Page 80 of Rules for a Bastard Lord
“Of course, sir.” The butler glanced behind him at a footman in pristine livery. The man took a sharp turn and mounted the stairs. Meanwhile, the butler held out his hands.
Maybelle had no idea what he was doing until Mr. Hallowsby stripped off his hat and gloves.
“Oh,” she gasped, then colored up to her ears. With jerky movements, she pulled off her bonnet and gloves. Bram said to act haughty and remember herh’s.
“This way, if you please,” intoned the butler as he led them at a snail’s pace to a parlor stuffed to the brim with old things. Porcelain, brass, silk—all in a complicated display of history that confused her. Furniture likely sat on by royalty, clocks that kept accurate time, and exquisite paintings on the walls.
She stood in the middle of the parlor and wondered if she was allowed to sit. Were ladies allowed to seat themselves where royalty had once been?
Haughty, she reminded herself. So she crossed to the settee. Her bum had nearly connected with the cushions when Mr.Hallowsby spoke. “Seelye, are the duke and duchess at home? I have not yet made my bow to them and would welcome the opportunity.”
Maybelle froze. This was the residence of a duke and duchess? This… Oh, shite. Did she sit or not? She couldn’t hang out here all day in a crouch.
In the end, gravity decided for her. Her knees gave out, and she landed with a softumphon velvet cushions. At least she didn’t break the furniture.
“Their Graces are not at home,” the butler said gravely.
“Perhaps next time, then. Thank you, Seelye.”
“Mr. Hallowsby. Miss Ballenger.” The man bowed slightly, then backed out of the room. But he remained at the doorway like a sentinel listening to their every word.
Maybelle cast a terrified look at Mr. Hallowsby and mouthed, “Duke? Duchess?”
He nodded, his lips curved into a smirk. She knew what he was thinking. Would she run? Would she call everything quits and head back to Hull and Charlie? Part of her desperately wanted to. What could a father—or grandfather—give her now that she didn’t already have? Except answers to a lifetime of questions.
She stood her ground.
“Lady Eleanor,” the butler announced from the doorway.
“Bram! My goodness, you look like you’ve been sitting in a dust storm.”
The most gorgeous woman she’d ever seen floated into the room. Her movements were so smooth, her expression so serene, she might have been a ghostly apparition.
“Very much like a storm, I’m afraid,” he said as he took her hands and kissed the back of each one. “The road to London is not paved with gold, but mud, dust, and things much worse. You must forgive my appearance.”
“I always have,” she said with a beatific smile. “Because you always bring such tales when you come.” Then she turned to Maybelle. “And are you, perhaps, his latest adventure?”
Maybelle rose to her feet, forcing herself to pretend a nobility she didn’t feel. She dipped into a small curtsy.
“Miss Maybelle Ballenger, my lady.” Then she held out her hands as she’d seen Lady Eleanor do. “I’m so pleased to meet you.”
The woman stared at her, and there was a moment when Maybelle thought a frown was forming. But no wrinkle disrupted her features. Instead, she took Maybelle’s hands in hers.
“I am all agog.”
Mr. Hallowsby leaned back against the mantel. “It is not my tale to tell.”
Lady Eleanor cast him a glance. “No, you never tell. Very well…” She released Maybelle’s hands. “I’ve called for tea. Will you share some with me?”
It wasn’t a real question, and so Maybelle didn’t answer. She took her seat and prayed none of the dirt on her dress found its way onto the velvet. Meanwhile, Lady Eleanor continued to chatter with Bram.
“It’s beastly hot, isn’t it? I can’t abide London at this time of year, but their graces wished to summer in the country, so I remained here, letting them have their privacy.”
“Do I hear affection in your tone?” Mr. Hallowsby asked. “For the sailor turned duke?”
Lady Eleanor opened her perfect mouth, but then shut it with a silent shrug.
“You are set on enduring,” Mr. Hallowsby said in a dry tone.
