Headstrong, heedless, too sure of herself for her own good—she’d heard it all about Charlotte, and it made the dowager nothing but proud. After all, she’d had the same words thrown at her when she was young.Happywas the only word she cared about when it came to her grandchildren, or perhapscontent, because happiness blew in and out on the breeze but true contentment lived inside, safe and protected.
The dowager rubbed the little spider again and thought of her lost son.
Charlotte had been too young when her father died to remember his drinking or his rage, and certainly not the dread that sat over Clare like a creeping fog, making it impossible to breathe. The dowager had lost her son by slow degrees, unable to recognize him in the final years. But she’d clung to hope that the bright boy she’d loved so fiercely would return, right up until the day they’d lowered his coffin into the ground.
The one thing that had kept her head up was little Charlotte, crawling into the dowager’s lap with sticky hands and busy thoughts, making them all laugh even then. The dowager and Julian—only fifteen at the time—had been determined that Charlotte should have as much laughter as she pleased, and they’d done their best to shield her.
Had it taken them too long to see that Charlotte’s laughter was a bit too ready? The dowager had only wanted to spare her granddaughter pain, but had she instead let her hide it in plain sight? Charlotte was as outrageous as ever this summer, but so lost, whirling in the wind like a dandelion seed. What she needed was—
The sound of boots rang out against the stone floor, snapping the dowager out of her reverie.
“Your Grace, I was just thinking of you! Will you join me in a glass of lemonade, or shall I send one of the gardeners up to the house to fetch you a pot of tea?”
“Not for me, Lady Alice. Thank you.” His jaw ticked as he indicated another wrought-iron chair. “May I?”
So, not a social visit, then? The dowager blinked up at him, a bland smile on her face but her eyes quick and searching.
The duke was in high dudgeon, and withherfor some reason.
Interesting!
“Please do. I hope you won’t mind that I can’t offer you a cushion, but then again, your bones don’t ache like mine.”
It was always a good idea to remind the young pups of her age. It put them on their back paws and made them easier to handle.
Warrick scraped a chair forward and sat down, looking grim in-deed. “Lady Alice, it pains me to say this, but—”
“Just a moment, dear boy. I’m thirsting for my lemonade.”
The pitcher wasn’t heavy, but she let her hands shake as she lifted it, pouring the lemonade out in the slowest trickle to give the child plenty of time to cool his hot head and rethink whatever it was he intended to say. But when she finally took a sip and looked up, Warrick stared back at her with a gleam of humor in his eyes.
“Lady Alice, are you quite hydrated?”
“Yes, but—”
“Excellent. Do you perhaps need a biscuit, as well?”
Oh dear. What did one do with a man who was on to all of one’s tricks?
Marry him off to one’s granddaughter, if possible.
Lady Alice gestured for him to proceed.
Warrick drew his chair even closer. “Lady Alice, it won’t do. I’ve just returned from a ride, where I found your granddaughter and the prince—” The muscles of his jaw worked, and he ground to a halt, grimmer than ever.
The dowager took another slow sip from her glass. Interesting, indeed!
Lady Alice, like all of the Avetons, was never short of opinions or one to doubt her own mind. She found the duke quite splendid, if a little shaggy for her liking, but whenCharlottelooked at him—well, the dowager hadn’t known that a laughing face could hold so much feeling. There’d been that business of the letters a few years back, and the dowager would have boxed Warrick about his ears if she could reach them, until she saw that he was also suffering. She’dalways thought Charlotte and her duke would find their way back to each other, but instead they kept stumbling.
On the one hand, it wouldn’t do to meddletoomuch. It was best for a grandmother to be the port in the storm and not the ocean. On the other hand, what was the harm in making a few waves?
“My granddaughter and the prince?” the dowager prodded, just to see how dark his face could get. “You were saying?”
Warrick pushed back his chair and stood, raking a hand through his hair and leaving it more disheveled than ever. He paced, muttering something about “Julian” and “damnable position.”
Good. At least he knew how ridiculous he was acting.
“Your Grace, you seem quite agitated. Instead of a pot of tea, should I send for something stronger?”
