Page 10 of Better Than a Duke
“And that’s not even taking into account that the rats might already have a king.” She straightened, sighing. “I just arrived from Shropshire, Edmund, not ten minutes ago. Tollins thought you were in the billiards room, Mr. Fredericks said you were in the kitchen, Mrs. Diffle said you were with Mr. Fredericks, and you nearly scared my hair white when you weren’t anywhere.”
With a grimace the lad walked up and hugged her around the waist. “I’m sorry, Mama. But I’m not rubbing Aunt Lady Margaret’s feet again.”
“You won’t need to.I’mhere for foot rubbing and to assist Aunt Margaret with her recovery.”
“Who’s Aunt Lady Margaret?” Rebecca asked, walking over to fold her arms over her chest and lean back against Beckett. “And what is she recovering from?”
“Gout,” Edmund supplied. “Her toe almost fell off.”
“Oh, that’s horrible! Someone would have to make her a wooden toe.”
“I could carve her one. I have a knife.”
“And that is another chat we need to have, then.” Mrs. Silbern took hold of her son’s hand, her gaze meeting Beckett’s as she turned back to the door. “You do not have permission to keep my son from me. Ever. Good day. No. Not good day. Just… day.”
Grabbing back the shovel, half dragging Edmund with her, she stalked out the front door and turned left, toward Grove House. Sniffing, Butler shut it soundly behind the pair. “Good heavens.”
“Evidently Edmund isnotan orphan,” Beckett mused.
“He told me already,” Rebecca contributed. “His papa died four years ago. His uncle just took the house where they’d been living because he likes to shoot ducks, so he and his mama have to stay here with his great-aunt and-uncle while they look for somewhere else to live.”
“You’re going to have to explain that. His uncle likes shooting ducks, so he took their house?”
“He’s making their house into a hunting lodge. Eddie says he’s a rusty guts.” Rebecca glanced at the shut door. “His mama yelled at you.”
It made a degree of sense, now, at least. “Yes, she did.” He followed her gaze. “But if you’d gone to Grove House without telling me, I would have gone over there and yelled ather,so I’m inclined to call us even.”
“I liked her.” Bouncing up on her toes, she headed back toward the library at the rear of the house. “She has spleen. You should apologize to her so I can have Eddie over again. He likes horses as much as I do.”
“I don’t think that could possibly be true, Cricket, but I will attempt to reason with her. Unless she comes at me with a blunderbuss or a broadsword. She seemed lethal.”
People didn’t generally yell or swing gardening tools at him, and she’d caught him completely flat-footed. Her frantic fury, though, he understood. Completely. No one came between him and Rebecca. In Lincolnshire, inside the boundaries of a large estate and the village located thereon, she’d had leave to wander, going wherever her thoughts took her. Generally in Mrs. Brubbins’scompany, but there had been moments when he hadn’t known where she was. And nothing scared him as much as that feeling.
In Mrs. Silbern’s shoes, he might well have begun swinging a shovel if someone refused to produce his child. Even so, composure and restraint weren’t the first words that came to mind when he conjured an image of her, all mad golden hair and snapping hazel eyes, but perhaps he did owe her an apology. From one widowed parent to another.
“I’m not a baby. You don’t have to hold my hand.” Edmund tugged at Iris Silbern’s grip.
“I’m holding your wrist; not your hand. And I’m holding your wrist because you broke your word to me. I asked you to stay here and mind your aunt and uncle until I finished emptying the house, Edmund. We’ve been apart for seven days.”
“You didn’t say I would have to rub her foot.”
Iris Silbern swallowed her sigh. “I apologize for that. I didn’t know Aunt Margaret would need her foot rubbed. But in response you’re digging a tunnel into the sewers, you’ve told our neighbors you’re an abused orphan, and you’re leaving the property without telling anyone. So much of my hair turned white that I’m going to have to start wearing a wig to cover it up.”
He looked up at her head. “It’s not white. It looks more like a mad lion’s mane right now, sticking out everywhere.”
Wonderful. She reached up, feeling ends here and there coming loose from pins, and one side sagging a good three inches lower than the other. “Blast it. I blame a very badly sprung mail coach and a very large man seated beside me who kept falling asleep on my shoulder.” She wrinkled her nose. “He smelled like fish.”
“So does Aunt Lady Margaret’s foot.”
And after six hours of sitting beside the man, she probably smelled the same, drat it all. No doubt Lord Hentrose hadbeen exceedingly impressed with both her demeanor and her appearance. Just the first impression—or very delayed second impression—she’d wanted to make upon her return to Mayfair. Then again, he hadn’t made much of an impression, either, all windblown black hair and excruciatingly pretty gray eyes and accusations that she was the bedlamite while he…Oh. With her hair as it was and,oh,the wrinkles in her gown due to her being wedged into the corner of the mail coach, and the way she’d pushed into his home and begun flailing a shovel and shrieking for her son, she’d no doubt looked precisely like a candidate for the madhouse.
As they reached Grove House, Tollins pulled open the door and stepped aside. “I see you’ve found Master Edmund, Mrs. Silbern. Your boxes are in the spare sitting room, per Lord Harold’s orders.”
She’d asked that they go into the attic, but evidently her uncle wanted her possessions closer to the front door to remind her that her stay at Grove House would be temporary. What he didn’t seem to realize despite her making it quite clear was that she had no desire to remain, even if they’d wished her to do so.
“Thank you, Tollins,” she said aloud. “Would you have Polly meet me in my bedchamber? I’d like to change into something that doesn’t look like it’s traveled all the way from Shropshire dragged behind a cow.”
“Of course, Mrs. Silbern.”
