“Naturally.Give Lady Devon my regards.”
Peregrine paused in the doorway.“Do you think your news truly reached her?When you spoke of the coming heir, she scarcely reacted.”
Anna’s smile dimmed.“It is no matter.”
“It is to me.”Peregrine’s voice softened.“I shall investigate—on every front.”
She departed before Anna could protest.Halfway up the stairs, clarity struck.If Hawthorne was even now negotiating with her brother, her days as Henley’s guest were numbered.Why shuttle gowns back and forth like a peddler?Far better to bring everything at once and spare herself further visits to a house that no longer felt like home.
Decision made, she changed into a walking dress, summoned a maid, and set off for Mayfair.
The air was warm, scented with rain-washed lilac.As she approached her mother’s house, the front door swung open before her foot touched the top step.
“Good afternoon, Lady Peregrine,” the butler intoned.“I spied your arrival from the window.”
“Is my mother at home?”
“Indeed.Shall I announce you?”
“Please.I’ll wait in the gold parlor.”
She felt oddly like a visitor.The walls were unchanged, the light unchanged—yet everything felt foreign.She dismissed the maid to begin packing upstairs and settled onto the settee.
Minutes later, Lady Devon swept in, one curl escaping its pin.She patted it into submission and offered a smile that did not reach her eyes.“I was not expecting you.”She rang for fresh tea.
“I came to collect the rest of my things,” Peregrine said carefully, “and thought to visit while I was here.”
“Of course.Though I confess I thought little remained.”One elegant brow rose.“Most of your wardrobe appears to have migrated to Henley’s.”
“Some still lingers.”Peregrine studied her mother’s face—once so familiar, now strangely opaque.She plunged in.“Anna is well.Her confinement approaches.”
“You ought not speak of such things,” Lady Devon reproved.
“I thought you would wish to know.”
“I have no fears on that score.Though I must consult my solicitor—the title descends through my line, and these matters grow devilish complicated.”She waved a dismissive hand.
Silence stretched, thick as dust.
Peregrine tried a different tack.“Any word from Edwin?”
Her mother’s expression shuttered.She shrugged—an uncharacteristic, almost vulgar motion that set Peregrine’s nerves jangling.
Tea arrived.Peregrine poured, steadying her voice.“Last you wrote, he intended to return soon.Has the date been fixed?”
“He is vague,” Lady Devon said into her cup.“We shall know when he arrives.”
Vague.A family trait, apparently.
Peregrine steeled herself.“We attended Drury Lane last week.A capital performance.Were you there, Mama?”
Her mother’s gaze flicked up.“I was.Though I found it indifferent.”
“I thought I saw you.”
“Did you?”A brittle pause.“I attended with friends.”
“I saw only one.”
