Page 53 of Three Weeks with a Princess
“She arrived at the beginning of the week, and with only a few days’ notice,” Gillian said in a gloomy tone. “It was too late to cancel the ball because most of the invitations had already gone out. And then she insisted on inviting even more people.”
That was not a positive development in more ways than he could count.
Though the Dowager Duchess of Leverton was a genuinely good woman, she was remarkably high in the instep. And while she’d apparently accepted her son’s marriage to Gillian Dryden, her support for Lia was likely to be much less robust.
“I suppose it could be worse,” he said cautiously. “If Leverton’s mother has agreed to lend her countenance this evening, she must approve of Lia’s presentation to the Ton.”
“Yes, let’s all pretend that, shall we?” Gillian said brightly.
“And where is your sainted mother-in-law? I thought she’d be in the receiving line.”
“She’s right behind you, unfortunately,” Gillian muttered.
Jack had to bite the inside of his lip to keep from laughing as he turned to greet Leverton’s mother.
“Lord Lendale, how nice of you to finally grace us with your presence,” said the dowager, a short, stout woman who, despite the fact that she walked with a cane, carried herself with great dignity and a ramrod posture. “I began to think you would never arrive.”
“Your Grace, it’s a great pleasure to see you,” he said, bowing over her hand. “You’re looking in fine trim, as always.”
“None of that frippery, young man. It’s something I especially abhor.”
Jack saw a twinkle in the old girl’s eye. She might not always approve of him—which she’d told him any number of times over the years—but she’d grown used to him, almost seeing him as a second son.
“You look very nice tonight, Mother,” Gillian said politely. “That color is most becoming on you.”
Even Jack had trouble swallowing that one; the dowager was dressed in a particularly violent shade of purple.
The dowager duchess ignored the compliment. “Gillian, stand up straight. Your posture is simply ghastly.”
Gillian’s posture was anything but ghastly, but she rolled her eyes and pulled her shoulders up as her mother-in-law inserted herself into the receiving line next to her son.
“She loves to boss me around,” she said in a stage whisper to Jack. “It gives her something to do.”
“And cease that whispering, both of you,” the dowager added. “It is most unseemly.”
“Ears like a bat, too,” Gillian added.
“You’re incorrigible,” Jack said.
“So my dear mother-in-law tells me on an hourly basis. Now, stop holding up the receiving line and go find Lia.”
“I suppose I can’t put it off any longer, can I? I just hope to God we don’t get in another fight.”
She patted his arm. “Nonsense. She’s very eager to see you, I’m sure.”
“When did she get here?”
“About a half hour ago, with very little fanfare and only a minimum of gossip. That should please you.”
She knew he was still chafing that he hadn’t been part of Lia’s escort. He’d naturally assumed he would be, charged with warding off any rakes or bounders who might have the nerve to approach her. Given her insane plan to start looking for a protector, it had seemed an essential and sensible precaution. After all, if there was one thing he knew how to do, it was keep an eye out for Lia Kincaid.
Sir Dominic had not agreed with him, nor had Lia, saying it would only draw attention to his unusual connection with her family. In fact, Jack and Lia had exchanged a few choice words on the matter, which led to her storming out of the Hunters’ drawing room and leaving him with his mouth hanging open—again.
All he could do at this point was get as close as she would allow and do his best to protect her.
“All right, I’m going,” he said. “By the way, I do generally understand things once they’re explained to me a few times—preferably in one-syllable words.”
Gillian laughed. “I think you’re quite trainable, my lord. In fact, I’m sure we’ll be advancing to two- and even three-syllable words in no time.”
