Three Weeks With Lady X(30)

"I just wish you would be a little more vivacious, Lala," her mother  went on, taking no notice of the men's presence. Lady Rainsford was not  one to notice servants unless she wanted them to do something for her.  "Though to be fair, it's hardly your fault that you're daft, but you  could do something about your hips."

Lala clenched her teeth and willed herself not to cry. It would be  ridiculous to get teary simply because two footmen were watching.

"It gives you such a lubberly air," her mother went on relentlessly. "I  swear it would be easy. If you would just stop eating for a couple of  weeks, you could have the same slim figure as your sister. We wouldn't  be scraping the bottom of the barrel like this, lowering ourselves to  visit the house of a by-blow."

"The Duke of Villiers will attend the party, Mother," Lala said, adding  with some desperation, "and I'm certain that he will be greatly offended  if you allow your feelings about his son to be evident."

"No one can say that I'm not the soul of tact," her mother said, with a  blithe disregard for the truth. "Abigail, I'll thank you to shut the  door after the footmen. There's a draft coming in that will likely go to  my lungs and finish me off before I manage to get my last daughter off  my hands."

She swung her legs from her bed and pointed to her silk wrapper. Lala draped it around her mother's bony shoulders.

"I should like a tisane, brewed with a touch of honey. Meanwhile, it is  time for you to take a brisk walk around the park. Three times a day,  remember, and you haven't even been out of doors today. It's already ten  in the morning. Laziness is the downfall of your figure."

Lala had been dancing attendance on her mother since daybreak, but she bit back a comment. There was no point. No point.

She kept repeating that to herself until she was out the door and heading to Kensington Gardens.





Chapter Seventeen

I need a bonnet," India told her maid, Marie, after Fleming conveyed  Rose's wish that she pay a visit to the dower house. She never went out  of doors with a bare head; it was one of the rules she had read in a  book about being a lady. In the absence of maternal advice, she had  practically memorized the book at an early age.

A short time later, she was walking down a gravel path, cursing herself  for having chosen such an elegant-and thus tiny-hat. The warm breeze was  already teasing her hair out of its place; she could feel tendrils  around her neck. And with her hair, that meant the whole thing would  fall apart by the time she reached the dower house.

She was about halfway to her destination when she encountered Thorn and  Rose, strolling hand in hand on the path. Thorn held a child's hoop in  his other hand.

"Lady Xenobia," he said, quite as if he hadn't been sitting on her bed a mere hour ago. "It's a pleasure to see you."

Rose curtsied and said, "It's a pleasure to meet you again, Lady Xenobia."

India wrenched her eyes away from Thorn's face-he was the sort of man  who commanded all one's attention-and looked down at the child. Of  course, she was still wearing mourning black.

But this time India saw no resemblance to Thorn. Instead, she saw grief  lingering in Rose's eyes. She knelt down and said, "Good morning. How is  your friend Antigone this morning?"

"She is not a friend," the child replied with dignity. "She is my doll, but I pretend that she is my ward."

"I gather that Antigone has lost her mama and her papa," India said.  "I'm sorry. She looks very elegant in her beautiful pelisse, although  perhaps a little sad."

"She hasn't had a mama for a long time," Rose said. "But she is lucky to have me. That makes her lucky, lucky as a lark."

"My mother and father died as well," India said, responding less to  Rose's reply than to the emotion in her eyes. "I still miss them. It  does get better, though it never really goes away."                       
       
           



       

Rose's lips pressed together in a way that India recognized: she, too, had realized quite young that crying didn't help.

"I see that Mr. Dautry is carrying a hoop," India said. "Are you very good at rolling it?"

"No," Rose replied. "I do not have the control to make it stay up. I told Mr. Dautry this, but he bought it anyway."

"I am quite adept with a hoop," India said, straightening up. "Shall we  try together? We can leave Antigone with Mr. Dautry. Do you have the  dowel? Excellent! Now we must find a nice flat bit of path, because even  the faintest bump will send it spinning off into the grass."

"Antigone and I shall find our way back to the dower house and await you," Thorn said gravely.

By the time she and Rose bowled their way back to the dower house,  India's hair had tumbled down her back, and her cunning Italian shoes  were pinching her toes. But never mind: Rose's cheeks were pink, and she  was talking so much that India hadn't said more than a word for the  last five minutes.

India limped up to the front door and pushed it open, ushering Rose in  before her. The entry led directly into a small, cozy sitting room,  where they found Thorn reading a newspaper.

Rose ran to him, leaned against his knee, and told him of her last,  triumphant bowl, in which the hoop had rolled all the way down the path  until a tiny rock had sent it askew. He put the paper aside immediately,  wrapped an arm around her, and bent his head to listen. It was such a  tender scene that India's heart caught.

Characteristically, Thorn hadn't stood up as she entered, the way a  gentleman ought. Instead, he looked her over, then drawled, "It looks as  if you ran around the house three times backwards, India."

Rose said in an urgent whisper, "Mr. Dautry, you must rise in the presence of a lady."

"That is just what I was thinking," India said, unpinning her little hat.

"Are you sure she's a lady?" Thorn asked, rising. "She's all pink in the  face, and her hair is a mess. In fact, she looks a fright." His eyes  were alight with teasing laughter. "Dear me, Lady Xenobia. Please don't  tell me you'll try to seduce Vander with that gown. You look like an old  maid put by in lavender."

"That is a most objectionable comment," Rose exclaimed, before India  could say anything. "What's more, it's not enough to stand up; you must  also bow."

"I generally don't bother," he said carelessly. "And Lady X knows it. I promise I'll be gentlemanly around Laetitia, however."

"Mr. Dautry hopes to marry Miss Laetitia Rainsford," Rose told India,  putting her hoop to the side. "I have been trying to give him the  benefit of my advice, because my tutor was quite knowledgeable about  matters of deportment and rank."

"To my dismay, I've discovered that my ward could hire herself out as a  governess tomorrow," Thorn said. "Lady Xenobia, your face is as red as a  tomato, if you don't mind my saying so."

"It's hot outside," India said, frowning at him as she took a seat. "And  before Rose feels the need to correct you again, I'll point out that  it's quite impolite to compare a lady to a vegetable or, indeed, make  her feel inadequate in any way."

Thorn dropped into a chair. "Why should you feel inadequate merely because you are an attractive shade of red?"

Rose looked from Thorn to India. "I am going to put my hoop away in my  room. I shall ask Clara to bring some lemonade, Lady Xenobia."

"You have charge of a very interesting little person," India said, after Rose left.

"She's a dowager duchess in the making." Thorn stretched out his legs  and put his clasped hands behind his head. "Seriously, India, is that  what you intend to wear tomorrow?"

"And if I am?"

"I thought we had agreed that you should entice Vander, otherwise known as the future duke?"

India stared at him. Somehow they'd fallen into a relationship that  she'd never imagined having with a man, not ever. Perhaps it was like a  brother and sister. Except . . . occasionally she glanced at him and he  was so handsome that it made her shiver all over. "Do you speak to your  siblings this way?"

"Absolutely."

"Do they find you as maddening as I do?"

He grinned at her, and her annoyance went up two more notches. She, who  had learned to keep calm in the face of domestic chaos, was always  losing her temper around him. It was infuriating.

"My siblings adore me."

"Odd," she said flatly.                       
       
           



       

"Let's discuss your gown. It's more interesting."

"Why don't we discuss what you will wear instead?" She looked him over,  nice and slow, to make her point. "Lady Rainsford will not appreciate  that woodsman look you've adopted."