Page 37 of Needs Must
Then it was Celia’s turn. Cal introduced her and Daventry, sending his sister a warning glower. She really was skating on thin ice, and if she did not treat Donna with respect then she would live to rue the day. Daventry was polite, which Cal had expected. He had an eye for a pretty face and a trim figure, and Donna more than qualified in both respects.
‘Mrs Harte,’ Celia said coldly. ‘I understand that you are taking up residence in the district.’
‘That is certainly true,’ Donna replied. ‘Do you yourself live in Arndale?’
Celia was several inches shorter than Donna, which prevented her from looking down her nose at Cal’s guest. He knew that would irritate her and do little to improve her perpetually sour temperament. ‘Naturally. This is my home.’
‘Oh, I see.’ Cal could sense that Donna had already got the measure of his sister and would not be intimidated. ‘How very intimate.’
Celia sniffed, obviously wondering if she had just been insulted. ‘Lady Arndale cannot do without me,’ she said stiffly.
‘Really?’ Cal adopted a surprised expression. ‘What service precisely do you provide for our mother that could not be attended to by her servants?’
‘Daventry talks of returning to his estate, but Lady Arndale cannot spare me,’ Celia said, choosing to ignore Cal’s question. His sister had perfected the art of ignoring anything she found unpalatable.
‘Your sense of duty does you honour.’ Donna sent Cal a brief sideways glance and he could see that she was struggling not to smile. ‘I dare say you are anxious to be mistress of your own establishment, yet you put your lady mother’s comforts before your own.’
‘I virtually run this house. Lady Arndale is not as strong as she once was.’ Celia turned up her nose. ‘Pray excuse me. Come, Daventry, Mama needs us.’
‘I think she’s warming to me,’ Donna said, smiling as Celia bustled away.
‘I’m sorry about her, and my mother.’ Cal rolled his eyes. ‘One more hurdle to clear. Ah, Graves, there you are. Allow me to make Mr Graves, our clergyman, known to you, ma’am. Graves, this is Mrs Harte.’
‘I have heard a great deal about you, ma’am,’ Graves said, bowing over her hand. ‘I hope I shall see you in church on Sunday.’
Donna made a non-committal response and endured an introduction to Mrs Graves, whose attitude bordered upon the impertinent.
‘Is that what passes for Christian charity in these parts?’ Donna asked Cal as he frowned at Mrs Graves and led Donna away.
‘Don’t let it …’
‘Lord Arndale, you are needed at once.’ Lady Seymour bustled up to him. ‘We need you to settle a dispute. Melanie is quite determined to ?’
‘Allow me to present Mrs Harte,’ Cal said, having no intention of being dragged into the presence of the annoying Melanie Seymour when dinner was on the point of being announced. Cal could see through Lady Seymour’s strategy and was not about to be taken in by it. Besides, Lady Seymour had behaved rudely by not requesting an introduction and deserved to be put in her place.
He glanced at Metcalf, who took the hint and announced dinner.
‘Mrs Harte,’ he said, once again extending his arm. ‘May I have the pleasure?’
Lady Seymour looked scandalised, muttered something unintelligible and turned away.
‘You realise that you have disappointed all the young ladies in the room by escorting an old hag like me into dinner,’ Donna said as Cal led the procession into the dining room. ‘You don’t have to worry about me. I don’t need your support to hold my own in this company.’
‘Has it occurred to you that I might actually enjoy your society?’
‘Not for a moment. I think you are playing some sort of game in which you are using me as a pawn without first having the courtesy to acquaint me with the rules of the game in question.’
Cal pretended to be shocked. ‘What a thing to suggest!’
‘I would have been perfectly content with one of your brothers, seated somewhere further down the table, where I would feel less like I was on display and being examined for flaws. Not that anyone will have to examine me for long to find a multitude of those, but that is not the point.’
‘Fishing for compliments, Mrs Harte?’
‘Not at all. I am a realist, Lord Arndale.’
Donna smiled and thanked him as he pulled out the chair on his right at the head of the table. She arranged her skirts to her satisfaction in a rustle of silk and sank into the soft cushions.
Cal went out of his way to entertain her during the course of the meal, ignoring the accusatory glowers being sent his way by his mother and Celia. The gentlemen, he was not surprised to notice, all showed a polite interest in Donna.
