Page 25

Of course, Lady Asquith would have asked her lady’s maid. “I—ah...”

“Tut!” Lady Asquith assessed Lenora with a withering expression. “You know better. ‘Ah’ is not a word and, as such, should not be part of a young lady’s vocabulary.”

“Yes, Godmama.” She wet her lips. “May I ask why you were looking for me?”

“You may.” Lady Asquith inclined her head. “Although you must prepare for a long and thorough answer.” Lady Asquith indicated the chair by her side, then she smiled. “Come sit by me.”

Lenora recognized that smile. Lady Asquith used that deceptively welcoming expression whenever she was about to pounce.

Figuratively, of course. Godmama’s literal pouncing days had long passed.

“I would love to sit with you, but...” Lenora glanced down the hall.

“Never mind Annette and Emily.” Lady Asquith’s rings glittered as she continued to pat the chair. “They can spare you for a few minutes more. They have so far managed fine without you, after all.”

Lenora’s eyes widened. “I was”—she stopped herself from saying “ah”— “not with them because...”

“You weren’t with them because you were taking a nap in the old nursery and not to be disturbed,”—Lady Asquith lifted her quizzing glass—“according to Annette.”

Lenora looked closely at the formidable old dowager, seeking any clue that she hadn’t believed Nettie’s lie. She found none. Lady Asquith continued to smile pleasantly.

Or not.

One could never be sure with Lady Asquith.

Lenora took a careful seat in the chair. She arranged her skirts, such as they were, around her legs.

“Did you have a nice nap?” Lady Asquith asked.

Lenora nodded. Vigorously. “Very... refreshing.”

“Good.” Lady Asquith let the glass go slinking down the long, gold chain. “I called you in here to speak with you about your upcoming Season.”

“You don’t have to worry, Godmama. I have had ample instruction.”

Lady Asquith tutted again. “Even though you, Miss Millicent, and Miss Annette have decided to live with Lord and Lady Redver, my concern for your well-being remains as strong as ever.”

“And I appreciate your concern,” Lenora replied, averting her eyes. “Naturally, I recognize your efforts, though Eliza and Cassie are your only true godchildren.”

“Pish! Lady Redver and the duchess might be my only consecrated goddaughters, but I promised your mother that I would look after you all—that’s why I prefer you call me Godmama.” She sighed. “Poppy expected, of course, that my dear Simon would be here to watch over you as well.”

Confused, Lenora glanced up. She followed Lady Asquith’s gaze to a portrait on the opposite wall. Ah. When Lady Asquith had said Simon, she’d been referring not to her son, but to her late husband.

Odd, that. She’d never heard Lady Asquith refer to the late viscount by his Christian name. The name he apparently shared with his son.

“Alas”—the damp that had gathered at the corners of Lady Asquith’s eyes cleared—“that was not to be. And a sad thing, too.”

“I remember. He was very kind.”

“Kind, yes. And smart. And fair-minded. We had an ideal marriage.”

“Eliza once told me you call the kind of marriage you had a marriage of minds.”

“Yes.” Lady Asquith looked pleased Eliza had remembered. “A phrase, by the way, I borrowed from a Shakespearean sonnet.” She quoted, “Let me not to the marriage of true minds/ Admit impediments; love is not love/ Which alters when it alteration finds,/ Or bends with the remover to remove.” Lady Asquith bent forward, her gaze intense and meaningful. “O no, it is an ever-fixèd mark/ That looks on tempests and is never shaken.”

Though Lenora couldn’t pinpoint the reason, she felt a distinct sense of reprimand. “What does ‘bends with the remover to remove’ mean?”

“That genuine love’s fortitude is unyielding when challenged.”