“We’re back to that,” Fairly muttered.
“Invite Douglas out here,” Andrew suggested, juggling more quickly, because glass in motion caught the light wonderfully.
“I like it,” Fairly said. “Machiavellian, and bold. Probably scare the poor bastard witless if we charge him en masse. I like it better the longer I consider it.”
“How will Astrid feel about this?” Gareth asked.
“She does not exactly despise Douglas,” Andrew said, nearly missing the Cerberus because three heads made an awkward shape. “She says he takes a while to warm up to. If she understood what we were trying to accomplish, she might support the idea. She does not talk with any enthusiasm about returning to Town, and this will give Douglas an opportunity to assure himself she is well cared for.”
“I nominate you,” Fairly said, his eyes alight, “to convince her on this idea.”
“Second,” Gareth added. “When shall Douglas honor us with his presence?”
“Have him out for the weekend,” Andrew said, catching the damned dog, then the gryphon. “That will give Astrid time to adjust to the idea, and us time to strategize and gather more facts. As to that, I would invite the Allen family—you have the room here, and there’s no telling what the ladies might be able to winkle out of Lady Amery.”
He missed the dragon, but fortunately, the thing landed safely on Heathgate’s ruby-red Axminster carpet.
Fairly regarded the fallen dragon. “Haven’t you a cousin in the vicinity as well?”
“Cousin Gwen,” Andrew said, replacing all three stoppers in their respective decanters, and heading for the door. “She is an utter antidote, despite the most glorious red hair. Not to invite her would be rude, though, and I am overdue to pay a call on her. Gentlemen, I bid you good day.”
Andrew let himself out the French doors into a pretty autumn day, his departure a graceless and self-serving escape. Gareth, as head of the Alexander family, and Fairly, as head of the Worthington family, could credibly discuss Astrid’s best interests and take action on her behalf.
Andrew was merely the cad who’d been busily seducing her for the past week, and who would be enjoying the fruits of that seduction for at least a week to come.
***
“You wrote to me eight times in four years,” Gwen said, using her best Mama is Wroth tone. “At Yuletide and on the King’s birthday, and never let me know where to post a reply. How was I to tell you how matters went on with me?”
A tall woman became used to men regarding her with some puzzlement. She did not, however, become used to men taller than she regarding her with loving exasperation.
“Order up the tea tray, Gwennie,” Andrew said, “and we can squabble at each other like civilized cousins.”
Gwennie. Nobody had ever called her Gwennie except Andrew, and now Andrew owned the property where she’d made a home for herself and Rose. Gwen yanked the bellpull twice, then added a third yank to ensure food would accompany the tea tray.
Andrew had been slender as a boy; he was slender still. Too slender, if he intended to take over management of his estates.
“I suppose you’re waiting for me to give you permission to sit?” she asked.
“I’m waiting for you to recall that I’m your cousin, I love you, and your happiness is now my concern.” He leavened this scolding with a smile of significant charm.
Gwen had no patience with charm. She did, however, have many fond memories of her cousins, and of this cousin in particular. Andrew was closer to her in age than Gareth, and more tenderhearted than his older brother—at least to appearances.
“Please do sit,” she said. “One’s neck aches glaring up at you. How are Heathgate and his lady?”
“Thriving.” Andrew folded himself onto a sofa their mutual grandfather had favored. The green brocade upholstering was wearing thin, though when Andrew crossed one booted ankle over his knee, he even looked a bit like Grandpapa. “If you expect me to endure small talk for half the day, Gwennie, it won’t wash. I intend to make the acquaintance of your daughter.”
And this was why Gwen had no patience with charming men, because their pretty manners and mischievous smiles usually hid some form of male resolve that did not fit with Gwen’s plans at all.
“Rose allowed me to brush her hair at length this morning in anticipation of that very objective.” Though the child had hardly been able to hold still, so great had her anticipation been at the prospect of meeting another “big cousin.”
“If she’s anything like her mother, she managed to look a fright within fifteen minutes,” Andrew said. “Gareth says you run this place like a field marshal, riding your acres, meeting with your farmers, and generally saving one and all the cost of a land steward and a house steward.”