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“Indeed. Blake caught me in a moment of weakness and asked that I drop off this letter for Demeter on my way to—”
“Well, she’s not here,” she responded swiftly.
Eleanor did not want to hear how he was off to some lover’s house perhaps or whatever it was men of leisure with wealth and good looks did.
“The Foundling Hospital,” he finished.
Drat. Her sister Demeter had suffered hearing loss as a child and so the hospital had become one of their favored places to aid. Did he really have to remind her he most heartily supported one of the charities most dear to all their hearts? It was much easier to think of him as some caricature of the typical bachelor man, all polish and no substance.
“Well, perhaps you can pass on the letter.” He set it upon the table, eyed the blood-stained handkerchief, then shrugged and stuffed it into the pocket of a navy-blue waistcoat.
When Oliver leaned in and cast his gaze over the clock, she smelled sandalwood. “Perhaps if you try from there.” He pointed to a small indent in the back of the clock.
“I tried that,” she snapped. “Of course I tried that.”
“You just need the right angle.”
“I—” She bit back an irritated sigh. Naturally, the man who had likely never wound a clock in his life let alone knew a single thing about horology thought he knew best. “I had better get back to it,” she muttered instead of unleashing the stream of annoyance resting on her tongue.
“Of course.” He gave a little bow. “Shall I see you at the ball tonight?”
“Probably not,” she said, dropping onto the chair and turning her back to him, the tiny hairs on the back of her neck prickling with awareness as she sensed his gaze upon her.
“Oh well, no doubt we shall see each other very soon, what with Blake and your sister marrying soon.”
She ignored him, waiting for his footsteps to retreat across the soft rug before she allowed herself to drop her head to the table. Oliver wasn’t wrong. Oliver and Blake were the closest and oldest of friends. What he said was no lie—they’d probably be in each other’s lives for the foreseeable future, a thought that made her stomach tie itself up like the ball of wool last time she tried to knit.
∞∞∞
“You should be ready for the ball by now!”
Oliver shared a look with his younger brother. Apparently, a good proportion of his family had decided to visit with him today. He’d scarcely finished pulling off his gloves before his mother strode in from the East Wing drawing room as though she still lived in the house. His father had been dead over five years, but it seemed his mother thought she could come and go as she pleased. Benjamin shrugged.
The butler offered an apologetic look.
“I was about to say, my lord—”
Oliver waved a hand. If anyone understood the commanding ways of his mother, it was he. He certainly did not expect a servant to stand up to the dowager viscountess. Heck, some days, he didn’t have the time or the energy to mount a decent defense.
Slim to the point of looking sharp around the edges, age had not diminished the impervious look that came into the room with his mother. She carried herself as though she were the queen, which Oliver always found amusing considering she was the daughter of an American heiress without a long lineage like his father. He knew that lack of historic wealth dictated a lot of her behavior but there was only so long he could remain sympathetic toward his mother.
Especially when she started ordering him around in his own house.
“Everyone is going to be there tonight,” she reminded him. A plumage of feathers danced in her hair from the breeze brought in via the open front door. Her gown sported a high neckline, trimmed with lace that emphasized the long, almost bird-like length of her neck. The deep purple shade of the ballgown made him think of some of the exotic birds he’d seen at the Duke of Cumberland’s menagerie, though he did not think his mother would appreciate such a comparison.
“So nice of you to visit, Ben,” he said to his brother who was no doubt taking refuge from his wife. If their mother was shrewish, Benjamin’s wife Fi-Fi was practically a crow.
Ben didn’t play along, fixing him with a ‘do not toy with her or you shall make her worse’ look. Blasted siblings. What was the point in having five of them if they could not mount a concerted defense against their mother? All of them were too quick to toe the mark. Did they not realize the only way to survive their mother was to ignore the damned woman? All his blasted brothers had married swiftly and far too young in his opinion thanks to her pestering.
Well, he had no desire to change his bachelor position anytime soon and tonight’s ball wasn’t going to change that either, even if half of the eligible population of England were going to be there.
“Oliver,” his mother snapped, her cheeks growing red and patchy. “You are two and thirty, not a child. Will you behave as a grown man finally and find yourself a good wife this Season?”
“I’m a little busy.”
“Oliver,” Ben warned.
His mother sniffed. “No doubt spending time with another of your mistresses.”
