“That cannot be,” Miss Mayton said. “Everybody likes the look of you. I expect she is just an ornery sort of creature.”
“She does not seem so ornery about Lady Clara,” Viola pointed out. “She seemed very approving of that lady.”
“Perhaps it has been the dowager that has pushed the idea of an engagement to Lady Clara,” Darden said quietly. “I did notice her looking at your card—perhaps she expected her son to secure Lady Clara for supper.”
“And she sees me as some kind of interloper!” Viola whispered back. “What shall I do?”
“Nothing,” the earl said confidently. “Allow time to smooth over any difficulties, as time usually does. If I recall correctly, the dowager has always been a rather headstrong creature, but she will be sensible in the end.”
“Father is right,” Darden said. “Chin up, Sister, and let us proceed to face the patronesses. After all, Baderston will not be the only gentleman on your card this night.”
Viola nodded. Of course, Darden was right, Lord Baderston would not be the only gentleman on her card.
It was just that he would be the only one who mattered.
*
Roland had escortedhis mother into the ballroom. Once he was a safe distance from Lady Viola and her family, he heatedly whispered, “What on earth was that performance?”
As he so rarely ever said anything heated to the lady and she was accustomed to delivering the heat from her end only, she looked at him in surprise.
“Excuse me?” she said haughtily.
“Do not pretend you do not know of what I speak. That was positively rude. I would know the cause of it.”
“I do not care for the earl,” she said sharply.
“Why? You haven’t seen the fellow in nearly a quarter of a century. I’ve never even heard you speak the man’s name.”
“One does not need to speak of someone to dislike them. I have my reasons, and they are private.”
Roland felt a real temper beating in his chest. He would not stand for this. It had been one thing to imagine his mother would have to be pulled away from the idea of Lady Clara and pulled toward the idea of Lady Viola.
He’d imagined she’d be irritated and argumentative over it. He had never, though, imagined she would be downright insulting to anybody over it. At least, not in public to the very person her ire was aimed at.
And for what? What could the earl possibly have done twenty-five years ago?
If he knew his mother, it was some ridiculous slight that she’d allowed to simmer on a low boil for all her adult life. Nobody could hold a grudge like she did—she still fumed that Lady Alicia had enticed away their cook, and that had been ten years ago.
Another thought occurred to him, as much as he wished it had not. Was it possible that the Earl of Westmont was the same earl who’d thrown her over all those years ago? It was a ghastly thought, and if true might cause all sorts of difficulties.
But no, that would be too coincidental. He must not build a house of problems with wisps of ideas.
“I won’t stand for it,” Roland said resolutely. “If you cannot behave with courtesy to the Benningtons, you can pack up and go home.”
“Do not you dare—”
“It is my house,” Roland said, “and those are my demands.”
The dowager got rather red in the face over that idea. She was not used to being crossed. She was not accustomed to Roland asserting his rights.
Until now, there had been little reason to cross her or assert his rights over her.
Until now.
“Ah!” his mother said, suddenly smiling and all enthusiasm, “Lady Clara. Goodness, we have had our eye out for you, it is wonderful to see you again.”
Roland turned to find Lady Clara standing there.
