Mary perched on the edge of her seat and steeled herself for the moments ahead. Her chest was so tight she felt she might choke. Her mother had said that their grandfather was a wealthy and influential man, but Mary had pictured him rather like Mr. Treadwell who owned the mill in Three Corners. She was discovering that she had not understood the sort of wealth and position her mother meant—and in which her mother had once lived! It was bizarre to think of her mother sitting in this very room when she was a girl, feeling at home in the way that Sir Royce clearly did.
Mary turned to look at him. The laughing light had returned to his eyes, and she wondered why he had been willing—nay, almost eager—to bring them here after his initial protest. Perhaps he was simply being gentlemanly or kind, but there was something about the hint of laughter twitching at the corner of his mouth that made him look like a naughty schoolboy about to play a trick on the teacher.
“Chin up.” The corners of Sir Royce’s eyes crinkled as he smiled. “The earl’s not so fearsome really. Just stand your ground.”
Something eased inside Mary. Whatever mischief Royce might be up to, he also wanted to help her.
“Royce!” A man strode briskly into the room, his mouth curving up into a smile. “I scarce believed my ears when James told me you were here. What brings—” He stopped, taking in the sight of the four girls grouped on the settee, and his expression changed to a look of faint puzzlement. “Oh. Beg pardon. James neglected to mention that you had brought company.” He ended his statement with a look of polite inquiry toward Sir Royce.
Mary regarded the man with interest. This must be her cousin, the man who would decide her and her sisters’ fate. He did not look fearsome, she thought. He was handsome, more so when warmth had lit his features as he greeted Royce than a moment later, when he realized he was among strangers and his face settled into a cooler, more distant mask. He was tall, though not quite as tall as Sir Royce, and he had the broad shoulders and well-muscled arms of an avid horseman. His hair was dark brown and his eyes were gray, the color of a stormy sea. He was dressed impeccably but sensibly, eschewing the high collar points and patterned waistcoats sported by some of the men Mary had glimpsed that afternoon. Even his snowy cravat was tied in a most unremarkable way.#p#分页标题#e#
“Hallo, Stewkesbury.” Sir Royce rose to greet him. “Pray, allow me to introduce you to Miss Bascombe and her sisters, Miss Rose, Miss Lily, and Miss Camellia Bascombe.”
“Welcome to my home.” The earl bowed, then glanced once again toward his stepbrother.
“The Bascombes are from the United States.”
“Indeed? Well, you have come a long distance indeed.” His expression was much too polite to give away any curiosity. “From which part of the country do you hail?”
“Pennsylvania, most recently,” Mary answered. She studied him, looking for any sign of kinship. There was the dark hair, of course, such as she and Rose had, but beyond that … Was there any likeness about the eyes? The chin? She had to confess that she could detect nothing.
“Indeed? I know less than I should, no doubt, about America.”
Mary knew that he must be wondering what the devil they were doing here, and she cast about for some polite way to ease into the subject.
But Royce was already plunging ahead. “They have come from the United States expressly to meet you,” he told Oliver. “They are, it seems, your cousins.”
The earl absorbed this knowledge with admirable aplomb, not betraying his surprise with more than a blink. “Ah. I see. I am doubly happy to make your acquaintance. You are, um, related to us through … ah … ?”
Mary seized her courage and stood up, taking a step toward the man. “My grandfather was Reginald, Lord Stewkesbury.”
The other man’s face went still, and his eyes flashed toward Royce. “Is this your idea of a jest?”
“You would think so of me,” Royce replied. His voice was easy and light, but there was a steely quality underlying the tone. He picked an indiscernible speck of lint from the sleeve of his jacket. “However, jests are more in Fitz’s line than mine, wouldn’t you say? In any case, I had nothing to do with it.”
“Other than bringing them to meet me.”
Royce shrugged. “I met the young ladies quite by chance. I had the opportunity of offering my aid to them, and when they told me who they were, I knew that you would wish to be the first to meet them.”
Oliver swung his gaze over to Mary. Under the full force of his cool gray stare, Mary revised her opinion of him. The earl was, apparently, capable of seeming quite fearsome.