last man I will marry.”
The old lady’s shrewd eyes twinkled in her wrinkled face. “I hope whoever you choose is, my dear, or you’ll be regarded as a bit of a jinx. Come along, then. Let’s go and inspect the new Lord Stanforth. I can’t wait to see what he makes of all the Ladies Stanforth he’s inherited.”
4
C HLOE THOUGHT JUSTIN looked a little dazed at times and glancing around at the women in the room, she couldn’t blame him.
There was something to be said for the fact the Dowager could still fit in the green gown, which must surely date from before Stephen’s birth, but it would have been improved by the hoops it must originally have had. Their lack, and some loss of height over the years, meant the gown trailed around her in a very hazardous manner. Chloe wished she had noticed earlier. She made a mental note to have all the Dowager’s clothes shortened. In a quiet word to Miss Forbes she reminded her to make sure the Dowager went nowhere near the fire.
At least the oldest Lady Stanforth had not attempted the high hairstyle of her youth, but had contented herself with a voluminous cap decorated with love knots of matching green ribbon.
By comparison, the Dowager Duchess of Tyne, in her smart black with discreet diamonds, looked positively decorous—if one ignored the rouged cheeks and tinted lips. After a startled look, Justin seemed able to do just that. He was slightly acquainted with the Duchess, as most aristocracy were with each other, and Chloe was pleased to see them both conversing in an unexceptionable manner.
Belinda, Lady Stanforth, widow of George, was officially in half-mourning, but insisted in holding to deepest black. Chloe was not sure of the reason, as the young woman made no pretense of grief. Perhaps Belinda thought black suited her, though it did not in fact enhance her rosy cheeks and gingerish curls. Perhaps she thought it gave her dignity, and established her place at the Hall. She could not be unaware of how peculiar most people thought it of George to have married her.
Justin treated her with perfect civility. “I am very pleased to meet you,” he said. “As there is a confusing number of Lady Stanforths, I wonder if you would permit me to call you Belinda, or Aunt Belinda if you would prefer.”
“Aunt Belinda, I think, Stanforth,” said the young woman stiffly, younger than the man she was addressing. Her voice was quite well-bred, though it still held a trace of Lancashire. She lowered her eyes as she added, “I would not like any impression of familiarity between us, us being of an age and living in the same house, perhaps alone together when Chloe leaves.”
Chloe stared. Was this nervousness, or was Belinda perhaps thinking she could remain Lady Stanforth? She had not thought the girl so foolish as to think Justin would marry her. She was aware of a spurt of outrage at the thought. She was also reminded of something.
“Justin. A letter came a few days ago from Humphrey Macy, Uncle George’s friend, asking leave to visit. Knowing you would be arriving soon, I put it on one side for you.”
“Humphrey Macy likes apples too,” said the Dowager in her piercing voice, causing a slight hiatus in the conversation.
“Most people do, Aunt Sophy,” said Justin after a moment, and Chloe admired his kindness to the older lady. “What would he want here?” he asked of Chloe.
“Well, he was here nearly all the time George was viscount, you know. He . . . er . . . well, to be straight about it, he says he wants to become better acquainted with Belinda.”
Belinda colored at this but did not appear unequivocally pleased. In fact, she looked a little alarmed, though her voice was calm. “He is a very pleasant gentleman, I’m sure. But old.”
This was accompanied by a glance at Justin, and a rather more cautious flicker of the eyes toward the glittering Lord Randal. Chloe saw that young man’s lips twitch, and resolved to have a word with him as soon as
The old lady’s shrewd eyes twinkled in her wrinkled face. “I hope whoever you choose is, my dear, or you’ll be regarded as a bit of a jinx. Come along, then. Let’s go and inspect the new Lord Stanforth. I can’t wait to see what he makes of all the Ladies Stanforth he’s inherited.”
4
C HLOE THOUGHT JUSTIN looked a little dazed at times and glancing around at the women in the room, she couldn’t blame him.
There was something to be said for the fact the Dowager could still fit in the green gown, which must surely date from before Stephen’s birth, but it would have been improved by the hoops it must originally have had. Their lack, and some loss of height over the years, meant the gown trailed around her in a very hazardous manner. Chloe wished she had noticed earlier. She made a mental note to have all the Dowager’s clothes shortened. In a quiet word to Miss Forbes she reminded her to make sure the Dowager went nowhere near the fire.
At least the oldest Lady Stanforth had not attempted the high hairstyle of her youth, but had contented herself with a voluminous cap decorated with love knots of matching green ribbon.
By comparison, the Dowager Duchess of Tyne, in her smart black with discreet diamonds, looked positively decorous—if one ignored the rouged cheeks and tinted lips. After a startled look, Justin seemed able to do just that. He was slightly acquainted with the Duchess, as most aristocracy were with each other, and Chloe was pleased to see them both conversing in an unexceptionable manner.
Belinda, Lady Stanforth, widow of George, was officially in half-mourning, but insisted in holding to deepest black. Chloe was not sure of the reason, as the young woman made no pretense of grief. Perhaps Belinda thought black suited her, though it did not in fact enhance her rosy cheeks and gingerish curls. Perhaps she thought it gave her dignity, and established her place at the Hall. She could not be unaware of how peculiar most people thought it of George to have married her.
Justin treated her with perfect civility. “I am very pleased to meet you,” he said. “As there is a confusing number of Lady Stanforths, I wonder if you would permit me to call you Belinda, or Aunt Belinda if you would prefer.”
“Aunt Belinda, I think, Stanforth,” said the young woman stiffly, younger than the man she was addressing. Her voice was quite well-bred, though it still held a trace of Lancashire. She lowered her eyes as she added, “I would not like any impression of familiarity between us, us being of an age and living in the same house, perhaps alone together when Chloe leaves.”
Chloe stared. Was this nervousness, or was Belinda perhaps thinking she could remain Lady Stanforth? She had not thought the girl so foolish as to think Justin would marry her. She was aware of a spurt of outrage at the thought. She was also reminded of something.
“Justin. A letter came a few days ago from Humphrey Macy, Uncle George’s friend, asking leave to visit. Knowing you would be arriving soon, I put it on one side for you.”
“Humphrey Macy likes apples too,” said the Dowager in her piercing voice, causing a slight hiatus in the conversation.
“Most people do, Aunt Sophy,” said Justin after a moment, and Chloe admired his kindness to the older lady. “What would he want here?” he asked of Chloe.
“Well, he was here nearly all the time George was viscount, you know. He . . . er . . . well, to be straight about it, he says he wants to become better acquainted with Belinda.”
Belinda colored at this but did not appear unequivocally pleased. In fact, she looked a little alarmed, though her voice was calm. “He is a very pleasant gentleman, I’m sure. But old.”
This was accompanied by a glance at Justin, and a rather more cautious flicker of the eyes toward the glittering Lord Randal. Chloe saw that young man’s lips twitch, and resolved to have a word with him as soon as
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