Page 20 of Lady Controversial
‘I am so sorry they were disappointed,’ Ellery said with a total lack of conviction in his tone. ‘I was not aware of their intention to visit.’ He would have found an excuse to absent himself if he had been, he thought but did not add. Miss Ingleton was as pretty as Jane Crawley, but Ellery had no interest whatsoever in their neighbour’s daughter. He could not have made that lack of interest plainer, but Miss Ingleton—or more to the point her ambitious mama—was too thick-skinned to take the hint. Especially since his own mother encouraged her to persevere.
‘Why must you always be so difficult, Ellery? You have to marry at some point,’ that lady said bluntly. ‘You have a responsibility for the next generation and Miss Ingleton will do as well as any in that regard. Her credentials are impeccable.’
‘Perhaps Ellery wants to marry for love, Mama,’ Jemima suggested with a sweet smile and a mischievous expression.
‘Love?’ Their mother’s eyes bulged. ‘Have you taken complete leave of your senses? Don’t be so ridiculous. Love complicates everything. Your father and I were far too sensible to pay any heed to it.’
Ellery turned a choke into a cough and covered his mouth with his hand, well aware that his father had spread his love far and wide; just not in the direction of the wife whom he had married purely for her dowry and whose company he had avoided whenever possible.
‘Anyway, your brother had no interest in promotingyourlove match,’ their mother added spitefully, ‘so he can hardly think along those lines for himself.’
‘Ellery was in the right of it insofar as Lord Brooke was concerned,’ Jemima said, lifting her chin as her smile faded. ‘He saved me from making a foolish mistake that I would have lived to regret.’
Ellery smiled at his favourite sister, touched by her willingness to jump to his defence in the constant spats between him and their mother.
‘I am sorry I missed Miss Ingleton’s call, Mother, but I have told you before that I shall not be pursuing her. She can call as often as she likes but that will not change.’
‘She has no conversation,’ Jemima said, ‘no interest in books and talks only of the weather and the latest fashions.’
‘Such subjects are favoured by all young ladies,’ their mother said.
Not all, Ellery thought, a smile touching his lips as he recalled Miss Crawley’s unorthodox attire and how uncomfortable it had made him feel for reasons she was totally unaware of each time he glanced in her direction.
‘Well, never mind. Miss Teddington will dine with us this evening and she is very well read. Her mama complains that she is a little too interested in her books and speaks Latin and Greek, so the two of you will find a great deal to talk about. She is very pretty too.’
‘A vision, I’m sure,’ Ellery said vaguely, barely able to recall the girl’s features.
He managed to escape from his mother’s clutches, having repeatedly assured her that he would be dining at home, and sought out the sanctity of his library. He poured himself a measure of whisky from the decanter on the sideboard and rang the bell for Lawson. His man responded promptly and listened with amusement as Ellery explained the nature of the encounter with Isolda Crawley that had detained him.
‘A welcome diversion, it seems, but I share your concerns about Brooke’s intentions. Living alone in that hovel, the young ladies will be exposed to all manner of unpleasantness and will require protection.’
Ellery chuckled. ‘Try telling Miss Crawley that. She is the first word in independence and will not thank me if I interfere with her affairs.’
‘Do you imagine that Brooke was well aware of the location of the cottage they chose to occupy but allowed them to do so in the expectation of their quickly growing tired of such inferior accommodation? You say that Miss Crawley declined his offer to accommodate them. If he is that concerned about their wellbeing, it’s unlikely that he would have let them leave without first checking out their destination for himself.’
‘You think this is all part of his master plan?’ Ellery pondered upon that very real possibility, blaming Miss Crawley’s captivating eyes and lively character for his having failed to consider it for himself before now. She had distracted him more than she could ever realise, and Ellery wondered how he ought to feel about that.
‘We both know how underhand he can be and if he really has set his heart on the younger sister…’
‘He’s hedging his bets.’ Too agitated to sit still, Ellery stood and took to pacing the length of the room. ‘Get me sight of that vowel, Lawson, or at least a precis of its contents. I want to be absolutely sure where Miss Crawley stands in terms of that cottage.’
‘I’m working on it. I should have something for you by tomorrow or the day after.’
Ellery nodded, not seeing any reason why that shouldn’t be fast enough, yet feeling anxious and unsettled about even such a short delay. ‘Anything else I need to be aware of?’ he asked.
‘Nothing pressing, my lord.’
Ellery glanced at the clock. The day had got away from him, for which he held Miss Crawley entirely to blame. They kept country hours and it was fast approaching time for him to change for dinner. A dinner at which he would be expected to entertain Miss Teddington; a prospect that filled him with a mild sense of irritation, but nothing more.
‘Very well, Lawson. Interrupt me this evening if any developments arise regarding Brooke that I need to be aware of.’
Lawson looked surprised. ‘I doubt they will,’ he said.
‘Try and ensure that they do,’ Ellery replied, draining his glass and leaving the room to the sound of Lawson’s muted laughter.
When Ellery entered his drawing room an hour later it seemed that his mother had invited half the district to dine. The sound of a dozen cultured conversations reminded him that he had tarried too long over the book that had engaged his interest in his chamber and that he was unpardonably late, a fact borne out by the scowl that his mother directed towards him.
Ellery took a deep, fortifying breath, thought of Miss Crawley and wondered what she was doing at that moment. Whatever it was, he would much prefer to be doing it with her—perhaps rambling in the grounds with Brutus or sitting in that warm, derelict scullery eating one of Mrs Compton’s biscuits fresh from the range. Simple pleasures that he hadn’t known before but with which he was now anxious to become more familiar.
