Page 43 of A Hint of Scandal

“You might be better asking my brother. He knew him far longer than I did.”

The dowager shook her head. “I am in the habit, my dear Serafina, of forming an opinion of people the moment I meet them. I do not wish to converse with your brother or his wife any more than I have to. I feel he would have quite different memories to you.”

Promising. How awful would it have been if the dowager had liked Ogden and Araminta? Serafina could have lived with that, but she would always have known her future mother-in-law lacked wise judgement.

“My father was a gentle person,” she said. “I loved him very much. He died a long time ago now, but I have some very clear memories of him.”

“Might I ask you to share some of them with me?” Her voice was gentle.

Serafina, who had expected a walk in the garden with the dowager to be a severe trial, smiled at the old lady. “I remember when he took me on his horse, riding on the pommel in front of him, down to the little river that runs through the park at Milford. We tied the horse to a tree and took our shoes and stockings off to paddle together in the shallows. He’d brought a fishing net and showed me how to catch sticklebacks.”

The old lady swallowed as though she might have had a lump in her throat. “He was always a kind man.”

“You knew him well?”

The dowager nodded. “I knew him during the Season when I came out. He was one of my suitors. My parents dismissed him as a mere baronet, and I married Max and Julian’s father instead.” She cleared her throat. “I have no regrets about my marriage to their father, of course, but I do have regrets that I lost George. We never saw each other again after my wedding.”

A revelation indeed. Serafina struggled to remember if her father had ever mentioned Lady Westbury, but failed. Why would he have to a six-year-old? All her memories were of warm summers’ days by the river or in the park and gardens. It was impossible now to even recall her father’s voice. Only his face remained to her.

The dowager seemed to snatch herself out of the reverie she’d fallen into. “If you are to marry my younger son, I would like to know you better, Serafina. Perhaps you might like to visit Bratton Park before the wedding? It would be quite respectable as I would accompany you. And you could also visit the house that will be yours after your marriage. It lies within a few miles of Bratton.”

Get away from Ogden and Araminta? Now? Before the wedding which was to be set in three weeks’ time? Of course she would like that. “What about the Season? Aren’t you here to accompany your daughter and granddaughter? Don’t they need you?”

The dowager chuckled. “Maria gives the impression of being empty-headed and vaporish, but in truth, she’s as sharp as any knife in the kitchen cabinet. She will be perfectly all right here with Arabella on her own.” She met Serafina’s eyes, which must have been holding hope. “And besides, I would like to see you away from your family, and have the fun of providing you with a trousseau. I was never blessed with a daughter…” her voice trailed off for a moment. “Not one out of petticoats, that is. I should derive a great deal of pleasure from outfitting you for your wedding.”

Serafina hesitated. If she agreed to this, she would have to abandon Letty, whom she was all too aware could not be trusted to choose the right man for herself. She would revert to flirting again and encouraging rakes to hang about her. But… the wedding was to be in three weeks, and after that she would have had no further influence over her niece, anyway. What harm could it do to bring that forward by those three weeks and acquiesce to the dowager’s request? And it would mean escaping from not just Great Titchfield Street and Milford House, but also from Araminta and Ogden. A far too tempting proposition.

The dowager must have divined the direction her thoughts were travelling in. “You could even be married from Bratton Park, in our local church. You will like it there—the woods and fields are full of snowdrops and will soon break out in all manner of other flowers as well. You will make a beautiful spring bride.”

Throwing caution to the wind, Serafina nodded, ignoring the suggestion that she could ever be beautiful. “I should like that very much, thank you, Lady Westbury.”