Page 3 of Bloodlines and Birthright

“I’ll see you at the house,” she said. “And Prof, if you want to borrow my Colt, just let me know.”

“Thank you, but we’ll be quite all right. If Oscar says the anarchists aren’t in the Lombardy region, I believe him.”

She grunted as she watched Oscar signaling to me to hurry to catch the omnibus speeding toward us. I clutched the brim of my hat and hastened toward him.

I spent much of the journey to Mayfair in silence, stewing on the topic of unrest in Italy. By the time we reached the Park Street townhouse, I’d become rather cross with Oscar. He must be keeping the truth from me because Willie loved her gun. She’d never offer it to someone unless she was truly worried.

We’d reached the front steps of number sixteen when it suddenly occurred to me that the unrest may have been the reason our passage to Italy was delayed. I was about to confront Oscar when a hansom cab pulled to the curb. I thought Willie had decided not to walk after all, but it wasn’t her who stepped down onto the pavement. It was Matt’s aunt, the dowager Lady Rycroft, and her middle daughter, Miss Charity Glass.

The dowager ignored Oscar and me and stormed up the steps, black silk skirts whipping her heels. Charity, however, studied Oscar from head to toe. Slowly. Languidly. Her tongue flicked out over her upper lip before she smacked her lips, as if tasting something sweet.

Oscar, usually so charming and confident with women, bumbled through a greeting.

She laughed and clasped my arm so tightly that I couldn’t politely slip out of her grip. “Look, Mother. It’s Matt’s friends, two of London’s happiest confirmed bachelors.”

Up ahead, the dowager’s tall, slim frame pushed past Bristow the butler as he opened the door. “Where is she? Where is Letitia, my selfish, cruel sister-in-law?”

Chapter 2

I’d never heard Matt’s elderly aunt, Miss Letitia Glass, described as cruel. She could be a dreadful snob, like most of her class, but she was mostly kind. These days, she was also quite doddery and her memory often failed her. She’d never got along with her brother, the previous Lord Rycroft, or his wife. Having met them, I could see why.

The dowager was as waspish as her youngest daughter Hope, Lady Coyle, whom I’d had the misfortune of doing business with a year ago when we’d purchased some of her late husband’s books.

But at least Hope’s meanness was predictable, and ultimately harmless. The middle daughter, Charity, was the one who brought my anxiety to the fore. She would lie outright to cause trouble simply because she enjoyed seeing others squirm. Thankfully, she released her grip on me once inside the drawing room so that she could help herself to a slice of cake. She hadn’t even waited for the polite greetings to conclude.

It was left to her Aunt Letitia to scold her. “Wait to be offered, Child.”

Charity responded by biting into the sponge cake with glee.

“She is not a child, as well you know,” the dowager spat.

“Then she shouldn’t behave like one.” Miss Glass wrinkled her nose as she watched Charity wipe cream off her chin. “Why are you here, Beatrice?”

“You know why.” The dowager stood rigidly by the door, the veins in her long, slender neck corded with her barely contained fury. “You have intervened in Charity’s application to join the Hanover Square Society, purely out of spite. I am here to demand you stop poisoning the membership committee against your niece.”

Matt and India exchanged glances before Matt swung into action. “You and Charity are welcome, Aunt Beatrice. Please, sit and have tea. Our meeting with the professor and Oscar can wait a few moments. You’ve met, haven’t you?”

The dowager flicked her gaze toward us then away while Oscar and I offered pleasantries. “They can come back later. We have important family business to discuss.”

“Terribly rude,” Miss Glass muttered under her breath. Louder, she said, “No, they may not come back. Mr…” She paused as she tried to recall our names, then simply barreled on when she couldn’t. “These gentlemen have an appointment. Isn’t that right, India?”

“We invited them to join us for afternoon tea,” India said. “They leave for Italy tomorrow.”

“We can come back later,” Oscar said.

“No.” Miss Glass pointed at him. “You may stay. Beatrice was just leaving.”

The dowager sniffed then sat on the sofa beside her daughter. “Matthew, something must be done about her. She’s even more forgetful, not to mention extremely rude. Hope told me the last time she called on her that Letitia called her fat.”

Charity snickered. “My sister is fat now.”

“Yes, but one doesn’t say it to her face. Not if we want to keep using her box at the opera.”

“She no longer keeps a box. She’s fat and poor.” Charity’s slick smile returned. “All is right in the world.”

“All is not right,” her mother snapped. “You have been barred from joining the Hanover Square Society because your Aunt Letitia is a vindictive⁠—”

“That’s enough,” Matt growled, his voice quietly commanding. “State your case and I’ll see what I can do. As you see, we have guests.” He nodded at Oscar and me, standing somewhat awkwardly near the window, pretending not to listen to the family squabble.