Page 42 of A Hint of Scandal

He rose to his feet as they entered. “Sir Ogden, Lady Gilbert. How charming to see you again.” He swept a bow. “And the Misses Gilbert as well.”

Serafina suppressed a smile at his guessed discomfort at having to be polite to two people he’d made clear to her he didn’t like. Such were the exigencies of society.

Ogden shook his hand with relish, and Araminta held hers out palm down, clearly expecting to have it kissed. Max obliged, brushing his lips across the back of her hand in a perfunctory fashion. As he lifted his head, his eyes met Serafina’s, and he winked.

A sudden sensation of camaraderie washed over Serafina. She wasn’t alone in this alien parlor having to face Max’s family with the handicap of her own family hanging about her neck. She had a partner who understood how she was feeling and would support her. A partner.

Everyone sat down.

The dowager opened the conversation. “Now that I have met you, I’m curious to know,” she said, her sharp eyes lingering on Ogden’s corpulent form, “whether your family is related in any way to Sir George Gilbert?”

Ogden cleared his throat. “Sir George was my father, Lady Westbury.”

Her severe face lit up, making her appear both younger and gentler. “I thought you must be some connection of his. Sir George and I knew one another when we were quite young.” She looked across at Serafina, sitting stiffly upright beside a disappointed Letty, this being due to the absence of either of the young Herberts. “And so Miss Serafina Gilbert is also his daughter, I take it?”

The countess clapped her hands together. “So they are all related to your old friend, dear Mama. This is so exciting.”

Ogden nodded. “She is but my half-sister, I’m afraid. My mother died when I was fifteen and my brother, who is a clergyman of some standing, was only ten.” He paused as though considering how to word the following. “My father, ahem, chose to marry my brother’s governess, and that marriage produced Serafina.” He was doing a poor job at hiding his dislike of his father’s second wife, and his oft repeated scorn for her having been nothing but a lowly governess. Serafina bit her lip to make herself stay silent. If she burst out with what was in her head right now the dowager and the countess would be so shocked they’d immediately veto the marriage.

The dowager looked directly at her. “And does your mother still live, Miss Gilbert?”

Serafina shook her head, a pang of sharp pain stabbing at her heart. “I’m afraid she died when I was only a baby. I don’t remember her at all.” Something that had been a constant source of regret.

“And your father?”

Was that a hint of sadness in the dowager’s suddenly hoarse voice?

Serafina shot a glance at Ogden, to find him looking affronted that she’d had the temerity to include herself in the conversation, but as the dowager had addressed her directly, she had no other recourse but to reply. “He died when I was six.”

The countess’s smile faded, commiseration in her eyes. “How sad that must be for you.”

The dowager sighed. That was definitely sadness in hers. “And do you remember him, Miss Gilbert?”

Serafina nodded. “I do.” A tall, gray-haired man with a hearty laugh who’d catch hold of her and swing her up into the air until she squealed with delight. A man who’d taught her to ride on her own little pony in the park that surrounded Milford House, who’d read stories of the Ancient Greeks to her as she sat on his knee, and who’d brought gifts for her every time he’d had to be away from home. But she wasn’t about to say all that.

The dowager rose to her feet. “We have a much admired garden here at Westbury House. Not large, but a pleasure to walk in when the weather is fine as it is today. I think I would like to walk in it with Miss Gilbert. I will leave my capable daughter-in-law to entertain the rest of you.” Her voice had that crisp quality to it that commanded instant obedience, as though, indeed, she was used to that deference in everything.

Max made to rise.

“You should stay here too, Max,” said his mother with an imperious wave of her hand. “I should like time alone with your betrothed, so that we may talk without interruption. Come, Serafina. I may call you that, may I not? It is such a pretty name.”

What could she do but acquiesce to this autocratic demand? “I should like it very much if you did.” Not that she was about to ask to be able to do the same.

Max sank back into his chair, a slightly worried frown on his face, but the countess seemed unperturbed by her mother-in-law’s absconsion with their chief guest. However, both Araminta and Ogden’s faces betrayed open indignation at Serafina being singled out for such attention. Only Letty, absently twiddling a strand of her hair, appeared unaffected. Probably still sulking that the young Herberts were not present.

Walking alone in the company of Max’s imposing mother was not something Serafina had envisaged herself doing when they’d set out from Great Titchfield Street. But there was no way she could politely refuse. She stood up and smoothed down the skirts of the lovely blue gown, and the dowager held out her arm for her to take. With some trepidation, she slipped her hand into the crook of her elbow, and together they left the drawing room.

“We’ll go out through the parlor doors,” the dowager said, leading the way into another magnificent room. One which boasted double doors out onto a stone-flagged terrace and beyond that, a walled garden. Outside, the air was bracing, but the sky was still clear. Snowdrops filled the nearest flower beds in a welter of green and white.

The dowager must have seen the direction of her gaze. “I like the town to remind me of the countryside. We don’t come here very often, but my son keeps a full staff to maintain the house in our absence, as his father did, and two gardeners. It was his father who engineered the planting of wildflowers in the beds especially for me.”

This seemed a safe topic of conversation. “They’re lovely. I thought I would miss them this year as we had to be in London for the Season.”

The dowager smiled. “Then I am glad I have brought pleasure to George’s daughter.”

She was right that the garden wasn’t large. The rest of the rear of the house must have been taken up by the necessary mews. From what Max had told her, the stabling here had to be extensive. “This garden would have brought pleasure to him, as well,” Serafina said. “He used to take me out in the spring and we would pick little bunches of snowdrops, then primroses in the woods and, later, bluebells, campion, stitchwort and lent lilies. He always had room in his study for my little bunches of wildflowers.”

The dowager patted her hand. “Tell me about your papa, my dear. It must be nearly fifty years since I last saw him and it would give me pleasure to hear his daughter’s memories of him.”