Page 29 of Enticing Odds
“Mama,” Henry protested.
Cressida set her teacup down and gracefully slid the open magazine closer to her son. She tapped her finger upon it, making a soft, satisfying thumping sound.
“Read,” she instructed. “I won’t have Dr. Collier think I’m raising you to be some idler. He ought to be here at any moment.”
Henry pulled a sour face, then snatched the magazine.
“Dear god! How long must I suffer,” Henry muttered under his breath as he riffled through the pages ofGood Words for the Young.
“Hmm, several more years, I should think. Then you’ll come into your majority and can surrender the entirety of your income to your peers in some gambling hell.”
“I won’t,” he said, the slightest hint of remorse seeping into his words. Then, more forcefully, “I won’t! I swear it.”
“Then read,” Cressida said, picking up her tea once more. “And when Dr. Collier arrives, listen. Or else you might find yourself begging a spare penny off your brother someday.”
Henry groaned. But he finally set to reading.
It ought to be the easiest thing, for the Rowbotham House library was massive and bright, the ceiling nearly as high as the ballroom’s, with every inch of the walls covered with uniform shelves. The furnishings were subdued, but very fine indeed. Bartholomew had fancied himself one of thecognoscenti, but she’d never suffered the same delusion. For Cressida had always known her late husband to be an idiot. Still, at the very least, he had left her two fine sons and a lovely library, even if none of the wisdom contained within its volumes had improved his own way of thinking.
Cressida had proposed the unorthodox idea of tea in the library to start off Dr. Collier’s tenure with Henry. And then she would slip away, leaving the two of them to conduct their lessons in the library’s calm, scholastic environment. She’d made sure to have the servants set up a gaming table outfitted with all possible necessities, neatly arranged and ready for use.
Cressida took another sip. She had all but given up hope of coaxing this gentle giant of a doctor into anything more a cordial acquaintance with her after her ball. Perhaps she’d been too arrogant—too confident in her flirtations, presuming too much of her fading beauty. But Henry’s miserable losses at school had offered her another angle: inviting Dr. Collier into her home for an extended, and repeated, length of time. Although the wee lamb wouldn’t bite, Cressida would still enjoy making him blush.And more importantly, Henry wouldn’t end up a laughingstock. Her gaze settled fondly upon the boy. If she could spare her children any harm, by any possible means, she would do it. Neither of her parents had lived long enough to protect her from the most grievous hurt ever done to her.
Henry lowered the magazine with a frown.
“Why is the tutor a doctor, anyway? There’s nothing wrong with me.” He looked away, then back to Cressida, his brows knit. “Mama?”
Cressida laughed. “Of course there isn’t, darling.”
Henry eyed her skeptically.
“He simply happens to be a physician.” She waved her hand about, as if having a profession was a silly, nebulous concept. “That’s all.”
They continued on in silence for several more minutes, Henry pretending to read, Cressida pretending to enjoy her tea rather than imagining just what Dr. Collier looked like underneath his shirt and vest.
And then a servant knocked, sending her heart skipping like a silly maiden.
“Dr. Collier, my lady,” the footman announced.
The doctor was looking very well; he certainly scrubbed up nicely when he wanted to. He wore a tentative look and what must have been his best suit, which was neat enough to accentuate his fine, strong shoulders. He’d also combed his sandy hair, which had been a bit mussed when she’d called on him earlier that week; he no longer looked so absent-minded that he couldn’t be bothered to tidy up. She itched to have her way with him, to turn him out in the finest tailoring she could finagle out of Savile Row. What a figure he’d cut then.
The footman slipped away, and Henry stood and introduced himself, as he’d been taught.
“Please, Doctor, sit.” Cressida extended an arm. “We’ve been having tea. Do join us.”
Dr. Collier seated himself gingerly; he was evidently accustomed to having to mind his large frame around spindly furniture that was more decorative than functional.
Cressida poured him a cup of tea.
“Thank you,” he said, offering her only the briefest of glances before turning to Henry as he fiddled with his spectacles. “Ah,Good Words for the Young. That looks amusing.”
“Not really,” Henry sighed. “It’sinstructive.”
“Ah.”
Henry pulled a face. Cressida met it with a stern look, and the boy softened.
Dr. Collier looked lost in thought. Goodness, she hoped she hadn’t overestimated his abilities. It would be a sorry end to this little interlude. And after it had seemed so promising, the idea of Henry learning his way around a pack of cards, and her making the handsome doctor blush.
