“Did Roswell inform you that I acquired a peacock as a pet?” she asked.
“He did not,” Enid replied.
Lady Octavia shuddered. “Do not be fooled by their beautiful feathers. Peacocks are mean, vile creatures.”
Lord Roswell put his finger up to his lips. “Do be quiet,” he said in a hushed voice.
“Why?” Lady Octavia asked. “Has something happened on stage yet?”
“No, but it will,” Lord Roswell pressed.
Lady Octavia leaned back in her seat. “I do not know why you talked me into going to the opera. It is dreadfully boring.”
“Not this again,” Roswell muttered. “Is it possible for you not to complain until after the performance?”
“Forget I said anything, and I do apologize for existing,” Lady Octavia said in such a dramatic fashion that only she could get away with.
As the curtains opened, Enid turned her attention towards the stage and she found herself grateful that Malcolm had talked her into coming this evening. How she had missed this. She hadn’t been to the opera in years, not since she was a debutante. It felt good to do things that used to bring her so much joy.
ChapterNine
With the morning sun streaming through the windows, Greydon sat at his father’s desk in the study as he went through the accounts. He had gotten up at an early hour since sleep kept eluding him. He wanted to sleep, but his thoughts kept straying towards Lady Enid.
He had many more important things to do than to dwell on Lady Enid. So why couldn’t he stop himself? He had been around beautiful women before, though, they usually lacked the traits he found most desirable. Traits like intelligence, compassion and confidence. But Lady Enid was in possession of these traits, and more.
Botheration.
He needed to focus on what was important- the case. He would need to do some more digging into Lady Eugenie’s past and hoped it yielded some results. That was the only logical course of action at the moment. But, to do so, he would need to speak to Lady Enid, which was not entirely unappealing to him.
His tall sister, Helena, stepped cautiously into the room. Dark curls framed her face and swayed back and forth as she glanced around the room. “Is Father home?” she asked.
“He is still sleeping.”
Helena let out a sigh of relief. “Good, because I need to speak to you,” she said as she closed the door. “Has Father decided when the funeral will be taking place?”
“It is to be in three days’ time.” Greydon glanced curiously at her. “Did Father not send word?”
“No, of course not,” Helena exclaimed, tossing up her hands. “Why would he keep his daughter informed of such a thing?”
Leaning back in his chair, he said, “I should have known.”
Helena sat across from him in an armchair. “What has had you so preoccupied of late?” she asked. “I have come by on multiple occasions only to discover you are not home.”
“I am rarely home,” he pointed out.
“Yes, but it is different,” Helena pressed. “Phineas just died and you have assumed his title.”
Greydon frowned. “Do not remind me.”
“I apologize if I am being insensitive, but Phineas’ death did not come as a surprise to me, considering how he lived his life,” Helena said. “I halfway expected him to drink himself to death or be found in a ditch somewhere.”
“I had been hoping he lived a long, fruitful life,” Greydon admitted. “I never wanted his responsibilities.” He waved his hand over the desk.
“Well, you have them now and I can only imagine how unbearable Father is being about it. Our family’s legacy is the most important thing to him.”
Greydon could hear the hurt in his sister’s voice and it made him sad. His father hadn’t always ostracized Helena. It wasn’t until their mother died that his father started keeping Helena at arm’s length. She was the spitting image of their mother.
“Father will come around,” he attempted. It was an empty promise. They both knew that their father was incapable of change. The grief had consumed him, taking every ounce of happiness that he had once enjoyed.
