If James had to spend one more minute in the company of Blanche Oswald, he was going to climb to the top of the house and leap off the side. George and their mother would just have to manage affairs without him. Burke would mourn, of course, but after a few months George would tire of his moping and get him a new hunting dog. They would name it ‘James’ and all try to move on. Corbins always kept a stiff upper lip.
These were the thoughts swirling in his head as Blanche prattled away, hand curled possessively around his arm, as she told him everything he didn’t want to know about why Scottish reels were superior to English ones.
“And of course, I like ‘Maxwell’s Rant’ better than ‘Hamilton House,’ but my favorite must be ‘Moneymusk.’ Do you like to dance, Lord James?”
“Undoubtedly.” That was the third time she’d asked him.
She scarcely paused for breath as they took their third turn around the garden, still chattering away. Burke seemed to intuit he needed saving. “Miss Blanche,” he called. “Won’t you join me in a game of lawn bowls?”
“Oh yes, lets,” Blanche cooed, holding tighter to James’ arm.
Burke let out a laugh. “Trust me when I say, you want James watching. He can’t bowl for anything. He’s as likely to sling it straight into the hedge. Eh, James?” He jabbed James playfully in the ribs.
“Quite,” James replied, forcing a smile.
“And his dancing is worse,” Burke added with a feigned sigh of disappointment. “It’s tragic, really. The lord was born with two left feet.”
Blanche gave James an appraising look, as if not being able to dance was a cardinal sin. She let go of his arm and flitted away as she called on the Swindon sisters to join her.
“You owe me,” Burke muttered, still wearing his fake smile.
“Hmm, I let you live here rent free, so…”
“Fine, we’ll call it even. Now get out of here, before I tell the whole party you’re the best bowler for three counties.”
James took his chance, not offering a word to Renley or George before he slipped away. He trotted up the sweeping stone steps towards the new wing. Not that it was especially ‘new,’ for it dated back to the reign of William of Orange. But it was the newest part of the house in terms of construction, so the name stuck.
He only got three steps inside the hall before he paused. Miss Harrow was curled up in the nearest window seat, her face streaming with tears. Something in his chest squeezed tight as his pulse raced. Had someone hurt her?
“Oh,” she said on a gasp, wiping at her eyes. “Forgive me, I shouldn’t…I’ll go—” She slipped out of the window seat, clutching a stack of letters in her hand. He noticed the way she tried to conceal them on the side of her skirts as she stood.
“What happened?” His voice came out like a low growl. Why was he being so rude? He was sure he sounded angry. Her answering flinch confirmed it.
“Nothing, my lord. I…it’s nothing.” She wiped at her eyes again.
Christ’s sake. Burke told him she was called in to see his mother. He took a step closer. “What did my mother say to you?”
She swallowed, shoulders tense as she fought the urge to back away from him. “She…we…we discussed my mother, my lord. I wasn’t quite prepared for…I haven’t let myself mourn, and with everything…” She gestured at nothing with her empty hand. The hand holding the letters was still angled behind her.
If this were Burke or George tying to be evasive, he’d lunge forward and snatch the letters away, but this was a lady. As badly as he wanted to know what she was hiding, he couldn’t dare ask her to hand over a possession. Perhaps they were merely old letters exchanged between his mother and hers. That would certainly explain the tears…
“Did my mother say why you’re here?” He took another step closer, and she stiffened. He ignored the sting of her rejection. Why should he care what she wanted? This was his house. It would be his mess to clean up when whatever scheme his mother was plotting inevitably fell apart.
“She just wanted to meet me, sir. To condole with me my mother’s passing.”
It felt like a lie…or if not a lie, certainly an obfuscation of the whole truth. James fought the urge to press her harder. She didn’t owe him answers, and he felt instinctively that a firm hand wasn’t the way to get what he wanted from her. He checked his pocket watch. “It’s almost ten o’clock. Tea will be served in the drawing room. Why don’t I take you and introduce you to the other ladies?”
She stiffened again. “I need…I’d like to go to my room first.”
He frowned. Ahh, of course. She needed to hide her letters.
“But I got turned around when I left the duchess’ study,” she admitted. “I don’t know the way.”
He pointed past her. “Go down the hall and turn left. There’s a back stair. It will take you up to the guest corridor on the third floor.”
She nodded and gave an odd little curtsy. If he wasn’t so annoyed with his mother, he might just find it charming. Miss Harrow clearly had no idea how to act in the presence of a lord. How refreshing to know there was one person in this house besides Burke who wasn’t ruled by high society conventions.
“Thank you, my lord,” she murmured.
He watched the soft sway of her hips as she moved away. The bundle of letters was now carefully concealed in front of her as she disappeared around the corner.
James fought the urge to grind his teeth.
Mother, what the hell kind of game are you playing now?
