Page 7 of Beguiling the Baron

Chapter 5

“Infuriating man!”

Tia stalked from one side of the breakfast room to the other, crumpling the piece of paper in her hands. It was as much as she could do not to tear it into myriad pieces and individually set fire to them from the plate warmer on the sideboard. Except such action might cause a conflagration, completely ruining breakfast—and burning down their new home when they’d been in it a mere three days.

Not the wisest of actions.

“Calm down, my dear. Is it so very terrible Lord Ansford should write to you thus?”

“It’s inexpressibly rude, Mama, that’s what it is.” Tia flopped into a chair and poked angrily at the slice of ham on her plate. “He hasn’t even introduced himself to us yet, but he’s already ordering us about like servants.”

“Well, in a way we are.”

“But we’re also family, despite being only distantly related.”

“Very distantly,” Mama echoed.

“So, he should accord us a bit more respect. I mean, me in particular, as this missive doesn’t mention you. Clearly, I am the only one at fault.”

Her mother heaved a great sigh. “I fully understand you find his tone peremptory—”

“To say the least.”

“But we mustn’t forget he may not be in his right mind.”

“After three years? Surely anyone recovers from the loss of a spouse in three years—oh, please forgive me. That was insensitive.”

Mama dabbed at her eyes with a napkin. When she raised her head, her mouth was set in a determined line.

“We promised each other not to ruin our lives with grief. Being in the poorhouse has stiffened my resolve not to repine. I will never forget your papa, and nor must you, but you can see what lengthy grieving can do to a person. It is most unhealthy.”

“I will never forget Papa, nor little Phoebe. I treasure their memories, but as you say, it’s unwise to submerge oneself in misery. It seems to have unhinged Lord Ansford entirely.”

Mama took a sip of her Darjeeling. “Therefore, we must be patient with him. And never forget he is our benefactor. Do you really want to hazard our futures on a matter of principle?”

Tia uncrumpled the note and smoothed it out beside her breakfast plate, steeling herself to read it one more time so she could decide what action to take.

Miss Wyndham, the note said, I trust you will not pamper Miss Polly with any approaches of friendship. I thought I had made myself clear when I explained she must be educated under the strictest of regimens. A sociable meander about the grounds with yourself and Mrs. Wyndham does not come under the aegis of “education.” It is merely a waste of time. Should Polly require exercise, she can take it with Nurse.

The note was signed with an aristocratic scrawl.

“I don’t intend to change my attitude toward Polly.” Tia struggled to keep the defiance from her voice. “I stand by my belief she needs to be won over gradually, with kindness and understanding. And she deserves to have some enjoyment, after what she’s been through. After what her father is still putting her through.”

At her mother’s wry expression, Tia added, “I promise to be careful not to anger or upset Lord Ansford. I’m certain he will understand when I explain my proposed methods to him. I’ll be subtle and reasonable. I don’t want you worrying he might fly into a rage and turn us out.”

“Fortunately, that isn’t something he can easily do. His duty to us is all bound up in law, as his man of business explained before we arrived. Ansford has even made us beneficiaries in his will, though I cannot understand why so young a man considered he needed to make one.”

“He evidently does not wish to allow room for error. I think he likes to be in control. Of everything. And I wouldn’t call him young,” Tia mused. “Why, he seemed at least forty to me.”

“Goodness, no! I’m certain he’s barely reached thirty. Such a shame so promising a political career should be cut short by tragedy.”

Tia signaled to the waiting footman, who withdrew her chair as she stood. Thanking him with a nod, she walked across to the mullioned window. Quaint though these historical items of architecture were, the leaded panes did not give a good view of the gardens beyond, adding to her sense of being shut in.

The catch gave with a metallic clang, but she paused a moment before pushing the window open. What if he were outside, glaring back at her with those dark, storm-filled eyes and that heavy, disapproving frown?

This is nonsense.

She had no reason to fear the man, none at all. He would hardly have opened his home to them if he meant them any harm.