“You are positively ancient.”
“And you have blackberry stains on your cheek and nose.”
She was merely a mad, barefoot, dirt-smudged girl who fell from the sky and insulted him.
Truly not worth the bother.
Not at all.
With a huff, he turned on his heel and strode off.
Chapter Two
He arrived backat Westwood Hall in a towering temper.
“Hawkins!” Bellowing for his valet, he tore off his necktie on the way to his room. “To me. At once.”
Hawkins came running.
“Help me out of these clothes. They’re full of dust. Not this one—” He waved away the puce-coloured waistcoat that Hawkins held up. “The grey-striped one.”
How on earth did he manage to get a blackberry stain on his sleeve when he’d never even touched those blasted blackberries? Had the stain somehow rubbed off on him when he’d caught that girl? But that had been before she’d eaten the berries.
He changed his clothes, slipped into a fresh coat, and retied his cravat. It took him five tries to get it right before he waved the discarded neckties away.
“Her ladyship is awaiting you, sir,” a footman said.
He gave a curt nod. “Tell Lady Regina I’ll be there anon.”
He tapped on the door gently and found his grandmother in bed.
“George,” she groaned from the depths of the canopied bed.
“I am Sebastian, Nana.” He pulled aside the heavy brocade curtains.
With a pang he saw his grandmother had shrunk to half the size since he’d last seen her. She’d always been a bundle of energy, bustling about the hall, snapping orders, yet also not being too good to do things for herself about the mansion when required.
Westwood Hall was a formidable, gothic-looking mansion that dated back to pre-Elizabethan times, with countless turrets, tall, narrow windows, stained glass, and dark, heavy wooden panelling everywhere. He found it too draughty and intimidating, but his grandmother was fiercely proud of her home and loved nothing more than taking care of it.
“There you are, my Bastian. Come here.” She lifted a hand. Her skin was thin and paper-white, and she looked like a child, small and lost amidst the pillows.
He sat down by her bed, taking her hand in his.
“When did you arrive, my boy?”
“Earlier this morning, but you were sleeping, so I took a walk around the premises.” He made a mental note to address the topic of the ruins and that they were not safe, and that people trespassed there, particularly a saucy milkmaid, at a later point.
“You are my favourite, my boy, you know?” She peered up at him through rheumy eyes. “Yes, you are. Because you are the youngest. The world is not kind to the youngest son. Philip inherited the Penderyn land and the title. It is a heavy burden. A heavy burden, indeed. John has entered the church and will be more than well off. My brother Athanasius will take care of him. George, my handsome George, is in the military. He is the beauty of the family, is he not? A military man. Already decorated, too. Viola told me.” Her chest heaved in a rough cough. Bastian helped her take a sip of water. She leaned back against her pillows with a sigh. “But you, my poor boy. You will have to make your own way in this world. They have sent you to Oxford, haven’t they?”
He shifted in his chair. “Yes, Nana. I started late, but I just finished studying Classics and Mathematics.”
“And then what?”
That was the eternal question, wasn’t it? What to do with his life when he was destined neither to carry the title nor to enter the church. The military wasn’t for him, either, though he had considered enlisting before George had talked him out of it.
“It is enough that one of us goes through this hell,” he’d told him. “You wouldn’t survive a day out there.”
Sebastian had grudgingly agreed.
