Page 21 of The Heiress's Daughter
“Lady Frobisher and Lord Randall to see Lady Scattergood,” Race’s cousin Maggie said. Lady Scattergood’s butler eyed her balefully, but Maggie was well acquainted with the social niceties and had left her card at Lady Scattergood’s the previous day. The butler’s gaze shifted to Race, standing behind her, and he sniffed. “You can come in, m’lady, but not him. He’s forbidden.”
“Forbidden?Lord Randall is my cousin and my escort,” Maggie declared haughtily.
The butler shrugged. “Can’t help that. Orders is orders. Are you coming in or not, m’lady?”
“Outrageous!” Maggie huffed. “Very well.” She turned to Race and he could see that though her mouth was primmed in apparent disapproval, her eyes were dancing. His cousin was loving this, drat her. “I’ll see you back here in twenty minutes, Race,” she said. To the butler she added as she sailed into the house, “You would not last a minute in my employ!”
The butler smirked and closed the door on Race.
Race climbed into his curricle, wondering what the punishment would be for butlercide. And decided his plea, if it came to that, would be justifiable butlercide.
Twenty minutes later, after numerous circuits of Hyde Park, he pulled up outside Lady Scattergood’s home, and waited. A few minutes later his cousin emerged. He helped her into the curricle and drove off.
“Well?” he said after a minute when she hadn’t said a word.
“When we get home. It was as I expected: insipid chitchat and lukewarm tea. I need a fresh hot cup.”
“Insipid?” he queried.
“Yes, but only the visitors. Otherwise it was quite, quite fascinating. Now be patient, Race. Ollie will want to know as well, and I refuse to repeat it all again.”
Once they’d arrived at Frobisher House, his cousin kept him waiting even longer while she went upstairs to tidy herself. Finally she returned, having removed her hat and pelisse, which apparently took fifteen minutes.
“Well?” Race asked as she entered the sitting room where he’d been waiting with her husband, chatting about the state of the nation. Ollie was quite a serious chap.
“It was utterly splendid,” Maggie said as she plumped down on the sofa beside her husband.
“You said it was inane and the tea was lukewarm.”
“I said, thevisitors’conversation was inane, not my visit—and I’ve ordered fresh tea and coffee. Lady Scattergood is utterly splendid—I wish you could meet her, Oliver. Did you know she commiserated with me on my marriage”—she laughed—“and advised me to send you off on a long sea voyage from which, with any luck, you would never return.” She laughed again. “Which, thinking of some of those men who made me an offer before you, might have been an excellent idea. But you, dearest, are just exactly where I want you.” She placed her hand on her husband’s thigh and squeezed it gently.
“What about Miss Studley and her suitors?” Race interjected. It was, after all, the purpose of their visit.
“And oh, the house!” Maggie continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “It’s absolutely crammed with the most amazing stuff—statues and figurines, some of which were quite shockingly erotic, some quite clearly priceless and others cheap things from who knows where, and all crammed inhiggledy-piggledy—along with her husband’s ashes, which sit in a jar on the mantel between the statue of a person with an elephant’s head, and one of a woman with far too many arms to be comfortable—or would it?”
She considered the notion for a few seconds, shook her head, and hurried on. “Lady Scattergood herself is draped with half a dozen fabulously colorful shawls, all clashing brilliantly. And she sits in this huge peacock-tail chair, receiving her visitors like some fantastic empress, delivering pithy judgments. Oh, she is wonderful. I want to be just like her when I am old.”
“And the visitors?” Race reminded her.
“There are five—or was it six?—little dogs, all gathered from the gutter, all mongrels, all bitches and quite peculiar looking, but she dotes on them. It’s adorable. We must get a little mongrel, Oliver. I predict it will become quite the rage.”
“Whatever you wish, my love, but Race here has asked you a question several times.”
“Oh, yes, of course.” The door opened and the butler and a footman entered bearing a large pot of tea, a coffeepot, cups and saucers, a selection of biscuits on a plate and a cake. “Oh good, here is the tea at last.”
Race exchanged an amused glance with Oliver.
“Did you know any of the other visitors?” he asked as Maggie poured coffee for him and Oliver.
“Yes. Young Frencham was there with his grandmother. Ratafia biscuits, ginger nuts or seed cake?” She offered him two plates.
Race took a ginger nut and crunched down hard on it. Frencham was a known fortune hunter, a good-looking, lazy young rattle who’d made no attempt to retrieve his estate from the mess his father had left it in. He’d thought Leo had run him off, but the fellow was back, apparently, now that Leo was away.
“And Taunton was there with an aunt.” Maggie frowned.“Or was she his godmother? I can’t recall. Have some of this seed cake. It’s Oliver’s favorite.”
Race took the slice she passed him and set it aside. Taunton? He was another waster whose estates were to let—young, quite good-looking and a shocking gambler whose losses at the tables were well-known. Dammit, that wretched old lady had refused him entrance and allowed two notorious fortune hunters to court Miss Studley while Leo was absent.
“Anyone else?” he grated.
