“A drink, Benedict. And one for Miss Godwin also.”
“Just so, Mama.” Sotherton rose from his chair and moved toward the sideboard.
“Good evening, Niall.” She helped herself to Sotherton’s fireside chair. Her companion followed glumly in her wake, then halted, sentinel-like next to her mistress.
“Grandmother.” Killiane leaned closer and offered the dowager a peck on her cheek.
“You look well.” She patted his arm, then peered at Julian as if she were inspecting her linens for flaws. “Good evening, Chambelston. For a minute, I thought you were your father. You really do have the look of him, you know.”
“Thank you, my lady.” Julian accepted her words as a compliment, whether meant as such or not.
“Unlike some in this household, I was sorry to hear of his demise.” Her watery blue eyes focused on her grandson’s friend. “Will you be staying long, Mr. Warren?”
“Only until Friday, my lady.” He offered her a bow, then returned to his silence.
“Here you are, ladies.” Sotherton approached the two women with goblets.
The dowager sniffed her appreciation as she accepted her due. Though of an age with Julian’s mother, the woman’s years sat heavily on her face in wrinkles and frowns and discontent. Despite some three decades of widowhood, she yet wore unrelieved black that contrasted harshly with her pasty skin and rouged cheeks. Her fierce countenance found an echo in the sour features of the companion who hovered behind. A niggling of sympathy fluttered through Julian for his sister Elizabeth’s lot here. Perhaps surrounded by such disagreeable dispositions, he would have developed a like aversion to familial relationships.
A feminine giggle echoed from the hallway. The dowager’s frown lines deepened as Lady Teresa and her governess slipped into the room.
“Ah, Teresa.” Sotherton ignored his mother’s grumblings of annoyance. “Chambelston, you know my daughter. Allow me to present her governess, Miss Vance.”
“Miss Vance.” Anger and awareness warred within him as he drank in her gleaming tresses, her perfect posture, her subtle—and now familiar—scent of lavender. The rich chocolate of her dress complemented the variegated browns and greens of her eyes while an ivory shawl found a counterpart in the creamy glow of her cheeks.
“My lord. I’m delighted to make your acquaintance.” Cynical amusement flickered in the gaze that met his before she dipped her head and dropped into a deferential curtsey, as if they were strangers only newly met.
“Miss Vance.” Killiane edged between Julian and the governess and offered her a bow. The bored indifference fell away, replaced by genuine interest and...admiration? “It’s been too long since I last saw you.”
“Lord Killiane.” Surprise and pleasure softened her lips into a smile that revealed an intriguing dimple on her right cheek. “How pleasant to meet you again.”
Irrational jealousy fed Julian’s frustration. At her. At Killiane.
A feminine hand tapped against his sleeve. “I fear the storm worsens. We may be blessed with your company until spring, Lord Chambelston.” Lady Teresa’s words drew Julian’s stare from her governess—and that ever-present, ever-treacherous bond he felt. His niece’s black hair gleamed with fiery red sparks in the candlelight, and mischief danced in her violet-blue eyes. Bands of painful memory constricted around Julian’s heart as he looked into her face, so like that of his sister of twenty years ago, before disillusionment had hardened her heart and attitudes and features.
“Teresa is anxious for spring,” Sotherton explained to Julian with an indulgent smile. “This year, she travels to London for her presentation to the queen.”
“And eligible young men, of course.” The dowager sniffed again. “A lot of expensive nonsense, if you ask me. In my day a young lady’s father chose a suitable match for her, and that was the end of it.”
An easier option
“Just so, Mama.” Sotherton rose from his chair and moved toward the sideboard.
“Good evening, Niall.” She helped herself to Sotherton’s fireside chair. Her companion followed glumly in her wake, then halted, sentinel-like next to her mistress.
“Grandmother.” Killiane leaned closer and offered the dowager a peck on her cheek.
“You look well.” She patted his arm, then peered at Julian as if she were inspecting her linens for flaws. “Good evening, Chambelston. For a minute, I thought you were your father. You really do have the look of him, you know.”
“Thank you, my lady.” Julian accepted her words as a compliment, whether meant as such or not.
“Unlike some in this household, I was sorry to hear of his demise.” Her watery blue eyes focused on her grandson’s friend. “Will you be staying long, Mr. Warren?”
“Only until Friday, my lady.” He offered her a bow, then returned to his silence.
“Here you are, ladies.” Sotherton approached the two women with goblets.
The dowager sniffed her appreciation as she accepted her due. Though of an age with Julian’s mother, the woman’s years sat heavily on her face in wrinkles and frowns and discontent. Despite some three decades of widowhood, she yet wore unrelieved black that contrasted harshly with her pasty skin and rouged cheeks. Her fierce countenance found an echo in the sour features of the companion who hovered behind. A niggling of sympathy fluttered through Julian for his sister Elizabeth’s lot here. Perhaps surrounded by such disagreeable dispositions, he would have developed a like aversion to familial relationships.
A feminine giggle echoed from the hallway. The dowager’s frown lines deepened as Lady Teresa and her governess slipped into the room.
“Ah, Teresa.” Sotherton ignored his mother’s grumblings of annoyance. “Chambelston, you know my daughter. Allow me to present her governess, Miss Vance.”
“Miss Vance.” Anger and awareness warred within him as he drank in her gleaming tresses, her perfect posture, her subtle—and now familiar—scent of lavender. The rich chocolate of her dress complemented the variegated browns and greens of her eyes while an ivory shawl found a counterpart in the creamy glow of her cheeks.
“My lord. I’m delighted to make your acquaintance.” Cynical amusement flickered in the gaze that met his before she dipped her head and dropped into a deferential curtsey, as if they were strangers only newly met.
“Miss Vance.” Killiane edged between Julian and the governess and offered her a bow. The bored indifference fell away, replaced by genuine interest and...admiration? “It’s been too long since I last saw you.”
“Lord Killiane.” Surprise and pleasure softened her lips into a smile that revealed an intriguing dimple on her right cheek. “How pleasant to meet you again.”
Irrational jealousy fed Julian’s frustration. At her. At Killiane.
A feminine hand tapped against his sleeve. “I fear the storm worsens. We may be blessed with your company until spring, Lord Chambelston.” Lady Teresa’s words drew Julian’s stare from her governess—and that ever-present, ever-treacherous bond he felt. His niece’s black hair gleamed with fiery red sparks in the candlelight, and mischief danced in her violet-blue eyes. Bands of painful memory constricted around Julian’s heart as he looked into her face, so like that of his sister of twenty years ago, before disillusionment had hardened her heart and attitudes and features.
“Teresa is anxious for spring,” Sotherton explained to Julian with an indulgent smile. “This year, she travels to London for her presentation to the queen.”
“And eligible young men, of course.” The dowager sniffed again. “A lot of expensive nonsense, if you ask me. In my day a young lady’s father chose a suitable match for her, and that was the end of it.”
An easier option
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