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Elisabeth’s brows contracted in a frown. “Dun Eyre doesn’t need improving.”
Uh-oh. Brendan knew that look. He’d seen it most recently last night just before he’d taken a fist to the face. Apparently Shaw had yet to experience Elisabeth’s temper. He barreled on, oblivious to her tight jaw and set shoulders.
“We’ll start with the gardens,” he said. “I’ve just the plan—”
“Not the gardens!” Brendan and Elisabeth spoke in unison.
Shaw cast them a sympathetic smile. “No one likes change, but when we’re finished, Elisabeth, this old place will rival any of the great houses in England. Chatsworth or even Blenheim.”
“Blenheim?” Great-aunt Charity roused herself from her dry toast. “Went there once as a girl. Got pinched by the late duke and slept in a horrid bedchamber smelling of camphor. Never went back.”
“Probably weren’t invited back,” was Shaw’s cool comment as he dabbed at his mouth with a napkin.
“That was Sir Wallace, Charity. And you married him,” Miss Sara Fitzgerald corrected.
“Well, had to after that, didn’t I?” Great-aunt Charity argued. “He was a rake and a cad, but oh, what hands.” Her eyes went dreamy and vague.
Miss Sara buried her nose farther into her paper while Mrs. Pheeney flushed crimson. The rest of them shifted uncomfortably, trying to rid themselves of the picture created.
Brendan broke the awkwardness by waving his fork in Elisabeth’s direction. “It’s a lovely trinket you’re wearing, Lissa. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen a stone such as that one. Family heirloom?”
Shaw’s gaze slid to Elisabeth’s collar while her lips pursed thin and white. “This? A mere trifle.”
Great-aunt Charity chose that moment to rouse herself from lascivious memories of her dear departed husband and remark in a voice loud enough to be heard in the next county, “Ain’t that the necklace young Douglas gave you just before he murdered his father and ran off?”
Miss Sara stood abruptly, shooting Brendan a long, studying look. “We’ve all lolled about here long enough.”
“But I’ve still half the paper to read,” Mrs. Pheeney complained. “You know what they say: Knowledge is power.”
“And no news is good news,” her sister snapped, half-hauling Great-aunt Charity, who remained oblivious to the crosscurrents, out of her seat.
“A rogue, that Douglas boy was. Though he could charm when he chose. You were lucky to escape that marriage, Lizzie. This new lad’s a much better catch. And handsome as the devil. I bet he’s got a pair of hands on him like my Wally.”
Shaw nearly choked on his piece of toast while the family froze in various poses of mortification and horror. Poor Elisabeth’s few remaining freckles were lost amid the furious red of her face.
“You’re right, Aunt Charity,” she stated. “I was extremely fortunate to have avoided marriage to Brendan Douglas.” Her gaze held the scorching power of a lightning bolt. “Much as I’d love to stay and reminisce, I’m late meeting Fanny and the others for our outing. Are you joining us, Gordon?”
He focused a doting smile in Elisabeth’s direction. “What? No. I’m afraid I’m going to have to stay here and catch up on my correspondence, and I have a horrible dull report to complete for Lord Prosefoot.”
“Yes, I suppose you ought to stay behind, then.”
He brightened. “When you return, come find me and tell me all about it.”
“Perhaps I could assist with your report. I’ve spent hours with Mr. Adams in the office. He says I’ve a head on my shoulders the envy of any bailiff.”
“I doubt you know anything of increased customs duties on Irish malt, dear,” Shaw replied with an indulgent smile. “You go on and enjoy your little outing.”
Brendan would have been overjoyed at being released from such servitude. Preparing reports on customs duties? Why not spend the afternoon jamming a fork into your hand? But Elisabeth didn’t seem to see it in the same light. Her expression was crestfallen as if Shaw had denied her a trip to the jewelers’ shop. It roused Brendan to speak when he probably shouldn’t have. “An excursion sounds amusing.”
“You’re welcome to join us,” she answered, the spark returning to her eyes when she turned to him.
He arched a brow. What was she up to?
“We’re to visit Belfoyle. You remember Lord Kilronan, don’t you? We were all children together.”
Touché. “Kilronan? I believe I remember him dimly. Tall chap. Disgustingly accomplished at everything. It was a long time ago. I’m sure he wouldn’t remember me.”
“You’d be surprised. Come. He’d love to renew your acquaintance.”
