‘Seems you learned a great deal.’ No wonder Genna Summerfield sounded bitter.
Dell gave a dry laugh. ‘The estate manager was talkative, as well.’
‘Perhaps it would be a good idea to make amends.’ And it would not hurt for Dell to be in company a little.
Dell expelled a long breath. ‘I suppose I must try.’
Ross swirled the wine in his glass. ‘I would not recommend risking offending Lord Tinmore.’
Dell peered at him. ‘For someone with an aversion to politics, you certainly are cognizant of its workings.’
‘How could I not be? My father talks of nothing else.’ Ross refilled Dell’s glass. ‘I would not say I have an aversion, though. I simply know it will eventually consume my life and I am in no hurry for that to happen.’
Dell gulped down his wine and spoke beneath his breath. ‘I never wanted this title.’
Ross reached over and placed his hand on Dell’s shoulder. ‘I know.’
They finished the course in silence and were served small cakes for dessert.
When that too was taken away and the decanter of brandy set on the table, Dell filled both their glasses. ‘Oh, very well,’ he said. ‘I will invite them to dinner.’
Ross lifted his glass and nodded approvingly.
Dell looked him in the eye. ‘Be warned, though. The youngest sister is not yet married.’
Ross grinned. ‘I am so warned.’
* * *
Two days later, Genna joined her sister and Lord Tinmore at breakfast. Sometimes if she showed up early enough to share the morning meal and acted cheerful, she could count on being left to her own devices until almost dinner time. Besides, she liked to see if Lorene needed her company. There were often houseguests or callers who came out of obligation to the Earl of Tinmore. Most were polite to Lorene, but Genna knew everyone thought her a fortune hunter. Genna often sat through these tedious meetings so Lorene would not be alone, even though it was entirely Lorene’s fault she was in this predicament.
A footman entered the breakfast room with a folded piece of paper on a silver tray. ‘A message arrived for you, sir.’
Tinmore acknowledged the servant with a nod. The footman bowed and left the room again.
Tinmore opened the folded paper and read. ‘An invitation,’ he said, although neither Lorene nor Genna had asked. He tossed the paper to Lorene. ‘From your cousin.’
‘My cousin?’ Lorene picked up the paper. ‘It is from Lord Penford, inviting us to dinner tomorrow night at Summerfield House.’
Genna’s heart beat faster. Was she included?
‘We must attend, of course,’ Tinmore said officiously. ‘He peered over his spectacles at Genna. ‘You, too, young lady.’ He never called her by her name.
‘I would love a chance to see Summerfield House again!’ she cried.
Lorene did not look as eager. ‘I suppose we must attend.’
* * *
The next day Genna was determined not to agonise over what to wear to this dinner. After all, it would be more in the nature of a family meal than a formal dinner party. There would not be other guests, apparently, save his houseguest, perhaps. A small dinner party, the invitation said, to extend his hospitality to his neighbour and his cousins.
Genna chose her pale blue dress because it had the fewest embellishments. She allowed her maid to add only a matching blue ribbon to her hair, pulled up into a simple chignon. She wore tiny pearl earrings in her ears and a simple pearl necklace around her neck. She draped her paisley shawl over her arm, the one with shades of blue in it.
She met Lorene coming out of her bedchamber.
Lorene stopped and gazed at her. ‘You look lovely, Genna. That dress does wonders for your eyes.’
Genna blinked. Truly? She’d aimed to show little fuss.
‘Do I look all right?’ Lorene asked. ‘I was uncertain how to dress.’
Lorene also chose a plain gown, but one in deep green. Her earrings were emeralds, though, and her necklace, an emerald pendant. The dark hue made Lorene’s complexion glow.
Lorene looked like a creature of the forest. If Lorene were the forest, then Genna must be—what? The sky? Genna was taller. Lorene, small. Genna had blonde hair and blue eyes; Lorene, mahogany-brown hair with eyes to match. No wonder people whispered that they must have been born of different fathers. They were opposites. One earthbound. The other...flighty.
Genna put her arm around Lorene and squeezed her. ‘You look beautiful as always. Together we shall present such a pretty picture for our cousin he will wish he had been nicer to us.’
Lorene smiled wanly. ‘You are speaking nonsense.’
Genna grinned. ‘Perhaps. Not about you looking beautiful, though.’ They walked through the corridor and started down the long staircase. ‘What is he, anyway? Our fourth cousin?’
Lorene sighed. ‘I can never puzzle it out. He shares a great-great-grandfather or a great-great-great one with our father. I can never keep it straight.’
Genna laughed. ‘He got the fortunate side of the family, obviously.’
They walked arm in arm to the drawing room next to the hall where Lord Tinmore would, no doubt, be waiting for them. Before they crossed the threshold, though, they separated and Lorene walked into the room first, Genna a few steps behind her. Tinmore insisted on such formalities.
Lord Tinmore was seated in a chair, his neckcloth loosened. His valet, almost as ancient as the Earl himself, patted his forehead with a cloth. Tinmore motioned the ladies in, even though they were already approaching him.
Lorene frowned. ‘What is amiss, sir? Are you unwell?’
He gestured to his throat. ‘Damned throat is sore and I am feverish. Came upon me an hour ago.’
Lorene put her cloak and reticule on the sofa and pulled off a glove. She bent down and felt her husband’s wrinkled, brown-spotted forehead. ‘You are feverish. Has the doctor been summoned?’
‘He has indeed, ma’am,’ the valet said.
She straightened. ‘We must send Lord Penford a message. We cannot attend this dinner.’
Not attend the dinner? Genna’s spirits sank. She yearned to see her home again.
‘I cannot,’ Tinmore stated. ‘But you and your sister must.’
Genna brightened.
‘No,’ Lorene protested. ‘I will stay with you. I’ll see you get proper care.’
He waved her away. ‘Wicky will tend me. I dare say he knows better than you how to give me care.’
So typical of Tinmore. True, his valet had decades more experience in caring for his lordship than Lorene, but it was unkind to say so to her face.
‘I think I should stay,’ Lorene tried again in a more forceful tone.
Tinmore raised his voice. ‘You and your sister will attend this dinner and make my excuses. I do not wish to insult this man. I may need his good opinion some day.’ He ended with a fit of coughing.
A footman came to the door. ‘The carriage is ready, my lord.’
‘Go.’ Tinmore flicked his fingers, brushing them away like gnats buzzing around his rheumy head.