Her Majesty's Necromancer (The Ministry of Curiosities #2)(64)

"Definitely the daughter." Seth touched the side of the kettle on the stove to test its heat, while I fetched cake from the pantry.

"You been servicing 'em?"

"Servicing?" I called out from the pantry. "Does that mean what I think it means?"

"Not the daughter," Seth said. "She's a sweet little thing, but completely ruled by her dragon of a mother, who is even more of a dragon in the bedroom."

"Seth!" I shook my head at him.

He shrugged. "There's domineering and then there's dictatorial. Only one of those is fun, and it's not the one that she is. What are they doing here?"

"They've come to see Mr. Fitzroy."

"About?"

"How should I know?" I lied. If Lady Harcourt had been correct, they were here to see if Lincoln was as interested in Hettie Overton today as he had been at the ball. I didn't think my heart could sink any further, but apparently it could. Hettie Overton was very pretty.

Seth prepared the teapot while I gathered plates and cups. "He'd be bored out of his mind with Hettie," he told me quietly as he placed the teapot on the tray. "The mother is a dragon, but the daughter is a simpering witless girl. And that's putting it kindly."

I shrugged. "There is a lot to be said for simpering witless girls. They tend to do exactly what they're told. Most men like that."

"Not Fitzroy."

I picked up the tray. "Don't be so sure."

I entered the parlor and set the tray down on the table. Mrs. Overton didn't break off their conversation, or so much as pause. Indeed, if she'd not accepted the cup of tea I poured for her, I would have thought she hadn't noticed me at all.

"The sofa will be the first to go," she said.

"Yes, Mama. I quite agree."

It wasn't until Hettie Overton inspected the sofa on which she sat that I realized they were discussing it, and not their own furniture.

"Everything is at least five years out of date." Mrs. Overton pointed her teacup at a painting of a Paris street scene. "That will be second."

"I wonder what the rest of the house is like," said the daughter.

"Nobody knows. Hardly anyone has been inside Lichfield Towers for years."

"What about Lady Harcourt? They're friends, aren't they?"

Mrs. Overton sniffed. "So I hear," she muttered into her cup.

The girl seemed oblivious to the mother's innuendo. She was too intent on checking out the room as if she were cataloguing its contents. "What do you think of the color scheme?"

"Too drab."

"That's what I thought. I don't mind those chairs, though."

"They don't go with the rest of the room at all."

"That's what I was thinking. They're much too…"

"Ugly."

"Quite, quite ugly." Hettie blinked those big eyes at her mother and sipped her tea.

Seth was right. The girl didn't have a mind of her own. Lincoln wouldn't be interested in her.

I was about to leave the parlor when he walked in. My face colored as his gaze skimmed over me. His thoughts on seeing me there were unclear however. His expression remained bland.

"Mrs. Overton," he said, walking past me and bowing over the mother's hand. "Miss Overton. This is an unexpected pleasure."

A pleasure? He was a fast learner.

"We didn't hear you arrive, Mr. Fitzroy," Mrs. Overton said, smiling.

"I came in via the back door. It's closer to the stables."

"How…interesting. Lichfield's standards are quite lax. We're unused to it." Her tinkling laugh was echoed by her daughter. "A maid greets us, there are no signs of footmen or butler, and now the master of the house tells us he uses the servants' entrance. What are we to think, Mr. Fitzroy?"

"That Lichfield needs a guiding hand to bring it up to standard. As does its master."

I held my breath and walked slowly to the door. This was an exchange I wanted to hear.

"A guiding hand?" Mrs. Overton's voice had softened since Lincoln's arrival. When she'd been talking to her daughter, it had been strong, inflexible. Now, it took on a girlishness that sat awkwardly on her. "Would that be a feminine hand, Mr. Fitzroy?"

"That remains to be seen, Mrs. Overton. Miss Overton, did you enjoy yourself at the ball?"

"Very much," she said in a breathy voice. "I do enjoy balls, don't you?"

"I rarely attend."

"So we've noticed," said Mrs. Overton. "Where did you run off to at the end? Hettie and I looked everywhere for you."

"Then I must apologize. I hope I can make it up to you."

Hettie beamed at him and blinked those big eyes. It made her look even lovelier, if somewhat childlike. Mrs. Overton's smile was less overt. "You can. Come to my dinner party this Friday night."

Lincoln didn't answer straight away. He seemed to be caught, and I wondered if he'd unintentionally backed himself into a corner. It would seem his instincts had failed him on this occasion. If we'd been on better terms, I would have teased him about it later.

He suddenly turned to me, as if he'd just realized I was still there. "That will be all," he said. "You may go."