Page 58 of Miss Determined
“I don’t want to be foolish, Grandmama. Not again. I was certain that Trevor was different, that he was his own man and a good man, but what marquess sets out to marry a shopkeeper’s granddaughter? A veritable village girl? I ride astride here at home. I help with the foaling. I scrub my own hems if it’s half day for the maid. How could a marquess possibly…?”
“Then you don’t distrust him—or not just him—but also yourself?”
Lissa rose. “Of course myself. My judgment where suitors are concerned has been notoriously bad.”
“Or your mother’s vigilance as your chaperone has been inadequate. Those rascals in Town knew you had neither father nor brother to defend your honor, and Mourna relaxed her guard. All most vexing. If you don’t want to go to London, then don’t, but we’ve let down Caroline’s hems as far as they’ll go, and Diana’s opportunities to attend tea dances in Crosspatch are sorely limited.”
Lissa leaned against the porch post, which could have used a fresh coat of paint. “You are saying I must not think only of myself.”
Grandmama opened the book to a random poem. “You are constitutionally incapable of thinking only of yourself, and Lord Tavistock probably has obligations he can’t shirk either. As I see it, you have understandable questions, and his lordship has answers. If you don’t like his answers, you are free to reject his suit.”
“And if Idolike his answers?”
“The harder question, by far, and only you know the answer.”
“I haven’t any answers at the moment. Phillip had suspicions.”
Grandmama closed the book with a snap. “You and Phillip would not suit. He’s very dear, and that business with his arm or shoulder, or whatever plagues him, is of no moment, but please don’t set your cap for that one.”
“I like Phillip.” More significantly, Lissa couldtrustPhillip.
“You respect him, but Phillip is no fool. He’s seen you with Mr. Dorning, and what man wants to go through life knowing his wife chose him because she could manage him?”
“It wouldn’t be like that.” It would be exactly like that, with Lissa doing all the trips into Reading and Phillip burying himself in pamphlets and agriculture. They would rub along well enough, and children would probably arrive, and all the while…
“Trevor lied about his name and sustained that lie until very recently. He’s no more a Dorning than I am a marchioness.” Though Grandmama had a point too. The solicitors were in London, and something had to be done about their miserly meddling. “Perhaps Trevor has an explanation for his dissembling.”
Lissa wanted him to have one, and she wanted to hide in Crosspatch until she was as venerable as the napping oak.
“Then you’re going to London?” Grandmama asked.
Lissa pushed away from the peeling post. The air did bear the tang of the loafing shed, and the view of the Twid was slightly obscured by the emerging leaves. Crosspatch was lovely, and it was home, though for a moment, Lissa understood exactly why Gavin had needed to escape it.
Some answers were to be found only by leaving home pastures. “The DeWitt ladies will go to Town to enjoy the Season. Mr. Clementi will doubtless accompany us, and while we are in London, I will have a very pointed discussion with the blasted solicitors.”
“One takes on solicitors cautiously, Lissa.”
“If I have to ride half naked through Hyde Park, all of London will know that Giles Purvis has begrudged us even money for decent wardrobes for the past two years. That isour money, Grandmama, and he behaves as if it’s his. Society will view that presumption dimly.”
“I’ve said as much to Mourna, but she keeps hoping Gavin will come home and sort matters out discreetly.”
“We cannot wait for Gavin, and we cannot toady to Purvis. Trevor lied and deceived us and waved a false flag, but he was right about at least one thing: What we need and want matters.” Not quite what he’d said, but close enough. “Purvis has no excuse for keeping us in embarrassed circumstances, and I mean to make that point very clear to him.”
“Mourna will object. I suggest you glower at her as you are glowering now. Puts me in mind of your grandfather on the subject of taxes.”
“Do you still miss him, Grandmama? Foolishness and all?”
“Every day, my dear. Every single day.”
Lissa’s decision made, she left Grandmama on the porch with Mr. Wordsworth and asked for a bath to be run. She was choosing a day dress—a rich green rather than the pale shades she was expected to don in London—when the maid brought her a folded note.
“From the Arms, miss.”
“Thank you.”
The handwriting was exquisite, worthy of a professional scribe.Miss Amaryllis DeWittwas neatly penned on the outside, the wax seal impressed with the same crest she’d seen on the traveling coach.
Did he think the Pevingers wouldn’t noticethatseal? For that matter, what was Lissa to make of such a bold acknowledgement of his status? What exactly had he said about his patrimony, and why had she assumed he was illegitimate?
