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“What an odd name to give such a loving dear.” The Dowager shook her head in disapproval.
Rhys recalled Elizabeth’s remark about his judgment of the name before knowing anything about it, and he said, “I do not believe she named him after the Roman.”
“Who else could she have named him after?” his grandmother asked. Rhys shrugged and sat down, reaching for the coffee pot and filling the cup in front of him.
“Why did you bring her dog home?”
“He followed me,” he answered. “I did not know he had climbed into the carriage until I arrived.”
“How peculiar,” his grandmother mused. “Have you considered my proposal to spend time in the country?”
“It has been less than a day since we spoke about this, Grandmother.”
“That is a very poor excuse, Rhys. You had ample time to think about this.” She smiled affectionately at Brutus before taking a sip of tea.
“I was occupied.” He took a gulp of his coffee.
“Yes, I understand that you were occupied throughout the day and evening, but you could have thought about it at night while you walked about the house like a restless beast.”
Rhys set his cup down and looked at his grandmother through narrowed eyes. He had been unable to sleep and had taken to pacing his bedchamber at some point. He regretted that he had disturbed her sleep, but she was forcing him to invite Elizabeth to his home, and he did not like it.
“Is it not enough that I attended the opera with her last night and promenaded the park the day prior?” he asked.
“You have an obligation to your title, Rhys,” his grandmother said slowly.
“Yes, and I am endeavoring to fulfill it. I saw Lady Irene and decided that I wanted to marry her without you knowing.”
“You made an excellent choice, and I am merely trying to ensure you do not lose her,” the Dowager explained.
Rhys decided not to continue the conversation. He finished his coffee and stood. “Have a good day, Grandmother.”
“You, as well,” she replied coolly, clearly displeased with his reluctance to agree with her plan. He wished he could make her understand what a foolish idea this was, but he could not tell anyone that he was lusting after the sister of the woman he was supposed to court and marry.
* * *
Elizabeth carefully folded the parchment she had just finished writing on and reached for the molten wax that Stella proffered. She was in her bedchamber on a divan near the window, and her foot was better than it had been the day before.
“When will it be?” she asked as she poured the red wax onto the parchment.
“Tomorrow,” Stella replied.
“What?” Elizabeth looked up in surprise. “That is so soon.”
“Yes, unfortunately.” Stella collected the sealed writing from her lady and placed it in her pocket before reaching for the writing slope on Elizabeth’s lap.
“I have to attend it,” Elizabeth announced.
“You cannot walk, Elizabeth,” Stella discouraged. “I will attend on your behalf, and it will be as if you were there yourself.”
She shook her head emphatically. “Johnathan Myers writes about young pugilists very often now. I have to be there to see for myself.”
Stella pinched her lips together and folded her arms across her chest. “Are you going to limp into the event site supported on crutches?”
“No, I will walk. I can hardly feel any pain now, and you saw me walk into the dressing room for my bath this morning.”
“You limped not walked,” Stella corrected, frowning. “I cannot allow you to go to East End to see a fight tomorrow. I will go.”
“It is very important, Stella. Besides, I always attend in disguise. No one will know.”
