Ivo clenched his teeth and counted to ten. The muscle in his jaw popped. How many times was he going to have to tell his grandfather that he was not willing to fill his cousin’s shoes to the point of marrying Courtenay’s childhood sweetheart?
‘Your mother wished me to let you go your own way, make your own choice, but…’ The old man sputtered to an end, unable to find the words, a vein popping out in his forehead. ‘But I won’t allow you to throw your life away a second time on that woman.’
Ivo pressed his lips together to keep from yelling. Allowing this to become a shouting contest wouldn’t help. Gossip had obviously wound its way into the heart of Suffolk. His mother had undoubtedly succumbed to a case of the vapours, resulting in his grandfather appearing like an avenging archangel to drag him home by the scruff.
He was a grown man, for heaven’s sake. Not a boy to be schooled, or a dog to be called to heel. And his grandfather had nothing he wanted. Nothing to hold over him, which enraged the old man all the more.
The marquess opened the magazine that lay on the desk between them with an overly loud rustle, turned it, and slid it towards him with an elegant flick of his wrist.
Ivo stared down at the Tête-à-Tête feature of Town and Country.
Our newest earl, so recently returned to these shores from warmer, less discreet climes, has made a beeline to the side—and one can only assume the bed—of the amphibious Mrs E—. Considering how often they’ve been seen together one has to wonder if she’s thrown away that fabled die of hers and granted him carte blanche.
Ivo’s vision swam behind a red blur.
His grandfather raged on. Ivo let the tirade wash over him. How many times had he done this over the years? Arguing was pointless. The marquess was used to having his own way. Better to let him blow himself out.
‘They’ll be here tomorrow, and then you’ll do whatever it takes to sweep this mess under the rug.’
‘What?’ Ivo blinked. He’d clearly missed something.
‘Your mother. Miss Bagshott. And Miss Bagshott’s mother. They will be here tomorrow. You’ll squire them about town, take them to the theatre, to Astley’s, shopping. You’ll make a proper show of courting her. Then, in a few months when the gossip has died down, you’ll do your duty and you’ll marry.’
Ivo sucked in both cheeks. Jumping over the desk and throttling his grandfather wouldn’t make his life any easier, tempting as the prospect was.
Marry Miss Bagshott?
He’d see her in hell first.
George brooded in her boudoir all morning, listening to the coal fire pop in the grate. She drank too much tea and paced about the room in her dressing gown. Never before had she thought of her boys as an imposition. Something of a bore on occasion, but never an imposition. But last night had been awful. There had simply been no way to get them to leave. And Brimstone, damn him, had done it all on purpose.
Caesar pressed his head against her thigh and looked up at her longingly. She patted his huge head, rubbing the loose skin back and forth over his skull. He seemed especially dear to her after the fire that had claimed her maid’s life. If Maeve’s dislike of the dog hadn’t extended to shutting him in the stables for the night, she’d have lost him too.
It had been horrible to arrive home only to find out that Maeve, as well as several other guests, had died in a fire that had swept through the Dove and Snail. Maeve hadn’t been with her long, only a few months, since the maid she’d had since she was a girl had taken a well-earned retirement to a cottage on the estate, but it was a horror all the same.
Maybe she’d feel better after taking Caesar out for a walk. He shouldn’t suffer because of her foul mood.
They both needed air and action.
She took him on a long ramble through the still quiet shopping district of Old Bond Street and down to St James’s Park. She had learnt early on that the cows in Green Park were too much of a temptation for the dog. Horses, he seemed to sense, were not to be molested, but with cows all bets were off.
He was enough of a terror to the nursery maids taking their small charges out for a gentle morning airing. Inevitably, one of the children would come racing up to Caesar, who was only too happy to play. The child would wind up covered in slobber and dirt. More than once George had exited the park amid the shrieks of an irate maid to ‘Take that great beast away!’ while the children, oblivious to their elder’s distress, followed behind, begging George to return with Caesar the next day.
Today the park was filled with maids and their charges—tinkling laughs and high-pitched screeches echoed across the lawn—but none of Caesar’s devotees were present. George walked briskly around the lake while her dog gambolled along beside her. He woofeled menacingly at a stray cur who dared to bark at him, sniffed, and marked his territory. She called him back when he ran towards the water, smiling as he hung his head and returned to heel. Once away from the water, she snapped her fingers and he ran off ahead, tail wagging furiously.
She’d finally made the momentous decision to embark upon an affair. A liaison. And she couldn’t seem to manage to steal so much as an hour with Dauntry without being interrupted. There had to be a way.
Perhaps she’d confess all to Helen Perripoint. Helen
