Page 32 of Her Impeccable Scoundrel
Jarrow raised his glass. “Bravo. I shall help you in any way possible to discover the truth.”
“Edward.” A portly matron filled the doorway and advanced into the room. “You have a visitor, I see.”
Graeme bowed while Jarrow introduced his mother. The glint in her squinty gaze and her obsequious smile told Graeme she already knew who he was.
Chapter Eight
“Come in, come in, Georgiana.” Mrs. Jarrow beckoned to a young woman with a striking resemblance to Mr. Jarrow.
He introduced his sister.
While Graeme expressed the usual platitudes at making the young lady’s acquaintance, her mother glowed and insisted he stay and hear Georgiana play the pianoforte.
Lady Hermione’s playful matchmaking was much less offensive. Perhaps that was because Blythe was meant to be his match.
Meant to be his match. It could be the perfect solution to their problems, if he could convince her.
For now, he allowed himself to be escorted to the parlor and preempted his hostess’s questioning by asking her about the surrounding neighbors and parish. While she reported, he nodded and made polite responses, and her daughter sat quietly watching the exchange with the same keen look of intelligence displayed by her brother. The musical performance had been forgotten.
Mrs. Jarrow finally paused and took a breath. “Have you only just arrived at Risley Manor?”
“Indeed,” he said. “Late yesterday afternoon.”
“And you have called on us immediately. We are honored, are we not, Georgiana?”
“Yes, Mama,” she said, dutifully, sharing a hint of a smile with her brother.
Perhaps it was obvious to Miss Jarrow that he’d been paying a call on her brother and not her mother.
Ah well, if he meant to settle in even for a short while at Risley Manor, he’d best find his way through the maze of matchmaking mamas.
Though when he thought of his need for a wife, it was Blythe, only Blythe, who came to mind.
“You must come for dinner,” Mrs. Jarrow said. “We have an excellent cook. Tonight… oh, not tonight. Tonight is the village assembly. Heavens, you must attend, Lord Chilcombe. It will be quite a jolly occasion—dignified though, of course—and a chance for you to meet all your neighbors.”
An assembly that very night. Would Blythe want to attend? She’d refused to dance at the ball they’d attended. He’d have another chance with her here, to hold her in his arms in a waltz, perhaps.
As he pondered how to respond to the invitation, his hostess went on.
“Forgive me for chattering away, my lord,” Mrs. Jarrow said, “I haven’t given you a moment to speak. You’ve arrived so suddenly we know very little about you. Is there a Lady Chilcombe who will be, er, joining you soon, or perhaps, who is already in residence at Risley Manor?”
Jarrow sighed. “Chilcombe, my mother is asking whether you are married.”
“I have no wife,” Graeme said. “However, there is a Lady Chilcombe in residence at Risley Manor. My late cousin’s widow has kindly accompanied me to acquaint me with the staff and the estate. Her widowed friend, Lady Hermione Gravelston, has come also.”
Mrs. Jarrow’s brows knitted together. “Georgiana,” she said. “Fetch my shawl from my room, please.”
Miss Jarrow showed no inclination to leave until her mother rather sharply prompted her again. She slid an apologetic look toward Graeme and departed.
Mrs. Jarrow had more to say, and it would be something unpleasant if she didn’t want her daughter to hear.
He didn’t want to hear it either. “I beg your pardon,” he said smoothly. “But I must away. Regarding that other matter, Jarrow?—”
“My lord,” Mrs. Jarrow put up a hand to stop him. “Before you leave, it behooves me to say, well, you and Lady Chilcombe residing together at Risley Manor. Well, Lady Chilcombe is not… is not received by any of the better families in the area, and I… I wonder if any lady friend of hers serving as chaperone is quite the thing.”
“Mother…” Jarrow said in a warning tone.
“You have been out of the country for many years, I’m told, so perhaps you are not aware of the… the… gossip about…”
