Someone to Love (Westcott #1)(22)
She laughed without humor and patted her daughters’ hands briskly before continuing.
“Your idea is a good one, Cam,” she said. “We will all cast off our mourning today. What an enormous relief that will be. We will wait and see what you arrange with Lord Uxbury this afternoon and move to a hotel if the wedding is to be within the next few days. Thank you all for the offers of hospitality, but it really would not be appropriate for us to stay with any of you. If the wait for the wedding is to be longer than a few days—Uxbury may well insist upon having banns called—then we will remove to the country and supervise the packing up of all our personal belongings while we wait. Either way we have a busy time ahead of us and must waste no more of it sitting here.”
“Pack our belongings?” Abigail looked bewildered.
“But of course,” her mother said. “Neither Westcott House in town here nor Hinsford Manor in Hampshire belongs to Harry any longer. They belong to . . . her.”
“But where will you and I go after the wedding?” Abigail asked. “I do not believe Lord Uxbury would like it if we imposed ourselves upon him permanently no matter what Cam says.”
“I do not know where we will go, Abby,” her mother said irritably, showing the first crack in her composure. “I shall take you to your grandmother—my mama—in Bath, I suppose. She will surely be happy to give you a home despite the disgrace, for which you are not even the slightest bit at fault. She adores you and Cam.”
“And you, Viola?” the duchess asked sharply.
“I do not know, Louise.” The countess flashed her a ghastly smile. “I am Miss Kingsley again, you know. It would not do for me as a single lady to remain in Bath with my daughter. It would not be fair to my mother, and it would be potentially disastrous for any hope Abby may have of making some sort of eligible connection. I shall probably go to my brother. Michael is a clergyman in more than just name, and he has been lonely, I believe, since the death of my sister-in-law last year. We have always been fond of each other. I shall stay with him, at least for a while, until I decide upon something more permanent.”
No, Avery decided, this was definitely not a morning of boredom. His stepmother, he noticed, had not even remembered to send for the tea tray.
“But what about Harry?” Abigail asked again.
“I do not know, Abby,” her mother said. “He must find some suitable employment, I suppose. Perhaps Avery will help him, though he is no longer bound by the guardianship his father agreed to.”
All eyes turned Avery’s way as though he had the answer to every question at the tip of his tongue. He raised his eyebrows. He was not in the habit of helping impecunious young men to find employment, especially wild young men who had been in possession of a seemingly bottomless coffer of funds until an hour or so ago and had been making profligate use of it. He fingered the handle of his quizzing glass, abandoned it, and sighed.
“Harry must be granted a day or two to stop laughing and telling everyone who will listen what a lark all this is,” he said.
“Oh, Avery!” Jessica blurted. “How can you make light of such a tragedy?”
He leveled a look upon her that closed her mouth and set her to huddling against her mother’s side, though she continued to glower at him.
“I am granting him a day or two,” he repeated softly. “For his laughter does not derive from amusement, and when he describes the morning’s disclosures as a lark he does not mean something that is fun.”
“Avery will look after him, Jess,” Abigail said, her eyes fixed upon him.
“Lady Anastasia seemed perfectly willing to share her fortune,” Cousin Elizabeth reminded them all. “Perhaps Harry will not need to take employment. Perhaps he—”
“I will not touch one penny of what that woman offers out of condescending charity, Elizabeth,” Camille said, cutting her off. “Neither, I trust, will Abby. Or Harry. How dare she even suggest it—as though she were doing us some grand favor.”
Which, in Avery’s estimation, was precisely what she would be doing if more sober consideration did not cause her to retract her offer.
“She is my granddaughter,” the dowager said.
“Is she returning to Bath, Avery?” Abigail asked.
“Brumford persuaded her to remain at least for the present at the Pulteney, where she apparently stayed last night,” he said. “He is to spend the afternoon there with her and her chaperone, doubtless boring her into a coma.”
“Poor lady,” Cousin Elizabeth said. “Her life has just changed drastically too.”
“I would not describe her as poor in any way, Elizabeth,” Thomas, Lord Molenor, said dryly.
“Her education as Lady Anastasia Westcott must begin without delay,” the dowager said, and everyone looked at her.
“After today,” Camille said, a world of bitterness in her voice as she got to her feet, “she will be able to move out of the Pulteney and into Westcott House, Grandmama. She will be thrilled about that.”
“Cam,” her mother said after heaving a sigh, “none of this is her fault. We need to remember that. Just think of the fact that she has spent all but the first few years of her life in an orphanage.”
“I cannot think of anything else but that,” the dowager said. “It is not going to be easy to—”