Page 85 of Barbarous

Hugh couldn’t help laughing. “As usual your directness is superseded only by your acuity.”

“Ha! You’d best enjoy my candor, my boy. I suspect there will be many among our acquaintance who will not do you such a courtesy. I know the snubs and cuts won’t cause you any heartache, but what of the gel?”

“She is not concerned with the opinions of London society. I believe she has had her fill of life among the ton after only a brief time.”

“So she says.”

“She is an intelligent woman who knows her own mind. I will not second-guess her.”

Lady Letitia snorted. “Well, it wouldn’t surprise me if it were true. I daresay a decade with my brother broke her of too many expectations in that department.” She shook her head in disgust. “Will you protect and care for her and her brats? You abandoned this life twenty years ago. Why do you think you are more suited to it now?”

Hugh refused to rise to the bait. “I have not come seeking your blessing or approval, my lady. I am here merely as a courtesy.” He gave her his blandest smile.

This time it was she who laughed. “Ho! Look at Captain High-and-Mighty! Smooth your feathers, boy. You needn’t come on your high ropes with me.” Her old eyes became sly. “I’ll still receive the pair of you, don’t you fret about that. After all, what is the point of money and position if you cannot draft your own rules?”

Hugh tried to hide how stunned he was that she was so sanguine about his decision to marry her brother’s widow. But he must have failed because she chuckled evilly.

“You’d better close your mouth or something might choose to make a nest in such a great cavern.”

Hugh chuckled and began to stand, but she was not finished shocking him yet.

“I knew from the first moment I saw those two brats they did not belong to Thomas. The boys’ eyes are the only attractive feature their true great-grandfather, Caleb Hastings, could claim.”

“You knew Hastings’s grandfather?” Hugh said stupidly.

“Of course I did, dolt! And rather well—too well. Caleb was between Thomas and me in age and I was bosom bows with his first wife. She was a sweet gel and he drove her to kill herself as surely as if he’d done it with his own hands.” She scowled. “Her two sons took after their father, I’m afraid. No doubt Daphne and her mother endured more than a decent woman should be forced to bear while under Walter Hastings’s roof. I imagine it became far worse when his nephew Malcolm inherited Whitton Hall—there’s a rotten apple that did not fall far from the tree. I’ve always suspected Thomas rescued the poor thing.” She glared at Hugh. “Well, that was one of the wisest things my brother ever did. Believe me when I tell you nobody except your cousin John wanted John as the next Earl of Davenport.” Waves of anger rolled off her. “Which—thanks to your absconding hide—he would have been!”

Hugh’s face became hot, but he kept his mouth shut.

“I would have rather seen the title go to an unlettered savage than to John to destroy.” Her gray eyes glinted a challenge— as if Hugh might judge her for condoning her dead brother’s deception. “You will let the situation stand.”

It was not a question, but Hugh nodded. “Lucien Redvers is the Earl of Davenport. Anyone who says otherwise will have to answer to me.”

His words failed to appease her and she raised a hectoring finger.

“You might have my approval for this marriage, boy, but you’ll find yourselves under the glass for a time—you can lay a wager on that. If that wretched war weren’t dragging on, you could remove to Paris for a few years. Most of the nitwits here can’t remember anything beyond more than a few days. But of course that little Corsican monster has made Paris impossible.” She fumed and ground her teeth as she considered the gall of the man who dominated a goodly chunk of the Continent.

Hugh laughed. The old lady managed to reduce the war raging across Europe to a personal inconvenience to the Redvers family.

She ignored his levity. “You’d best go about your wedding the correct way. No hole-and-corner nonsense or you’ll both live to regret it, you mark my words. I recall that was what happened with that Pendleton chit some time back—she just ran off to Scotland with the old fool.” She stopped and looked musingly into space. “Although I believe she was his brother’s widow, and not his niece?” She shook her head. “It makes no difference. They carried on as if they were in the wrong from the very start. No, it won’t serve!” she snapped, as if Hugh had offered any argument—or any words at all, for that matter. “You must do it the right way.”

Hugh refused to allow the ferocious old bat to bully him. “I’ve procured a special license and I—”

“Do you have a pudding between your ears?”

Hugh frowned. “I will—”

“Have you lost your grip of English after living among savages for so many years?” she demanded. “I just told you the thing would have to be done correctly.”

“No, I just—”

“Hold your breath to cool your porridge, fool!”

Hugh was stunned to silence, unable to recall when he’d last endured such a thorough—and effective—bollocking.

“You must invite everyone and it must have more pomp and ceremony than a royal wedding.”

“Yes, well I shall leave those decisions to Daphne and—”