“Lord Ardencaple,” Miss Lucy said, drawing his attention back to her as she smoothed the lap of her gown. “How do you find the weather today?”
What was the English fascination with the weather? She’d asked after his impression of the weather last night as well. Did the lass aspire to some sort of meteorological occupation? “Rather pleasant,” he said. “The sun is shining.” As if that weren’t obvious from the way it was streaming into the room, and if he had any doubts as to how ridiculous he sounded, he caught Lockhart in a slight roll of his eyes.
“Yes,” Lucy said, clasping her hands again. “It is shining, and quite brightly on such an early spring day. I had a walkabout earlier, and it felt quite warm.”
“Did it?” Lockhart asked. “But you asked for my cape, as if you were chilled.”
“Yes, and you were quite generous with it, Mr. Lockhart,” Miss Lucy said, glancing at him from the corner of her eye. “But then you will also recall that I returned it to you after a time, as I said I was warm.”
Lockhart smiled and nodded his recall; Grif wished to high heaven the man would hurry along and take his leave so that he might have a moment with Miss Lucy.
“Does it become very warm in Scotland, my lord? It seems so frightfully… north.”
“Aye, there are days of warmth,” he said. “But I’d wager not as many days as ye enjoy in London.”
“Ah, time has escaped me,” Lockhart said, pulling a timepiece from his pocket. “I’m afraid I must be going. You will have to carry on your delightfully riveting conversation about the weather without me.”
Diah, but Grif would have liked to put a fist in the middle of that contemptible smile. It was true what he’d always heard—the English Lockharts were a sorry, despicable lot.
Grif did not bother to return Lockhart’s cold smile as Lockhart strode across the room to Miss Lucy, who stood (which she had not done for poor Effington) and extended her hand to Lockhart. He took it, bowed deep, kissing her knuckles and lingering there for a moment before finally lifting his head. “I shall wish you a lovely day.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Lockhart dropped her hand and looked at Grif, who had come to his feet. Grif was slightly taller than his cousin, his shoulders broader, and, he thought a little smugly, decidedly younger. Lockhart bobbed his head, muttered, “Ardencaple,” and moved for the door without waiting for a reply.
Miss Lucy waited until the footman had closed the door behind him before she very carefully resumed her seat and once again smoothed the lap of her gown.
Grif sat, too. “I see that ye are quite the favorite lass, what with all yer gentlemen callers,” he remarked pleasantly. “’Tis enough to make a man a wee bit jealous.”
“Are you jealous, my lord?”
“Aye,” he said, leaning forward. “I’m jealous that I wasna there when ye needed a cloak. I’m jealous that another gentleman was allowed the favor of yer company. I should very much like to have a walkabout with ye, Miss Lucy.”
“Would you indeed?” she asked, smiling coyly. “Perhaps one day I might be so inclined.”
“Ah, now ye’ve given me a ray of hope, ye have,” he said, and sat forward a little farther as he stole a glimpse at the chaperone, and with his hand, brushed Lucy’s knee. “When might I have that walkabout, do ye suppose?”
She smiled at his hand still on her knee. “Why, Lord Ardencaple,” she murmured, lifting her amber gaze to his. “I couldn’t rightly say—so much depends on the weather after all.” And with a seductive smile, she brushed her fingers across his.
“Miss Lucy, I beg your pardon, but it is time for your music lesson,” the chaperone suddenly said.
Lucy moved her hand from Grif’s and rose gracefully. “I thank you for calling, my lord.”
“But… I’ve only just arrived!” Grif protested, gaining his feet.
“Would you make me tardy for my music lesson?” she asked, and gave him a sunny smile. “Good day, my lord!” She dipped a small curtsey and walked past him, out the door.
While Grif was trying to make sense of Miss Lucy Addison, Miss Anna Addison was trying to make sense of Drake Lockhart.
She had intercepted him as he had emerged from the sitting room, having wrenched the names of Lucy’s callers from the family’s butler: Lockhart, Effington, and Ardencaple.
At the mention of Drake, Anna hid herself in the salon just before the foyer, the door cracked so she could watch who came and went from the sitting room where Lucy held court.
She had waited for what seemed an eternity before she saw Effington come out, followed by Drake several minutes later. As he strode down the corridor, she slipped out of the salon, stood with her back to the silk-covered wall just before the corridor opened into the cavernous round foyer.
Surprise washed over Drake’s face when he saw her there, but then a smile spread his lips. “Miss Addison, what a pleasure,” he said instantly, reaching for her hand.