A gentleman had dismounted his horse, opened the carriage door, and helped the lady down. He certainly was not the new viscount. Grace had met that fellow, and he was a rather dumpy individual.
There was nothing at all dumpy about this man. He was dark-haired, with sable-brown tints that caught the light, tall and slim, and wearing an exceedingly well-cut coat. There was something sophisticated, even urbane, about his manner. He seemed the sort of gentleman that had seen much of the world and for whom little could hold a surprise.
Grace pulled away from the window as the lady and the gentleman approached the house. “Maggie,” she said to the rather startled maid, “you will answer the door when they knock, take their names, and then announce them.”
Maggie appeared as if this string of directions was entirely too much. As well it would be—they had been used to a footman answering the door and then Manfred leading guests into one of the two drawing rooms. In this particular operation, the arrivals would step right into the room of all things—it was fraught with possibilities for appearing absurd.
Still, Grace did not know how else to proceed.
“You can do it, Maggie,” Grace said encouragingly. “I know you can.”
Maggie seemed to take heart from this assurance and courageously stepped to the door.
At the sharp rap from the other side, she opened it.
*
George had goneon horseback on the trip to Swanley to avoid being trapped in the carriage all the day long. He held a firm affection for his aunt, but so long a time together might test that to alarming degrees. Further, there would be the return trip with the little miss to contend with. Blushings and stammerings for hours would make him wish to hang himself.
There was rarely anything worse than a girl just arrived from the countryside. Most of them had been raised in a cocoon of ignorance and seemed to find the discovery that there were men included in the species a highly shocking idea. Or at least, they pretended to, somehow coming upon the notion that the more they could appear shocked, the better.
No, ladies were far more sensible when they returned for a second season. Then, they found themselves able to put down their waving fans and have a rational conversation. Or as his friend Marksworth called it,they were seasoned by last season. There were always exceptions, of course. Langley had just married an exception. But, he could not imagine Miss Yardley would display the sort of composure of a Miss Wilcox. How many ladies were there in the world who could rescue a gentleman from a gang of footpads?
Still, he supposed his aunt would be charmed by whatever blushings and stammerings went on during the trip. He also could not help but feel some pity for the girl’s circumstances as he now understood them.
Prospects dashed on account of an entail was an all-too-common tale. It was especially bad when it was the last generation subject to it. That was the case here, as it had already been in effect for four generations. The new heir could do what he liked with the estate, and it must have been devastating to Lady Barlow that it was notshewho could inherit and do what she liked. It always seemed incredible to George that one infant or lack of one could upset so many lives.
It appeared the entailed heir was not prepared to do the decent thing and help the young lady on her way to a suitable marriage. She was the daughter of a viscount and had no doubt been raised with certain expectations. Expectations that she had every right to have.
Now, they’d arrived and he’d got a look at the dower house, which as far as he knew was the only arrangement the man had made for mother and daughter. It was a cottage more suited to a steward. Even a steward might think himself ill-used by the place. The heir had the good luck to inherit a title and a large and prosperous estate that nobody would think he really deserved, and yet he could not even bother to fix a very obvious hole in the roof?
If the new viscount thought to make his mark in Town, George would at least blackball him from White’s. He would drop some hints to his friends who belonged to Brooks’s and Boodle’s too. He certainly would not acknowledge him anywhere. That, added to what was sure to be his aunt’s condemnations, would result in Viscount Barlow being rather finished before he started. If he had any societal aspirations, then he had been very foolish, all to save a few pounds and pence.
“You see what I say?” his aunt said as they approached the house. “Positively ramshackle.”
George nodded in agreement.
A moment before his aunt rapped on the door with her cane, she said, “Gird yourself, nephew. The mother may prove a problem.”
George whipped his head around and stared at his aunt. “What do you mean by aproblem?” he whispered.
Lady Heathway merely shrugged.
What did she mean? What problem?
George got a sinking feeling that he’d been told some of the particulars of this visit, but that he’d certainly not been told all of them. Why was there suddenly a problem? What on earth was he walking into?
Chapter Two
Grace was mightilyrelieved that Maggie had somehow got the lady and her escort into the house and seated without it seeming positively bizarre. The lady was in fact Lady Heathway, to Grace’s great surprise. The gentleman was her nephew, Lord Gresham.
It seemed rather impossible that the lady would have come, and yet here she was. She was also far more terrifying than Grace had imagined she would be. She had somehow thought that a lady wishing to assist a girl in distressed circumstances would be a plump and comfortable type of matron full of good humor.
There did not appear to be much in the way of good humor about the marchioness.
As Maggie and the cook banged around in the kitchen, no doubt looking for enough decent china for a slapped together tea service, Lady Heathway regarded Lady Barlow with a discerning eye.
Grace’s mother seemed not the least put off and rather looked exceedingly pleased. “You are welcome to our very humble house, Lady Heathway. I would have risen upon your entrance, but I do rather poorly these days.”
