Page 10 of Her Impeccable Scoundrel
He’d also learned to hold his tongue and let others fill up the silence.
She gestured toward the desk. “The latest business reports from the solicitor as well as the ledgers for Chilcombe House are there. Those for Risley Manor are in Hampshire, but you’ll find reports from your land steward, Mr. Stockwell. I’ve sent off a letter to him, and I know that he will be happy to report here to spare you traveling there. If you will inform me what time you want dinner served, and where, I shall make all the arrangements.”
Her formal manner contrasted with all the femininity before him. She sounded like one of the subalterns assigned as his secretary at one of his postings.
Or like his own younger self, reporting to Wellington in Paris.
“Whatever time and place you’ve set for dinner will be fine with me.” He pointed toward the tray. “Won’t you join me now?”
She pursed her mouth, blinked, and said, “Certainly,” and set about pouring tea into the cup—the single cup provided—murmuring questions about sugar and milk.
A single cup. There was a message in that arrangement.
He smiled and said, “You must have that one, my dear.”
Gratified by the way she bristled at the added endearment, he pulled the bell himself, and sent the servant to bring a second cup.
When it arrived, she placidly filled it. “Cook has sent up a simple nuncheon on that covered dish. Adwick will convey your instructions to the kitchen if you’d prefer something different.”
This… this air of formality was not what he’d expected. He remembered Blythe as friendly and jolly, the sort of girl who’d make an affectionate wife, and the rumors portrayed her as vulgarly accommodating with Archie’s friends. This Blythe appeared polite and distant, but he recognized the animosity simmering under the façade of courtesy in what was now his home.
His home, and hers. What was he to do with her? What would she allow him to do with her?
For now, he would probe her a little and see what he could find under the composed surface.
“You were surprised to see me.” He studied her over the rim of his cup.
She lifted her eyes, the first true meeting of their gazes since the drawing room. Vulnerability flashed and was quickly shuttered. Her back stiffened, her chin rose infinitesimally.
“Certainly,” she said, “had I known you were arriving today, I would not have been entertaining callers in your drawing room.”
“A drawing room filled with gentlemen, I noticed.”
“Did you not see Mrs. Netley and her daughter?”
Perhaps he had, but he only remembered the coxcomb in a green waistcoat and collars so high they touched his ears, seated so close to Blythe that his leg touched hers.
“Ah, well, she was indeed there,” she said, her tone mild, “and I give you fair warning. She is the greatest gossip of the ton, second only to Lord Vernon, the man who was seated next to me.”
“Lord Vernon,” he mused. Morley had mentioned Lord Vernon.
“Lord Vernon Falfield. He was a friend of the late earl. A frequent visitor to Risley Manor. No doubt he will call on you.”
“I trust you will entertain him for me?”
Again, she lifted her gaze from the teacup and said nothing.
Morley’s gossip about Lord Vernon had included rumors about Archie and Blythe’s entertainments. It was hard to believe this composed lady could have been the tart depicted in the old caricatures Morley described.
Though rumors, he reminded himself, often held a grain of truth.
The silence grew uncomfortable. “I suppose the social niceties require me to convey my condolences to you on the death of your husband.”
“Yes, well. And you have lost your cousin. Though the inheritance is a boon to you.” She frowned into her cup. “And, I hope, you will be a boon to the people who are depending on you. Archie was not much engaged in…” The worry lines deepened. “In estate matters.”
Would she tell him now what Archie was interested in?
“He was fortunate to have competent administrators,” she said. “Mr. Fleming and the land steward are both men of sterling character.”
