”
“Good Lord,” Christopher said. “Any idea who she was?”
“The dossier didn’t say. Not an heiress, socialite, or Bright Young Person, I assume, or we’d probably have heard.”
“So he’d been slumming,” Christopher said, and I winced.
“I’m not sure you ought to put it like that.”
He glanced at me. “How else would you put it? He’s Lord St George. And she must have been a shop-girl or a waitress or—God forbid—a prostitute. The sort of woman who can be hushed up.”
