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CHAPTERSEVENTEEN
“Lord Guildford,” Winston greeted from his seat near the fireplace as Rhys entered the drawing room.
“Lord Winston,” he returned. He had not expected to see him there.
“Stars in the heavens,” came his cousin’s voice from the terrace, and Rhys felt his body grow tense. If Mayton was here with Elizabeth, then her father was chaperoning them which subsequently led him to believe she had accepted his cousin as her suitor.
Rhys cleared his throat and smiled at Winston. “I hope the Castle and your chambers are to your liking.”
Winston grinned. “I am tempted to believe you are not asking that question in earnest, Guildford.”
Rhys chuckled. “I am.”
“I am very pleased as are my wife and daughters.” Winston glanced in the direction of the terrace, and his smile broadened. He was hopeful, Rhys observed.
“I am happy to hear that,” Rhys said, his smile turning stiff. “Please excuse me, I must find my grandmother.” Winston nodded, and Rhys turned and left the drawing room, his jaw tight. He found her in another drawing room with Brutus.
“There you are. I was about to send Brutus to find you.” She fed Brutus a biscuit.
“May I have a word?” Rhys asked. Her smile froze when she beheld his expression, and she nodded, rising. They moved to a smaller room that adjoined the drawing room.
“What is the matter now?” she asked sarcastically once he closed the door.
“I have allowed you to dictate long enough, and I want you to stop now.” Rhys stood while she sat.
His grandmother sighed. “Do you know why I chose this castle instead of your other properties that are much closer to London?”
“I do not see how answering your question will move this discussion further,” Rhys evaded. She was going to talk to him about Lady Irene, he knew.
“You were raised in this Castle, and I wanted your betrothed to see it before she marries you.” She gestured about the small room. “I want her to know what a monumental task it is to be the Marchioness of Guildford.”
“She is not my betrothed because I have not asked her to marry me. Point the second, you know I do not have time for things as trivial as picnics. I will indulge you this once but never again. Do not feel embarrassed if I openly deny the next thing you propose on my behalf.”
His grandmother’s eyes narrowed as she regarded him. “Your zeal to marry Lady Irene has declined. What caused this change?”
“Nothing has changed,” he denied, “but if you truly perceive a change, then perhaps it is your meddling that caused it.” Her eyes widened, but she did not say anything. “I have also observed that you are still discourteous toward Lady Elizabeth.”
The Dowager scoffed. “Do not expect me to believe that little tale about Lady Irene requiring her approval before accepting your offer.”
Rhys sighed, not because of what his grandmother had said but out of weariness. “I did not say she needed her sister’s approval. I said that Lady Irene will seek Lady Elizabeth’s counsel, and her advice is likely to influence her decision.”
His grandmother straightened her small shoulders and raised her chin. “Then I shall endeavor to be more courteous. Do not expect any respect for her from me, for I do not respect poor manners.”
“I am glad we understand each other,” Rhys said, deciding to ignore her last statement. He did not want to argue further with her tonight. “Good night.” He strode out of the room.
The drawing room where he had left Winston, Elizabeth, and Mayton was empty when he returned to it out of curiosity, and he suspected they had retired for the day. He decided to go to find some occupation in the library, and as he was walking past the portrait gallery, he heard a soft voice. Recognizing the voice, he slowed and turned back, walking in quietly. Elizabeth had her back to the door and was talking to herself.
“Now that we are here, Liza,” she murmured, “what shall we imagine the stories of these people to be?”
Rhys felt his lips curve in amusement, and he recalled hearing her call herself Liza in the library during the masquerade. He was unable to keep himself from asking, “Who is Liza?”
She started and swiftly turned around, her cheeks coloring. “No one.”
“Is that what you call yourself when no one is around?” He went to stand in front of her.
She bit that bottom lip he had seen many times in his slumber. “Perhaps. It is no business of yours anyway.”
“Maybe I should call you by that name.” He grinned.
