“About Miss Lacewood, Grandfather…”
He’d better have out with it—admit he’d fled like a coward before Angela Lacewood had a chance to refuse him a second time. Somehow he must make his grandfather understand that he could not go begging her repeatedly.
Before he could finish what he’d started to say, a discreet knock sounded on the library door and the earl’s valet peered in. “Miss Lacewood to see you, my lords.”
The earl set his book aside and rose to his feet rather unsteadily. “Bring her in, Carruthers, by all means. The dear girl hardly needs to stand on ceremony after all these years.”
Angela Lacewood breezed into the library, looking a trifle windblown but all the more attractive for it. “I hope you don’t mind my arriving out of the blue, my lord, but this seems to be a day for unexpected visits.”
When she held out her hand to him, the earl raised her fingers to his lips. “The only thing more pleasant than anticipating a regular visit from you, my dear, is receiving a surprise one.”
As she lavished the earl with a fond smile of dazzling intensity, Miss Lacewood cast Lucius a fleeting glance in which he perceived sorrow, valiantly restrained. So she did have some skill in masking her emotions, as she’d claimed.
Lucius was grateful that her pretense of felicity appeared to convince the earl.
Carruthers fetched her a chair and set it close to his master’s. When she thanked him with greater warmth than so small a service merited, the desiccated old stick beamed from ear to ear as he tottered back out of the library.
To his bafflement, Lucius felt a sharp, savage little twist deep in his gut. Surely it could not be anything so absurd as…envy?
“Do sit down, my dear.” The earl indicated the chair his valet had brought for her. “You sound a trifle winded.”
Angela had run most of the way from Netherstowe, yet it was only when she’d caught sight of Lucius Daventry again that she had found herself unaccountably breathless.
“Thank you, my lord.” She lowered herself onto the seat, as the earl settled back into his favorite chair. “You’re always such an attentive host.”
Lord Daventry did not resume his seat on the footstool from which he had risen so abruptly when she’d entered the room. Instead he skulked some distance away with his hands clasped behind his back, regarding her with an expression of thinly veiled wariness.
Clearly her unexpected arrival had put him on his guard, the way his appearance at Netherstowe had put Angela on hers. Forgetting for a moment her intent to show the man some compassion, she wondered how he liked this taste of his own medicine.
Perhaps he feared she might break down and tell the earl of his doctor’s dire prediction. If so, Lord Daventry had vastly underestimated her.
The next words out of his mouth disabused Angela of that notion. “Shall I give the two of you some privacy to enjoy your visit?”
Though the stiffness of his question irritated her, she saw past it and silently chided herself. Lord Daventry had been enjoying a quiet, private moment with his beloved grandfather, which she had interrupted. How many more such moments might they have in the coming weeks?
“Please don’t go, my lord!”
“No indeed,” insisted the earl in a voice that must have once been rich and resonant like his grandson’s but which now put Angela in mind of threadbare satin. “It is not as though Miss Lacewood has come courting me. I should be the one to withdraw and give the two of you a private moment.”
He shook his head and gave a soft chuckle. “But I don’t intend to.”
Angela fought a losing battle against the stinging blush that crept into her cheeks. At the same time, a yawning emptiness gaped within her, one that she sensed was but a foretaste of the bottomless void her dear friend’s passing would create in her life.
“I leave subtlety to the young,” said the earl. “You have time for it. At my age, I fear one must be indelicately frank if one expects to achieve one’s aims.”
He wagged his forefinger at Angela. “So no maidenly evasion about what brought you to Helmhurst, my dear. I hope you won’t hold it against my grandson that he told me he proposed to you.”
“Grandfather!” barked Lord Daventry.
The earl dismissed his grandson’s protest with a slight wave of his hand. “Carruthers and I extracted the confession under torture, of that you may be certain.”
For some reason the dry quip made Angela’s eyes prickle with tears she dared not shed.
Perhaps Lord Daventry sensed her distress, for he provided her a reasonable cover. “Please, Grandfather, you are embarrassing Miss Lacewood.”
She raised a hand to shield her brow, which gave her the moment she needed to compose herself.
“Is that so, my dear?” The earl sounded both surprised and contrite. “Well, you must pardon me as an old friend and an old fool. You know I’d never willingly do anything to distress you.”
Angela reached for his hand. She would not see the earl’s final months marred by the least shadow that was within her power to dispel.
“I’ve never doubted your kind intentions toward me, sir.” She hoped he would attribute any slight moisture in her eyes to excessive modesty. “It’s just that this has all taken me so greatly by surprise. I had no idea Lord Daventry knew of my existence, let alone that he entertained…tender feelings for me.”
She stole a glance in the baron’s direction only to find his gaze averted. His demeanor appeared as imperturbable as ever, yet it reminded Angela of the smooth surface of simmering water just prior to boiling.
She almost fancied she could hear his thoughts—Tender feelings, indeed!
Somehow, believing she had flustered him, even a little, restored a bit of her composure, which he had so thoroughly rattled.
The earl seemed to enjoy sporting with his grandson, too. “You may depend upon it that I have made my grandson favorably aware of your existence, dear child.”
“I hope you have not sung my praises so loud that Lord Daventry finds I cannot live up to your account of me.”
“On the contrary,” replied the earl with obvious relish. “He said I failed to do you justice.”
“Really, Grandfather!” cried Lord Daventry, confirming Angela’s suspicion about the simmering water. “If you mean to go on like this, then perhaps one of us should make himself scarce.”
“Nonsense.” The earl showed no sign of repentance. “What is wrong with relaying a word of praise to a young lady so vastly deserving of it.”
He turned to Angela. “No wonder you refused him, my dear, with that attitude. I expect his marriage proposal had all the romantic trappings of a legal writ.”
“Enough of this.” Lord Daventry stalked toward the library door. “I shall leave the pair of you to abuse me to your hearts’ content.”
A sickening tide of shame propelled Angela out of her chair to come between Lucius Daventry and his means of escape. “Please, my lord, don’t go.”
Though she knew her next words would probably vex him, she could not fathom why. Not that it mattered, for she could not bite them back. “I’m sorry. We didn’t mean to torment you, truly.”
“Speak for yourself, girl.” The earl leaned farther back in his chair, resting his chin against his clasped hands. “I have been chaffing my grandson like this since he was half his present size. He’s never taken an ounce of umbrage until today, which may betray his partiality for you.”
Angela