Page 7 of The Earl Next Door
That would take three days at the rate she sipped a thimbleful of brandy. Lyon smiled indulgently. “Of course, finish it and tell me what’s kept you busy over the winter.”
“When the weather wasn’t too cold and dreary to leave my house, I did the usual—cards, parties, teas, and gossip. Goose feathers! What a boring life I lead. Now, do you want to tell me what keptyoubusy while at Lyonwood?”
“No.” He then took a sip of his brandy.
Cordelia laughed with vigor. “I thought not. Nor do I really want to know what a handsome young gentleman does.”
“Have you seen the marquis over the winter?” Lyon asked, though it was the irritating countess who kept sweeping through his thoughts, invading his peace.
“Yes, of course. Your father wouldn’t miss a social gathering of any kind, and you know I seldom do either. The dreadful man is his usual self. Handsome and arrogant as ever. My hair grows thinner and grayer by the hour and he never seems to age a day. It’s most unfair how life favors that man. But, of course it’s fine that you take after him with your dashing appeal.”
“You have always been too coldhearted with my father and not severe enough with me.”
“That is the way it suits me.” An innocent smirk quivered the corners of her mouth. “Marksworth was never good enough for my sister, but he was good enough to give us you. I do appreciate him for that, though I’d never say it to him. And I don’t expect you to say it to him either. It would be lovely if he were to begin to stoop a little. Maybe hobble when he takes a step or two. Perhaps lose one of his front teeth, or at least forget what he was going to say once in a while. The man is still so robust it’s simply maddening to watch him grow old but not get any older.”
Lyon shook his head over his aunt’s comments and watched her put the glass to her lips as if she was going to take a sip. He knew she never tasted the brandy. It amused him that she always wanted to have a glass with him but never took a drink.
“Did you see him today?” she asked.
“There was no time.”
“I heard he planned to return to Marksworth for a few days. Perhaps he has already left.”
“You know, life would be much more pleasant if you two would settle your differences and, if not become friends, at least speak when you see each other.”
“Oh, we speak if we must,” she said with a smile. “But why would we want to change anything between us after all these years? Everyone so enjoys gossiping about how we’re sometimes seated beside each other at the same dinner party and never say a word of greeting.”
Lyon often wandered if their dislike of each other was really just a game they played because they realized how much alike they really were.
“He has taken very good care of you, Aunt.”
“Yes, of course he has, but only because he knows my sister would rise from the dust of her grave to haunt him if he didn’t.” She inhaled the brandy again and smiled over the edge of the glass. “You do know he’s going to marry again, don’t you?”
Lyon leaned forward in his chair and cupped both hands around his glass. “No. I haven’t seen or heard from him since I left his estate shortly after Boxing Day.” Not that hearing about pending nuptials surprised Lyon. His father was as active today as the day Lyon was born. By a cruel twist of fate, the marquis had outlived Lyon’s mother and two other wives. Whenever Marksworth was a widower, matrimony was always on his mind even though he had mistresses all over London.
“Who is she?”
“Miss Helen Ballingbrand.”
That was a bit of a surprise considering his father was now nearing the age of fifty. “Another miss?”
“An older one this time, it seems. Still quite a few years younger than your father. Apparently her uncle, Viscount Chrisville, who is very wealthy as you know, decided to gift the spinster with a sizeable dowry of fertile land, and suddenly Marksworth couldn’t seem to resist her beauty or her charm.”
“Ah, yes,” Lyon murmured before sipping his drink and leaning back in his chair again.
What the bride brought into the marriage was always important to the marquis. From his own lips, since Lyon’s mother passed, his father hadn’t married for love. As mercenary as it sounded, Lyon knew that increasing Marksworth’s estate holdings was always at the forefront of his father’s marriages. And if it had been up to his father, Lyon would have married years ago and for the same reasons. But that’s not what Lyon wanted.
“I’m sure I must have met her when she made her debut a few years ago,” Cordelia said. “I don’t remember her and apparently you don’t either. I’m told she was extremely shy and hated the crush of people at the balls and dinner parties. She never returned after the second week of her first Season. I’m assuming she’ll attend the parties this year and we’ll all be reacquainted with her. I know your father will attend every event he’s invited to.” She sighed. “I don’t know where he gets the energy to do so night after night, month after month, and year after year. It seems to invigorate him.”
Aunt Delia kept talking, but at the mention of theSeason Lyon’s thoughts turned from his father to Lady Wake as easily as waves washed upon the shore in the warm days of summer. If only the emotions she caused inside him were as peaceful. They were turbulent and seemingly as relentless as swells upon the deep blue sea during a storm.
That he could remember, he’d never experienced being truly angry at a woman. And certainly not one he desired. How could the two emotions even go together? It wasn’t the normal order of things, but it was both desire and anger he’d felt when she struck him.
Thoughts of her suddenly reminded him just how long it had been since he’d been with a woman. He’d returned to London with the aspirations of changing that drought, but right now it didn’t seem likely.
No matter what had transpired between him and Lady Wake, or with his unsettling feelings about it, the countess was the only woman on his mind.
Chapter 4
