The Unlikely Lady(15)

“Don’t you?” Miss Lowndes answered sweetly. “I seem to remember you telling Lucy last autumn that she desperately needed a man to come to Upbridge Estate for the house party and see to things.”

His jaw remained tight. “That house party was ill-advised and—”

“Because a man wasn’t running it?” came Miss Lowndes’s swift reply. She blinked at him innocently.

“No. It had nothing to do with—”

“I don’t believe you, Upton. I think you are overly impressed with yourself because you happen to be male, a sad trait among your sex, to be sure. But I don’t share your regard for your innately superior intellect and am happy to rely upon my own in all matters. No one asked you.”

Cassandra’s eyebrows both shot up.

Garrett took a long, deep breath. “I never said anyone asked me, but I’m damn well going to tell you if I think you are making fools of yourselves and—”

Miss Lowndes raised her nose and addressed her remarks to Lucy. “Did you ask him, Lucy? I didn’t.”

Garrett narrowed his eyes on Miss Lowndes. The woman was entirely too smug. “If you would allow me to get in a word edgewise, I could tell you that—”

“Now, now,” Lucy interjected. “Let’s not argue in the middle of the wedding party. You are upsetting Cass. And you promised to be civil.”

Garrett searched Cassandra’s face. She was wringing her hands and the shimmer in her eyes told him that she was on the verge of tears. Damn it. Lucy had a point. He shut his mouth, turned away, and downed a healthy portion of his drink. Very well. He’d bide his time and take this discussion back up with Lucy and Miss Lowndes later.

“Yes, let’s change the subject,” Miss Lowndes agreed. “I find this one extremely distasteful.” She gave Garrett a tight smile.

Cass breathed a sigh. “Oh, please, let’s.” Her gaze scanned the room as if looking for a suitable subject. She pointed a finger in the air. “Garrett, I nearly forgot to tell you. Mrs. Langford is coming.”

Garrett nearly spat his drink. “Pardon?”

“Mrs. Langford. Mrs. Harold Langford. She mentioned you specifically in her letter.”

“Her letter?” Garrett set his drink on the nearby table and braced his palm against the top. The walls were closing in around him.

“Yes. Apparently, Mrs. Langford’s deceased husband knew Julian and Donald and, well, she nearly invited herself to the wedding. I was put off by her forwardness until she mentioned your name.”

Garrett tugged at his cravat. The room was stifling.

“Mrs. Langford invited herself to your wedding? And she’s coming?” he managed to choke out, his finger lodged between his cravat and neck.

“Please don’t think it was a bother. Any friend of yours and Julian’s and Donald’s is more than welcome. It just seemed a bit odd at first,” Cassandra replied.

“She’s coming?” Garrett echoed. Having his hand braced against the table didn’t stop the room from spinning.

Cassandra nodded. “Yes, I invited her to the house party as well. It was a bit awkward because she’d mentioned you were coming. I decided if she already knew about it, it would be rude not to invite her.”

“It sounds as if Mrs. Langford is the rude one,” Miss Lowndes pointed out with a sniff.

Garrett stared unseeing into the fireplace. How the devil did Isabella Langford know he’d been planning to come to the house party? He certainly hadn’t mentioned it in any of the notes.

“Is she—” He swallowed. “Has she arrived?”

“Not yet.” Cass shook her head. “I believe she intends to arrive first thing in the morning.”





CHAPTER EIGHT

Garrett shut the door to his guest bedchamber behind him. He made his way over to the wing-back chair in front of the poster bed. He sat and shucked off his boots. Then he stood and strode to the window, flexing his toes. He looked down on the courtyard below, a sweeping expanse of gravel in front of the manor house.

Two words kept repeating themselves in his brain.

Isabella Langford.

She was Harold Langford’s widow. Harold Langford had been one of Garrett’s closest friends in the army. Harold had not returned from Spain. But Garrett had, and he’d done what he could—inadequate though it may be—to see to it that Isabella and the children were taken care of ever since.

Isabella was coming? Here? It made him … uneasy. He’d spent years distancing himself from those years at war. Even though the nightmares woke him with a cold sweat each night, he’d done an admirable job of keeping his Society life separate from his memories.