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She moved past him and opened the door. The Duke and McCreary were bent over some papers and Lochmore looked up with a frown. As with Angus, surprise blanked his expression.
‘I would like a word with you, Your Grace.’
Mr McCreary scrambled to his feet and hurried past her with a murmured greeting. Lochmore leaned back in his chair, his hand playing with his quill, the feather moving round and round in slow, tipsy circles as she approached the desk. It only occurred to her as she stopped that he had not risen on her entry. He appeared to realise it at the same time because he dropped his quill and stood so abruptly he bumped into the desk, which gave a protesting squawk against the floorboards.
‘Yes?’
‘I am not a serf, Your Grace.’
‘I... No, you are not a serf, J—Mrs Langdale.’
‘You appear to have forgotten that small fact when you took upon yourself to dispose of my...of my whole wardrobe and have Angus—Angus—give my... How dare you?’ She was sputtering with fury, but she could not help it. She felt she was quite literally steaming.
‘I did no such thing. I asked Mrs Merry to dispose of the evidence of Celia’s spite. And unless wearing those hideous sacks was part of some secret plan of penance, you should be thanking me for doing so.’
‘You arrogant...high-handed... I should be hitting you over the head with a piece of Jamie’s driftwood!’
‘Go fetch some. I’ll wait right here. Better yet, use one of these ledgers. Lord knows they are dense enough.’
She did not know what to do with herself. The image of launching herself across the desk like a vicious beast came to mind, as did sitting down in a puddle of perfect muslin and crying her heart out.
‘You look lovely in that gown. Why are you so upset?’ It was the softness of his tone, and the true puzzlement beneath, that broke her.
She marched to the door, but the words left her anyway.
‘I expected better of you.’
Somehow he reached the door before her. He was looking a little angry himself and also, more surprisingly, hurt—rather like Jamie when she scolded him.
It wasn’t his fault. He was too much the Duke to understand the emotions of someone like her.
She picked up the fabric of her skirt, the cloth so lovely beneath her fingers it cracked her heart all over again as part of her begged her not to be so petty, so stiff, just to take for once and expect nothing else.
‘It is lovely, lovelier than I have ever had. But it is no better than Celia, even if it was done out of pity and not spite. You walked right over me, Your Grace. Just like everybody else.’
Even as she spoke the words, watching his face harden, she knew she was a fool for ever voicing something so revealing.
‘That was not my intention,’ he answered. ‘You have been a good friend to Jamie and I thought it only proper to show a sign of appreciation. I thought you would be pleased.’
She abandoned her foolish quest.
‘Thank you, Your Grace. They are lovely. All of them. Please thank Angus for me as well.’ She continued towards the door and, after a slight hesitation, he moved aside and she left.
* * *
The door closed behind her and Benneit resisted the urge to open it again and slam it as hard as he was able.
Of all the ungrateful, petty, aggravating, impossible, nit-picking...
What the devil was wrong with her? Any normal female would have been gushing with thanks and admiration. Bella would have certainly showed her approval of such a gesture. Had demanded it often enough, in fact.
For a moment when Jo had entered the study, he had suffered a moment of complete disorientation. He had known immediately it was Jo and yet he hadn’t recognised her. It was amazing what a decent gown and a different arrangement of hair could effect.
As she strode towards them, her chin up, her cheeks warm with colour—anger, he realised now—and her grey eyes shining—with fury, evidently—for a moment he had a mad image of her coming right up to him and demonstrating her appreciation in a very physical manner.
It was only a momentary thought. His rational mind had immediately rejected the idea that the proper widow Langdale would indulge in such a gesture, even for a brace of new gowns, but the image lingered and took a while to be beaten back under the barrage of her accusations. That juxtaposition made it all the worse.
