Love in the Afternoon (The Hathaways #5)(21)

“I haven’t repeatedly offended her, I just did it today.”

Her mouth twisted in derision. “How conveniently short your memory is. All of Stony Cross knows that you once said she belonged in the stables.”

“I would never have said that to a woman, no matter how damned eccentric she was. Is.”

“Beatrix overheard you telling it to one of your friends, at the harvest dance held at Stony Cross Manor.”

“And she told everyone?”

“No, she made the mistake of confiding in Prudence, who told everyone. Prudence is an incurable gossip.”

“Obviously you have no liking for Prudence,” he began, “but if you—”

“I’ve tried my best to like her. I thought if one peeled away the layers of artifice, one would find the real Prudence beneath. But there’s nothing beneath. And I doubt there ever will be.”

“And you find Beatrix Hathaway superior to her?”

“In every regard, except perhaps beauty.”

“There you have it wrong,” he informed her. “Miss Hathaway is a beauty.”

Audrey’s brows lifted. “Do you think so?” she asked idly, lifting the teacup to her lips.

“It’s obvious. Regardless of what I think of her character, Miss Hathaway is an exceptionally attractive woman.”

“Oh, I don’t know . . .” Audrey devoted careful attention to her tea, adding a tiny lump of sugar. “She’s rather tall.”

“She has the ideal height and form.”

“And brown hair is so common . . .”

“It’s not the usual shade of brown, it’s as dark as sable. And those eyes . . .”

“Blue,” Audrey said with a dismissive wave.

“The deepest, purest blue I’ve ever seen. No artist could capture—” Christopher broke off abruptly. “Never mind. I’m straying from the point.”

“What is your point?” Audrey asked sweetly.

“That it is of no significance to me whether Miss Hathaway is a beauty or not. She’s peculiar, and so is her family, and I have no interest in any of them. By the same token, I don’t give a damn if Prudence Mercer is beautiful—I’m interested in the workings of her mind. Her lovely, original, absolutely compelling mind.”

“I see. Beatrix’s mind is peculiar, and Prudence’s is original and compelling.”

“Just so.”

Audrey shook her head slowly. “There is something I want to tell you. But it’s going to become more obvious over time. And you wouldn’t believe it if I told you, or at least you wouldn’t want to believe it. This is one of those things that must be discovered for oneself.”

“Audrey, what the devil are you talking about?”

Folding her narrow arms across her chest, his sister-in-law contemplated him sternly. And yet a strange little smile kept tugging at the corners of her lips. “If you are at all a gentleman,” she finally said, “you will call on Beatrix tomorrow and apologize for hurting her feelings. Go during one of your walks with Albert—she’ll be glad to see him, if not you.”

Chapter Eight

Christopher walked to Ramsay House the next afternoon. Not because he actually wanted to. However, he had no plans for the day, and unless he wanted to contend with his mother’s unforgiving stares, or worse, Audrey’s quiet stoicism, he had to go somewhere. The stillness of the rooms, the memories tucked in every nook and shadow, were more than he could face.

He had yet to ask Audrey what it had been like for John the last few days of his life . . . what his last words had been.

Beatrix Hathaway had been right when she’d guessed that John’s death hadn’t been real to him until he’d come home.

As they went through the forest, Albert bounded this way and that, foraging through the bracken. Christopher felt morose and restless as he anticipated his welcome—or lack thereof—when he arrived at Ramsay House. No doubt Beatrix had told her family about his ungentlemanly behavior. They would be angry with him, rightfully so. It was common knowledge that the Hathaway family was a close-knit, clannish group, fiercely protective of each other. And they had to be, with a pair of Romany brothers-in-law, not to mention their own lack of blood and breeding.

It was only the peerage title, held by Leo, Lord Ramsay, that afforded the family any social foothold whatsoever. Fortunately for them, they were received by Lord Westcliff, one of the most powerful and respected peers of the realm. That connection gave them entrée into circles that otherwise would have excluded them. However, what annoyed the local gentry was that the Hathaways didn’t seem to care one way or the other.

As he approached Ramsay House, Christopher wondered what the devil he was doing, calling on the Hathaways unannounced. It probably wasn’t a proper visiting day, and certainly not an appropriate time. But he rather doubted they would notice.

The Ramsay estate was small but productive, with three thousand acres of arable land and two hundred prosperous tenant farms. In addition, the estate possessed a large forest that yielded a lucrative annual timber yield. The charming and distinctive roofline of the manor home came into view, a central medieval dormer sided by rows of high peaked gables, Jacobean pierced crestings and strap work, and a tidy square Georgian addition to the left. The effect of mixed architectural features wasn’t all that unusual. Many older homes featured additions in a variety of styles. But since this was the Hathaway family, it only seemed to underscore their strangeness.