“Is there a problem, Miss Belmont? Something I may help you with?”
“I’m well, thank you, Plimley,” Claire said, patting his hand.
“Perhaps a nap before this evening’s entertainment would set you to rights?”
Plimley was a watcher. He knew what each member of the Belmont family needed before he or she needed it, and most especially Claire. She’d been fooling herself when she’d thought to deter him from her tired state.
“Yes, you are right, Plimley, but I shall visit with mother and Mathew before I do so.”
“I shall see to preparing a herbal tisane to calm your thoughts, Miss Belmont, and have it placed in your room.”
Claire began to turn away and then faced the butler once more. She squeezed his hand briefly. “Plimley, I have no right to ask this of you, but if I ever marry, will you come with me to whatever household I end up in and be my butler?”
“I would be honored.”
“And Amanda and Liam, of course,” Claire added. Plimley was married to one of her brother’s maids, a pretty, sweet-natured woman who had a practical soul and did not fall about the place swooning when her husband was near. It was the belief among the staff here that if the Plimley child Liam, aged eight, who was already showing signs of resembling his sire, turned out as good-looking as either of his parents, then no woman within five miles of him would be safe.
“I shall be sure to tell her there will be a move in the future for us all.”
Claire’s smile wobbled slightly, and then she drew back her shoulders and made for the stairs. Gripping the banister, she walked up slowly, the carpet muffling the sounds of her footfalls. The Belmont townhouse was decorated tastefully, if a little fussily, thanks to her mother. If there was an available space, then Lady Belmont tended to place something into it. The staff grumbled incessantly about the dusting, and many things had been broken over the years, however her mother rarely noticed, or if she did, she simply went out and purchased something new. Nodding to the portrait of her father, Claire turned left at the top. She had not known the late Lord Belmont well, as he’d died when she was a child, yet her mother said the portrait depicted him perfectly, and if that was the case, she was sure he had been just a touch wicked. His smile held a knowing gleam that always made her own lips tilt.
She could hear the sound of someone tapping a spoon against his or her cup as she reached the door to the morning room, where she knew her family would be. Pushing aside thoughts of Anthony and the note, she walked through with a forced smile on her face. She’d noted that if her smile was wide enough, no one noticed if she was troubled. Most people were busy worrying about their own problems. Claire entered quietly to the sounds of her mother gossiping about the flirtatious behaviour of Miss Tattingham last night.
“Atrocious. I hardly knew where to look when she lifted her skirts to show Lord Milton her ankles.”
“I’m sure it was an accident, mother. Miss Tattingham has been nothing but polite in my company.”
“Of course she is polite to you, Mathew–she wants to marry you. Or anyone with a fortune,” Lady Belmont added.
“So the only reason I’m worthy of her attention is because I’m eligible, mother? I can’t tell you how happy that thought makes me.”
Lady Belmont sniffed, which was meant to mean something, however Claire was not sure what.
“Claire, where have you been?” Her brother noted her then and rose as she moved into the room. Tall and lean, Lord Mathew Belmont was the image of their late father, with his thick straight brown hair and green eyes. However he did not have the twinkle, nor was he even the tiniest bit wicked. In fact, he was serious-minded and humorless. Older than Claire by six years, he had been the one to censure her when required and had been more father than brother to her for as long as she could remember.
“I went to visit with a friend,” Claire said calmly.
“Alone?” He lifted one eyebrow to glare down at her. She always found that action irritating, even more so when she was tired. In fact, everything compounded when she was tired. People tended to annoy her more, noises seemed louder, and small things like a hole in the end of her gloves could make her angry or weepy.
“I took a maid,” she lied and then smiled sweetly.
“No you didn’t.”
“How do you know I didn’t?” Claire felt the smile slip and struggled to hold it in place.
“I asked.”
“For pity’s sake, Mathew, I’m twenty years old–practically a spinster. I do not need a maid to visit a friend. Nor do I need you checking on my movements with the household staff.”