“Oh no. I consider myself the one blessed. A comfortable situation, and treated with such courtesy. And Sophronia can be a very pleasant companion at times, great fun. What will happen, though, now the new viscount is here?”
Chloe heard real anxiety in the woman’s voice. It had never occurred to her before that Justin might want to change the Dowager’s situation. She would just have to make sure he had no such idea.
“Nothing will change,” she said firmly.
Miss Forbes relaxed. “Oh, that is such good news.”
As she returned along the corridor, Chloe hoped she could make her words come true. She could not believe, however, that Justin would be harsh with the harmless old lady, or try to send her away from her home.
Chloe went back into the main part of the house and scratched at a door, to be admitted by a pretty young maid.
Chloe went over to drop a kiss on the cheek of her grandmother, who was sitting before a mirror, delicately applying rouge to her withered cheeks. Her dressing table was also crowded with jars and bottles, but this time they were all creams, perfumes, and cosmetics.
“Prettying yourself up for Justin?” Chloe teased as she perched on the padded bench beside the old lady.
The Duchess poked her with a bony finger. “Wait until you’ve fifty more years in your dish, gel. You’ll take to the paint pots too so as not to look like a death mask. It’s your color, anyway, which sets me off.”
Chloe looked at herself in the mirror and her eyes twinkled. “This pink does suit me marvelously well, doesn’t it?”
The Duchess dropped the brush carelessly among the pots and turned to her granddaughter. “What are you about, Chloe? Fancy remaining Lady Stanforth now you’ve seen him again?”
Chloe hoped the extra color she could feel warming her cheeks was not obvious. “Of course not. I told you. No more Dashing Delameres for me. I’m looking for sober respectability.”
“Gone off, has he?” said the Duchess dryly. “He used to be a handsome rogue and I didn’t hear he’d got scarred or anything, though it was touch and go with his leg at one time I understand.”
“In ’08. He was in England for a while to recuperate, but he stayed in Essex with his sister. Stephen went to see him and said he’d grown stuffy.”
“Grown stuffy? He was mentioned in dispatches not long after he got back to his company. Anyway,” the old lady added slyly, “I thought stuffy was what you wanted, my dear.”
As her grandmother stood to have her black gown slipped over her head by the pretty maid—“I always wear black because at my age someone’s always dying. One ugly face in a room is enough”—Chloe considered the matter.
“After your words of wisdom, Grandmama, I’m not sure I want stuffy by my fireside for the rest of my life. Besides, it was Stephen who said Justin had sobered, and perhaps it was just pain and a brush with death, for he does not seem so very changed to me. No, I still seek dependability, and Justin is not so changed as all that. I’ll lay odds he’s still ripe for adventures. Why else would he bring Randal along?”
The Duchess’s shrewd eyes took in her finery again. “Then it’s not Randal you’re seeking to impress either, I suppose. Dependable ain’t the word for him.”
Chloe tilted her head thoughtfully. “I’ve never known him to let anyone down.”
“There’s a lesson for you if you’ve wit to see it. I always said the two of you were dashed alike, but don’t set your cap at him. I don’t hold with cousins marrying, and you wouldn’t suit.”
“Set my cap!” exclaimed Chloe, feeling flustered. “Grandmama, really. I’ll have you know I have dressed so smartly merely to impress upon everyone that I’m a fully grown woman who has not totally lost her attractions.” She ignored a disbelieving snort from the old lady and carried on, “I assure you, however, that I think of Randal as a brother, and Dashing Justin Delamere is the
Chloe heard real anxiety in the woman’s voice. It had never occurred to her before that Justin might want to change the Dowager’s situation. She would just have to make sure he had no such idea.
“Nothing will change,” she said firmly.
Miss Forbes relaxed. “Oh, that is such good news.”
As she returned along the corridor, Chloe hoped she could make her words come true. She could not believe, however, that Justin would be harsh with the harmless old lady, or try to send her away from her home.
Chloe went back into the main part of the house and scratched at a door, to be admitted by a pretty young maid.
Chloe went over to drop a kiss on the cheek of her grandmother, who was sitting before a mirror, delicately applying rouge to her withered cheeks. Her dressing table was also crowded with jars and bottles, but this time they were all creams, perfumes, and cosmetics.
“Prettying yourself up for Justin?” Chloe teased as she perched on the padded bench beside the old lady.
The Duchess poked her with a bony finger. “Wait until you’ve fifty more years in your dish, gel. You’ll take to the paint pots too so as not to look like a death mask. It’s your color, anyway, which sets me off.”
Chloe looked at herself in the mirror and her eyes twinkled. “This pink does suit me marvelously well, doesn’t it?”
The Duchess dropped the brush carelessly among the pots and turned to her granddaughter. “What are you about, Chloe? Fancy remaining Lady Stanforth now you’ve seen him again?”
Chloe hoped the extra color she could feel warming her cheeks was not obvious. “Of course not. I told you. No more Dashing Delameres for me. I’m looking for sober respectability.”
“Gone off, has he?” said the Duchess dryly. “He used to be a handsome rogue and I didn’t hear he’d got scarred or anything, though it was touch and go with his leg at one time I understand.”
“In ’08. He was in England for a while to recuperate, but he stayed in Essex with his sister. Stephen went to see him and said he’d grown stuffy.”
“Grown stuffy? He was mentioned in dispatches not long after he got back to his company. Anyway,” the old lady added slyly, “I thought stuffy was what you wanted, my dear.”
As her grandmother stood to have her black gown slipped over her head by the pretty maid—“I always wear black because at my age someone’s always dying. One ugly face in a room is enough”—Chloe considered the matter.
“After your words of wisdom, Grandmama, I’m not sure I want stuffy by my fireside for the rest of my life. Besides, it was Stephen who said Justin had sobered, and perhaps it was just pain and a brush with death, for he does not seem so very changed to me. No, I still seek dependability, and Justin is not so changed as all that. I’ll lay odds he’s still ripe for adventures. Why else would he bring Randal along?”
The Duchess’s shrewd eyes took in her finery again. “Then it’s not Randal you’re seeking to impress either, I suppose. Dependable ain’t the word for him.”
Chloe tilted her head thoughtfully. “I’ve never known him to let anyone down.”
“There’s a lesson for you if you’ve wit to see it. I always said the two of you were dashed alike, but don’t set your cap at him. I don’t hold with cousins marrying, and you wouldn’t suit.”
“Set my cap!” exclaimed Chloe, feeling flustered. “Grandmama, really. I’ll have you know I have dressed so smartly merely to impress upon everyone that I’m a fully grown woman who has not totally lost her attractions.” She ignored a disbelieving snort from the old lady and carried on, “I assure you, however, that I think of Randal as a brother, and Dashing Justin Delamere is the
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