A Lady Never Tells(75)

To cover her sudden nerves, she said lightly, “I would have said that they were quite pious, actually.”

“Not from what I’ve heard.” He came to stand beside her, gazing up at the large oil painting before them. “That’s the first baronet, got his title from Queen Elizabeth. I believe he was something of a corsair, but as he stuck to stealing from Spain, the Queen didn’t mind. He bought this place from the Iverleys—who had sadly gone into decline—and changed into a lord of the manor.”

“Is this his wife?” Mary asked, going on to the next painting, which depicted a woman with strawberry blond hair and a high ruff rising behind her head.

“The second. The first one, it’s said, jumped off a tower when he gave up the sea. Couldn’t face the idea of his being home all the time. She never lived at Iverley Hall. But Lady Margaret here outlived her husband by a good many years and ruled the place with an iron hand—and, apparently, a great deal of skill, for she increased the family fortunes her grandson inherited. Her son was something of a cipher, and she remained in virtual control of the place even after he reached his majority.”#p#分页标题#e#

“You’re very familiar with them all.”

“Indeed, yes. Lord Reginald insisted I learn about my land and family. He said I should not become a stranger to my own people just because my mother had married a Talbot. He was right, of course; he nearly always was—though clearly he made a mistake in cutting himself off from his daughter.” He cast a sideways glance at her.

Mary smiled. “Thank you for saying that. Mama never talked about him, except that once when she told us about their falling out. I could not judge what sort of man he was; I could not even tell for certain how she felt about him. But you sound as though you were quite fond of him.”

He nodded. “I was. I am still. He could be an irascible old devil and difficult to deal with. There was hell to pay if one crossed him. But he followed the same rules he laid out for others. He wasn’t an affectionate sort. An approving nod was usually the best you could get from him. But he spent far more time and trouble on a lad who had no real claim on him than most others would have. He was much more a father to me than my own.”

Mary smiled, thinking how his words echoed those his housekeeper had spoken earlier. Obviously the woman had been on the mark with her assessment of Sir Royce.

“What about your stepfather?” she asked. “Oliver’s father?”

Royce shrugged as he turned away, walking with her along the hall. “He was a good enough sort. But neither he nor my mother was there a great deal. They preferred the bright lights of London to the solitude of Willowmere. Oliver and Fitz and I saw them infrequently, usually only for a month or two in the dead of winter—or when they were under the hatches and had to spend a while in the country to repair their finances.”

“I’m sorry.” She tried to imagine growing up as he had, rarely even seeing his parents. Her life might have lacked the financial advantages his had, but she preferred the close, loving family relationship she had known.

“Oh, they were never at point non plus,” he said, misunderstanding her words of regret.

Mary glanced at him, but he was looking away from her, and she wondered whether he had purposefully taken her statement to be about something he found easier to discuss.

“The old earl ran the estate,” Royce continued, “so Lawrence could only borrow on his prospects, and my mother’s father had tied up her money so tightly that they could get nothing but income from it. Obviously, everyone knew how poor they were at managing their finances. The old earl was forever on at them about it. I think he was actually a bit relieved when Lawrence died before him; he feared that his son would dissipate the fortune before Oliver got hold of it. Grandfa—I mean, Lord Reginald managed my lands and money as well so that Lawrence and my mother could not make a hash of that either.” He grinned at her, taking the sting out of the words. “Come, let me show you around the house. There are better things to be seen than these stuffy old ancestors.”

He held out his arm, and Mary took it. His closeness made her fingers tremble, and her breath came faster in her throat. Her head was filled with thoughts of his kisses and caresses, and her body tingled all over again.

Even now, as they strolled through the hallways, Royce pointing out this room and that, smoothly chatting about the house and his life, Mary wished that he would stop and take her in his arms and kiss her. It would be wrong, of course; she was well aware of that. There was a bevy of reasons for them to stay at arm’s distance. Unfortunately, the force pulling her to him was far stronger than the logic holding them apart.