His Lordship's True Lady (True Gentlemen #4)(24)

When the bowing and curtseying had been dispensed with, Hessian led the ladies to the formal parlor and ploughed onward to the civilities.

“Mrs. Braithwaite, please accept my sincere condolences on the loss of your sister. Lady Evers was much loved by all the neighbors, and we will miss her dearly.”

Had Hessian loved Belinda, Lady Evers? He’d made love with her on three slightly awkward, mostly forgettable occasions. She’d affectionately pronounced him a failure at dalliance—which he absolutely had been—but he’d liked her and had never questioned her devotion to her children.

“You are so kind to say so, my lord,” Mrs. Braithwaite replied. “I know Belinda could be headstrong, which often happens when a pretty child is overindulged. She was fortunate to find an older husband, because mature men can be so tolerant. This is a lovely town house.”

One did not speak ill of the dead, and yet, Mrs. Braithwaite had just called her own departed sister headstrong and spoiled.

“My brother found this property for me,” Hessian said. “I’m quite comfortable here.” He had been quite comfortable here, before Daisy had arrived.

“So much room for one man,” Mrs. Braithwaite said, taking a seat on the sofa. “Though I adore French silk on the walls. So elegant, but not the least fussy.”

Hessian was not prepared to discourse on the topic of French silk wallpaper—if that’s what it was. “The premises are near my brother’s residence and allow me to entertain modestly. I do hope the weather continues mild.”

He also hoped Mrs. Braithwaite had no plans to overstay the thirty minutes prescribed for most social calls. Miss Smythe had settled beside her on the sofa, so Hessian allowed himself to take a wing chair.

“We can never be certain about the weather,” Mrs. Braithwaite replied, “and I came here to discuss with you another topic entirely. I’m told my dearest niece Amy Marguerite is in your keeping.”

Oh, that was subtle, but then, Hessian preferred honesty to innuendo if the lady was intent on verbal pugilism.

“Lord and Lady Evers did me the honor of appointing me guardian of their children,” Hessian said. “Had I known you bided in Town, I would have paid a call on you in due course to appraise you of that fact.”

Whatever due course was.

Mrs. Braithwaite pulled off her gloves and laid them on the low table before the sofa. “My lord, I’m sure you did mean to pay me that courtesy, but my concern for the child will not allow me to wait upon your convenience. Her brothers will bide mostly at school, I’m sure, but she is the youngest and the only girl. I must know when you will allow her to join my household.”

Kendall, the first footman, appeared in the parlor door holding a laden silver tray.

“Kendall, if you’d set the tea before me?” Hessian gestured to the low table flanking the sofa.

“Nonsense,” Mrs. Braithwaite said. “Penelope will pour out. Set the tray before her.”

Kendall, who hailed from Martinique by way of Lisbon, maintained an impassive expression— and possession of the tray.

“I shall pour for my guests,” Hessian said, “and please get the door on the way out, Kendall.”

The footman bowed and withdrew, closing the door silently. Pray God that Bronwyn and Daisy didn’t shriek the house down upon catching sight of each other.

Hessian made a good, long production out of serving the ladies tea, while he wrestled with the question of what role Mrs. Braithwaite ought to play in Daisy’s life. He’d been preoccupied with managing Daisy herself and had frankly put off the question of what to do about the girl’s aunt.

He was a widower with little experience with children, but then, Mrs. Braithwaite apparently had no experience with children.

She watched Hessian maneuver around the silver service as if China black, sugar, and milk were some arcane test of social acceptability, and she the judge qualified to eliminate those who failed the examination.

“You may speak freely before Miss Smythe,” Mrs. Braithwaite said. “She is entirely in my confidence.”

She is not in mine. “That is good to know, Mrs. Braithwaite. However, your visit today takes me by surprise. Had you written, I might have been better prepared to discuss Amy Marguerite’s situation with you, but your suggestion will require considerable thought. Amy Marguerite has endured a great loss, and I take seriously my responsibility to provide her with a safe, stable home where she can recover from the blow grief has dealt her. Do have some cake. Cook prides herself on a light hand with the sweets.”

Miss Smythe sat through this balderdash, gaze fixed on the window as if she were posing for a cameo.

Mrs. Braithwaite set her cup and saucer on the tray. “My household would be a perfect haven for a grieving child. Surely you must see that, my lord. I live the quiet life of a widow, barely socializing, while you maintain a peer’s bachelor establishment. I can raise Amy Marguerite in gentility and propriety, surrounding her with the love of a blood relation and sparing you the bother of a small child underfoot.”

Hessian for the most part ignored his title. When the Earl of Grampion was announced, part of him still expected his father to strut forth, though Papa hadn’t been much for pomp and ceremony either.

Hessian also rarely went to the bother of voting his seat, avoided London, and, for cards and socializing, preferred a humble club favored by Border families.