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‘You killed six,’ the little one insisted. ‘But I killed ten for you.’
‘What with?’ Bellona asked.
The girl laughed, jumping back from her aunt. ‘I stomped on them. They squished.’
‘That is ugly, Willa,’ her mother said.
‘Yes,’ Bellona agreed. Her hair had half-fallen from its pins. ‘You must save them whole so we can have a feast. Dragon’s meat is very tasty and is already cooked from the dragon’s breath.’
‘Bellona, stop adding to her imagination,’ Melina said.
Willa shot an imaginary arrow into her aunt and Bellona was putting more drama into the play than any actress he’d ever seen at Drury Lane.
He wanted to join them. He wanted to hear the laugher around him, especially Bellona’s.
‘Sir,’ a voice behind him interrupted. ‘The Earl of Warrington did not bring a card, but suggested I tell you—’
‘—To roll yourself out of bed—’ Warrington stepped behind the servant ‘—because you are so tired from staying up late looking at your face in the mirror and wondering why the heavens have been so cruel to you.’
Rhys’s quiet response would have earned him a fortnight of prayers from the vicar. The butler’s lips quirked and he slipped out through the door.
Warrington walked to the other side of the window and looked out, viewing the same scene Rhys saw.
‘Have you gambled away the inheritance yet?’ Warrington asked.
‘No.’ Rhys turned to the earl. ‘Do you need me to lend you some funds?’
‘Like hell.’
‘If you throw the first punch, you should be prepared with another one.’
‘So how is the duke?’
Rhys tapped his boot toe at the base of the wall. ‘It’s been difficult managing the properties around London through my man of affairs instead of seeing for myself. I have had to depend on Simpson completely because the duties are so new to me and the duchess has been so distraught. I believe Simpson quite capable, but I need to take responsibility myself at some point.’
‘It gets easier,’ Warrington said. ‘I was fortunate to have my brother Dane to help me after my father died. If you need anything, just ask. I’ll send him.’
‘Much better than having you around, I’m sure.’
‘True,’ Warrington said.
Both men stayed at the widow. All three females chattered and seemed to be having no trouble following every word spoken, mostly in Greek.
‘So how are things here?’ Warrington said. ‘The duchess?’
‘Mother is better.’
Warrington nodded, his voice soft. ‘Bellona doesn’t like quiet. My wife, fortunately, does. Hard to believe they are sisters sometimes.’
Rhys didn’t speak, just watched the gestures down below. Bellona unstrung the bow. The little girl wore the quiver. The women moved with each word they spoke.
‘You’d think it’s been years since they’ve seen each other,’ Warrington said, moving away from the window.
Rhys still watched the scene. ‘At least they get along.’
‘They do. For the most part.’
Rhys stepped nearer the bookshelves, and considered his words while he looked at Warrington. ‘Is Bellona truly nothing like her sister?’ He waited for the response.
Warrington chuckled. ‘Night and day. It’s odd how they disagree on things, but never seem to argue. My brothers and I argued even when we agreed.’
‘How did their father die?’
Warrington walked away from the window, and stood at the unlit fireplace. ‘He’s actually alive and I would prefer that to remain between us. I’ve been concerned word would get out concerning the pompous goat. That’s what they disagree over. Melina wishes to keep him from all aspects of her life. Bellona has visited his wife secretly several times, though she doesn’t like the man either.’
‘Where does he live—in Greece?’ Rhys knew her mother was dead and he’d thought her father was, too.
‘On St James’s Street in London. He’s actually Lord Hawkins.’
Rhys relived the words in his mind. Yes, he’d heard correctly. Bellona’s father was an English peer.
Warrington gave the smallest nod and studied Rhys. ‘In his youth, he visited the island, married their mother and forgot to tell her he had a wife here. The second marriage was probably a farce to him, but still, the women didn’t know of each other. Two families. Two sets of children. He sailed back and forth a few times. The children’s ages are near the same.’
‘Lord Hawkins?’ Rhys could hardly stand to be in the same room with the man. His voice usually carried to all corners when he talked of the great art of the past and no one else’s opinion on any painting came close to Hawkins’s self-professed judgement skills.
