Page 17 of Earl, Enemy, Husband?

‘Difficult’ sounded like an understatement. He nodded his assent.

They alighted and he knocked on the front door. The same maid who had turned him away, answered.

‘Where is Simpson, Ginny?’ Miss Dearing asked, looking surprised.

‘Oh, Miss Dearing, Mr Simpson be sick in bed. We did not be expecting more visitors.’ She gave Graydon a sidelong look.

‘Oh dear. Poor Simpson. Is Lady March at home?’

The girl glanced at the earl and winced. ‘Her ladyship is not at home to the gentleman.’

‘But she will see me. And Lord Blackdown is my escort.’

Ginny looked decidedly anxious.

‘Don’t worry, Ginny, I will take the blame,’ Miss Dearing said.

Ginny stepped back. ‘It would do her good to see a friendly face, miss. She’s not had any visitors for weeks. She’s been quite poorly herself.’ She gave the earl another uncertain glance.

Miss Dearing looked shocked. ‘I had no idea. Someone should have let Mrs Pole know at the very least.’

‘Mr Simpson hasn’t been too clever, neither,’ the girl mumbled.

Graydon certainly had no wish to distress an elderly lady more than he had done so already. ‘Perhaps it would be preferable that I wait in the carriage while you visit Lady March.’

‘No. It is preferable that you hear whatever she has to say.’

Graydon bristled at her imperious tone. The fact that she was likely right did not reduce his irritation. If anything, it made it worse.

‘This way, miss, my lord,’ Ginny said.

Gritting his teeth, Graydon followed the two women, forcing himself to remember that, whatever his father had done, or his ancestors for that matter, they were not him. While he was prepared to redeem his family name by every means at his disposal, he was not the cause.

The maid scratched at a door beyond the entrance hall, opened the door and gestured for them to enter a room, in which the shades were pulled down. ‘You have visitors,’ she shouted over their shoulders at the elderly woman reclining on a chaise longue in the dimly lit room.

‘Her ladyship’s a bit hard of hearing,’ she announced in normal tones and departed.

‘Who is it, girl?’ the woman croaked. She struggled to sit up.

‘It is me, Lady March,’ Miss Dearing said in a clear voice. ‘Florence Dearing. Please remain as you are. No need to arise.’

Lady March was indeed exceedingly elderly. Graydon did not want to hazard a guess as to her age, but her powdered and rouged cheeks were hollow and wrinkled like an aging apple. She wore a wig, which sat slightly askew, and her gown was in the style he’d seen in portraits of his grandmother’s generation.

Recollection surged at the sight of her. He had met her before—here, with his mother. He’d been not much more than six or seven.

‘Who is that with you?’ the old lady asked querulously.

‘Graydon Ingram, now Earl of Blackdown. We met once.’

Lady March peered at him. ‘I thought I told the girl to send you away. Come closer, my eyes aren’t what they used to be.’

Her blue eyes were watery and red-rimmed, but they regarded him intently. ‘You look like your mother.’

His father had always been disappointed that he did not have the fair looks of the Ingrams. ‘So it is said.’

‘Hmph. Your mother was a good woman. Married a scoundrel.’

He pressed his lips together. Not because he wanted to argue, but because his mother would not want him to agree, even if he did.