“See, my dear,” Mr. Witherspoon soothed. “Even the earl trusts Miss Claremont.” He looked between Geoffrey and Liliana again, eyes squinted slightly. “We can do no less.”
A dubious look crossed Mrs. Witherspoon’s face, but she gave a stilted nod. “Let’s get you situated, Harold, dear. Then I’ll see to taking down the drapes.”
“Nonsense,” Geoffrey said, stepping forward. “You’ll feel better if you stay with your husband. With the assistance of your maid, I can see to opening up the cottage.”
Both Witherspoons turned, looks of horror on their faces and denials spewing from their lips.
Geoffrey cut them off with a raised hand. “I insist.” He turned his commanding look upon Liliana. “Will you see them settled outside, Miss Claremont?”
“Of course,” she said slowly, nearly in as much shock as the Witherspoons. No man of quality she knew would deign to do manual labor in service to a servant. A retired servant at that. Liliana felt a softening sensation, somewhere in her chest, that she attempted to ignore. She moved to Mr. Witherspoon’s side and assisted Mrs. Witherspoon in maneuvering him to the courtyard.
After he was seated comfortably, Liliana asked, “Are you chilled? I could fetch a blanket for your lap.”
Mrs. Witherspoon waved her offer aside. “I shall fetch one,” she said, bustling into the house and leaving Liliana at last alone with the former valet. Now was her chance.
But Mr. Witherspoon closed his eyes, lifting his face to the sun and resting the back of his head on the chair. He inhaled a deep breath, and a rickety smile crossed his face. Liliana found she couldn’t interrupt his obvious pleasure. Goodness knows when he was last allowed outside.
Instead, she turned her gaze to the rustling drapes through the parlor window. The fabric shifted, tightened and then disappeared altogether, leaving Liliana with a clear view of the Earl of Stratford shaking out drapery and chatting amiably with a blushing maid of all work. Who could blame the girl? It must be surreal for her to be working hand in hand with a Lord of the Realm.
Liliana watched as Geoffrey deftly folded the drape and moved on to another. Who was this man? He certainly wasn’t at all who she’d expected him to be, and if that were the case, would he even—
“He’s chosen well,” came Mr. Witherspoon’s weathered voice.
Liliana jumped in her seat, snapping around to look at the old man. He was still resting his head against the back of the chair, but his eyes were open and he regarded her closely.
“We’d all heard that a bunch of fine ladies had descended upon the manor. Everyone speculated the earl had finally decided to take a bride,” Mr. Witherspoon continued. “I’m only glad to see he’s chosen a bride of such quality. Not like his father did, poor man.”
Of course he would make such an assumption, considering that as far as they knew, she and Geoffrey had appeared on their doorstep together. Why else would Geoffrey bring her to pay a call if they weren’t affianced? Liliana opened her mouth to correct the man, heat touching her cheeks. But she stopped just short of issuing the denial. Something in Witherspoon’s tone made her hold her tongue. She might as well take this conversation as far as it would go. There would be enough time to correct his misassumption.
“The late earl was not happy in his marriage?” she asked.
“Ha!” the old man huffed, which sent him into a fit of coughs. When he regained control, he sat up straight and leaned toward Liliana, who sat directly across from him.
“The earl and countess detested each other,” he said. “Spent as much time apart as physically possible. She ran off to London every chance she got, while the old earl enjoyed the peace and solitude of the country. Only went up to Town for meetings of that Society of his.”
“Society?” Liliana asked. Certainly Edmund Wentworth had never been a member of the Royal Society of London for Improving Natural Knowledge, as her father had been. She’d memorized every bit of the Royal Society’s history in her so far unsuccessful bid to be the first woman admitted.
“Oh,” Mr. Witherspoon raised a hand and gestured side to side. “Antiqui-something. My lord loved anything to do with history, particularly history of far-off places.”
“The Royal Society of Antiquaries,” Liliana murmured. She couldn’t remember her father ever having any dealings with that group.
“That’s the one,” Mr. Witherspoon confirmed.
Well, that explained the Egyptian influence in the music room. Still, it brought her no closer to establishing a link between the late earl and her father.
“Anyway, the countess thought the earl was an old fool. Couldn’t understand his interest in anything but her. Course, it wasn’t like she was the least bit interested in him. Only thing that woman loved, if you could call it that, was that firstborn son of hers. Don’t mean to speak ill of the dead, but that boy was nothing but trouble. As for the current earl, I won’t go into how the countess treated him. Only one that cared a whit for that boy was his father.”
“Harold!” Mrs. Witherspoon whispered in a harsh voice as she came into the courtyard bearing a lap blanket.
“Now, Martha, dear,” Mr. Witherspoon said, slowly sitting back in his chair. “I’ve got one foot in the grave, and we both know it. What can that old witch do to me now? Besides, if my healing angel here is going to marry Stratford, she deserves to know what she’s getting for a mother-in-law.”
Liliana couldn’t bring herself to correct him yet. Tiny hairs rose on the back of her neck. There was something else he wanted to tell her—she was sure of it.
Mrs. Witherspoon frowned, settling the blanket around her husband’s legs. “It’s none of our business,” she muttered, glancing over her shoulder to where Geoffrey was still working in the parlor, but didn’t gainsay her husband further.
When she had him all tucked in, Mr. Witherspoon gave his wife an affectionate smile. “I think my appetite is returning, dearest. Might you fetch me some of your soup and a piece of bread?”
Mrs. Witherspoon gave him a wary look but obeyed, going back into the house.
Gooseflesh popped up on Liliana’s skin, so certain was she that she was about to hear something very important.
“After what you’ve done for me, I couldn’t let you join that family without warning you.” He reached forward and grabbed Liliana’s hand.
She shivered as his dry, papery skin slid over hers.
“Never trust the countess,” he said, giving her hand a squeeze. “Don’t ever turn your back on her.”
Liliana frowned. Having been the recipient of the woman’s dislike and calculating glares, she understood the sentiment. “But why?”
Mr. Witherspoon grimaced, releasing her hand and sitting back into his chair. He seemed to think about the question for a long moment, then let out a rusty sigh. “I’ve never spoken of this before. Not to anyone. But staring my own death in the eye has made me wonder if keeping silent all these years was the right thing to do.” He regarded her. “I’ll leave it up to you whether you share this with Stratford once you’re married. I’ve never had the courage to tell the boy myself.”