Page 44 of The Trouble with True Love

“I believe I can explain that,” the viscount put in. “I came to your front door, not perceiving there was an entrance to the newspaper office beside it. The woman who opened the door to me offered to bring me through the house and around, but I told her not to bother and I would use the street entrance. But I did leave my card with her, of course.”

“Mrs. Brandt, that would be, my lord,” the maid volunteered. “She’s the housekeeper. If you do decide to come up, she’ll be wanting to know if you prefer India or China tea?”

“It’s only half past two,” Clara put in before the viscount could answer, and the sharpness of her own voice made her wince. But she couldn’t help it, for she was desperate to prevent this calamity. “It’s far too early for—”

“Tea would be lovely,” Galbraith said cutting the ground right from beneath her feet, and Clara nearly groaned aloud. “Tell Mr. Deverill I would be delighted to accept his invitation, Annie, thank you. And please inform Mrs. Brandt that I would prefer whichever tea is Miss Clara’s particular favorite.”

The maid giggled at that, but then she caught sight of Clara’s face and sobered at once, giving a cough. “That be India tea, my lord,” she murmured. “Darjeeling.”

“Excellent.” With a nod to the girl, he turned back around, returning his attention to Clara, and Annie departed, giving Clara a glance of sympathetic understanding just before she vanished from view.

The maid’s sympathy only deepened her dismay, and Clara frowned at Galbraith. “That was rather high-handed.”

“Was it?” he asked in surprise. “The invitation was directed to me, and I accepted it. Speaking of invitations, I have one to give you.” He started to reach into his breast pocket, but stopped as he caught sight of her expression. “My apologies,” he said quietly, his hand falling to his side. “I didn’t realize you would mind if I came to tea.”

“It’s not that,” she cried. “I don’t mind... exactly. It’s just—”

She broke off, for the truth was too humiliating to utter, and her mind couldn’t seem to fashion a believable reason for her reluctance.

“I’m supposed to be courting you, remember?” he said, a gentle reminder that only seemed to make everything worse. “Meeting your father is something I would be required to do at some point, Clara.”

He was right, of course. “Very well,” she muttered and stood up, chin high, trying to ignore the shame that was already flooding through her. “Let’s have tea. Just don’t expect a party.”

Chapter 10

Rex had never considered himself a dense sort of chap. In fact, he rather took pride in his ability to appreciate the undercurrents of a social situation and the reasons for them. In this case, however, he had to admit himself utterly baffled.

Clara didn’t want him to meet her father—that much was clear. Her shoulders were set, her chin high, her expression wooden, and as they crossed the foyer, her profile reminded him of nothing so much as the nautical figurehead of a ship as it sailed into the teeth of a storm. The rapidity of her stride told him she wanted that storm over as quickly as possible.

She led him up the stairs and along a corridor, offering no explanations along the way, but once in the drawing room, the introduction to her father had barely been made before Rex realized no explanations would be needed.

The man was sodding drunk.

Quite accustomed to men in their cups, Rex schooled his features in the polite civility required of a gentleman and bowed, but as he straightened, he cast a sideways glance at Clara, and his polite veneer almost cracked.

Her face bore its usual placid coolness, but her eyes gave her away. They stared into his chin, dark and bleak and filled with shame. Looking into them was like looking into an abyss.

“Forgive me for not standing up to receive you, Lord Galbraith,” Deverill said, a distinct slur in his voice and a strong waft of brandy in the air as he spoke. “Blasted gout.”

Rex returned his attention to her parent, noting the wheeled chair in which he sat, and the foot propped on a heavily padded stool in front of it, and he wondered if the drinking had caused the gout, or vice-versa. “There is no need for apology, sir. Gout, I understand, hurts like the devil.”

“It does, it does.” Deverill picked up his teacup from the table beside him, and his hand trembled as he raised it to his lips, causing the amber liquid to spill over and another wave of brandy scent to hit Rex’s nostrils.

Clara must have detected the scent as well, for she moved away from her parent, making for the settee across the room. “Will you sit down, Lord Galbraith?” she said, issuing the invitation with a painfully obvious lack of enthusiasm, and as she sank down on one end of the settee and gestured for him to sit at the other end, he wondered if he ought to make some excuse and leave instead. On the other hand, a hasty departure was probably the usual reaction of guests when faced with this situation, and if he ran for the door, it might serve only to deepen her shame. Besides, he still had Auntie Pet’s invitation in his pocket.

“Thank you, yes,” he said, then set his hat on a nearby table and moved to take the offered place on the settee, striving to act as if nothing at all was amiss.

“Delighted you could join us, my lord, and that Clara has a suitor at last.”

“Papa,” she protested, giving Rex an agonized glance, which he ignored. Since being a suitor was just the image he was attempting to convey, he had no intention of contradicting the description by word or deed.

“Now, Clara,” Deverill said, heedless of his daughter’s protest, “it’s nothing to be embarrassed about. You’ve only been out for a short while. Clara’s sister, Lord Galbraith, married the Duke of Torquil not long ago.” It was a boast, dragged into the conversation by a man who wished to impress another with his connections. Clara knew it, too, for when Rex cast a sideways glance at her, he saw her wince and turn away to reach for the teapot.

“Would you like tea, Lord Galbraith?” she asked, her voice sounding an octave higher than usual as she began to pour.

“Thank you, yes. Plain,” he added as she reached for the sugar tongs. “No sugar or milk.”

She turned in his direction to hand him his cup and saucer, but she didn’t quite look at him.

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