“I like the quiet of the morning,” he said. And you’ve disturbed it. He cast a sideways glance in Marissa’s direction, willing her to come closer.
“I do as well. What a coincidence.”
Trent didn’t believe in coincidences, at least in regard to Lady Christina Sykes. “A lucky one,” he said, blandly polite.
“May I present my cousin? Miss Regina Applewaite.” Christina pulled the plump girl she’d been walking with forward.
“Miss Applewaite.” Trent bowed again before nodding in the direction of Jordana and Marissa. “My daughter, Miss Ives. And Lady Cupps-Foster.”
“His daughter’s chaperone,” Lady Christina informed Miss Applewaite before smiling up at Trent.
He kept his own smile pasted on his face, refusing to react to Christina’s assumption. He supposed it was a natural conclusion for her to make. “If you’ll excuse me, Lady Christina, Miss Applewaite, we were just about to take a turn around the path.”
A frown pulled down the corners of Lady Christina’s perfect, pink lips. She batted her eyes and waited for him to suggest she and Miss Applewaite join them. When he didn’t, Lady Christina gave a small, quiet, barely noticeable sound of frustration. Looking again in Marissa’s direction, she said in a voice that was sure to carry, “I’m pleased you’ve found an older widow to act as chaperone for Miss Ives, my lord. I had considered suggesting just that thing.”
“Indeed?” Christina was barely older than Jordana herself. Trent found her know-it-all manner off-putting to say the least.
“I was relieved when my mother informed me that you’d engaged Lady Cupps-Foster to fill the role.”
“I’m not sure how Lady Stanton came to such a conclusion.” Trent had never referred to Marissa as Jordana’s chaperone. Ever.
Christina’s fingers fluttered boldly just above Trent’s wrist. The tiny curls spilling from her coiffure and down her cheeks trembled in a fetching manner. “I grew curious, my lord, after seeing you dance with Lady Cupps-Foster at the Cambourne ball. And I drew an incorrect conclusion.” She bit her lip. “But my mother assured me your interest in Lady Cupps-Foster could only be for the benefit of Miss Ives, as you are a widower.”
“And how did Lady Stanton reason so?” Christina was unlikely to catch the hint of mockery in his tone.
“Well,” Lady Christina stuttered, glancing at Marissa.
Marissa stared back, brow raised, one foot tapping with impatience.
Trent was certain she could hear every word.
“Lady Cupps-Foster is many years your senior which would preclude—that is to say—your friendship with her is more professional in nature. My mother has cautioned me on jumping to ridiculous conclusions, especially when it clearly isn’t warranted.”
A sound of feminine outrage came from behind Trent.
“It is completely acceptable for you to ask an older widow to help you,” she hastily added, “in the absence of a Lady Haddon.” The fingertip of her glove dipped to Trent’s wrist. “Now that my mother has explained, I feel much better.”
Trent took a deep breath, momentarily shocked at Christina’s audacity. “If you’ll excuse me, I fear my daughter grows impatient. I bid you both good morning.”
“But they’re already wandering off,” Lady Christina said in a low tone. “They’ve left you in my care.”
Miss Applewaite made a nervous twitter.
He turned to see Marissa and Jordana retreating down the path, leaving him to his fate which he supposed he deserved for giving Lady Christina even a modest amount of encouragement.
Marissa’s skirts were twitching with agitation, her hips swaying with annoyance. She stopped abruptly and looked at him over her shoulder.
The sapphire eyes sparked with possessiveness as she took in Lady Christina and Trent. Jealousy flared sharply across her lovely features before Marissa turned her back on him. She straightened her shoulders, her attention returning to Jordana.
That gives me a fair amount of hope.
Trent bowed again. “Enjoy your walk. Lady Christina. Miss Applewaite.”
Lady Christina made a poof of disappointment as Miss Applewaite took her arm, moving her back the way they’d come, a footman and maid trailing at a discreet distance.
Trent hurried away, lengthening his strides to catch up with his daughter and Marissa. The two had their arms linked, and the sound of Marissa’s laughter met his ears.
A wonderful sense of joy filled Trent at the picture the two made, with their dark heads bent together like conspirators, their skirts swaying in tandem as they strolled along the path.
He quickened his steps.
There was nothing Trent wanted more than to see the sight before him for the remainder of his days.
9
Marissa listened with half an ear to Jordana who was babbling away about something to do with body parts. Honestly, the girl seemed enamored of grisly details. But she didn’t stop Jordana’s earnest chattering. Marissa had been far too busy watching Lady Christina flutter about Haddon like an overprivileged butterfly. She’d heard enough of the conversation between them to know the little nitwit had dismissed Marissa as nothing more than an elderly matron, undeserving of attention from a man like Haddon.
A raw, biting possessiveness had filled Marissa so sharply that her fingertips had burned as if scorched by a hot pot of tea. Folding her hands into her skirts, she forced her features to relax. It wouldn’t do for Haddon to guess at her feelings. She’d loved Reggie, but he’d never made her feel as if she needed to defend her claim on him.
But you don’t have a claim on Haddon.
Marissa had to resist the urge to march across the grass and slap Christina Sykes on her pretty, pink little face and challenge her for Haddon. Pistols at dawn. Or swords. She’d even defended herself with a large frying pan once.
Little twit.
“Have I said something to make you angry?” Jordana said. “You’re scowling.”
Haddon was nearly at their side, his legs making short work of the distance to join them.
“What? No, dear,” Marissa assured her, forcing a smile to her lips. “Whatever would make you think such a thing?”
“Papa says I’m far too blunt at
