“I am not averse to playing games, Miss Lovell.” Lord Randall lowered his voice as he sidled next to her until their arms touched. “Indeed, I find your reluctance to fall at my feet rather intriguing, if not a little puzzling.”
How could she answer without being rude? Besides, Arabella’s ears were pricked ready t
o listen to their conversation.
“I really do need to speak to Mr Gilligan.” Lydia gestured to the man whose permanent smile made her cheeks ache. “If you will excuse me.”
“I would advise against it, Miss Lovell. All sorts of riffraff attend these parochial gatherings. If you must speak to the fellow, then I shall summon him.” Lord Randall thrust his patrician nose in the air. “Gilligan.” He repeated the steward’s name and beckoned him over. “A moment of your time.”
Mr Gilligan scuttled over. “Lord Randall.” He bowed low enough to lick the lord’s shoe buckles. “I heard you were gracing us with your presence this evening. May I say what a delight it is—”
“Yes, yes.” Lord Randall flapped his fingers to show he despised tedious conversation. “It is Miss Lovell who wishes to speak to you, not I.”
Mr Gilligan inclined his head though he had an annoying habit of letting it loll to one side. “Miss Lovell, as always I am your humble servant. Does it concern the Greystone Estate?”
“As a matter of fact, it does. Though I must say, under the circumstances, I’m surprised to see you looking so jovial this evening.”
Mr Gilligan put his hand over his heart. “Alas, one must strive to do one’s best even in the most trying of times.” He continued to grin. “And may I take this opportunity to advise you to remain indoors tomorrow evening?”
“Tomorrow evening?” Lydia tried not to stare at the man’s crooked teeth. “Is there to be a storm?”
Mr Gilligan shuffled closer—as did Arabella. “I’m sorry to say, Lord Greystone’s friends are en route to Brighton and have permission to spend the night at the manor. By all accounts, they are a lively bunch … well, I’m sure I’ve no need to explain to you, Miss Lovell.”
Heavens above, not again. For the fifth time in as many months the house would be brimming with disreputable rogues. But where did that leave his poor tenants?
“We must make Lord Greystone see the error of his ways.” Lydia’s pulse pumped hard in her throat when she thought of the dreadful living conditions his tenants endured. “We must persuade him to hire labourers to make the necessary repairs to the cottages.”
Mr Gilligan shook his head. “I know the tenants’ welfare is a matter close to your heart, Miss Lovell. But in all honesty, I have exhausted myself trying to make his lordship understand. He simply doesn’t care.”
“I care,” Lydia blurted.
Arabella shot her a gorgon’s stare.
“A lady should not be soiling her hands with the affairs of the lower classes,” Lord Randall chided. “Lord knows what diseases you might catch in those ramshackle hovels.” He whipped his lace handkerchief from his coat pocket and wafted it in front of his nose. The sweet scent of violets breezed through the air.
“As privileged people, is it not up to us to fight for those without a voice?” Frustration wrung tight in Lydia’s chest. “In making their lives better are we not in turn enhancing our own?”
Lord Randall raised a mocking brow. “You’re letting your fragile sensibilities ride roughshod over your logic, my dear.”
Fragile sensibilities? Had this man never looked into the watery eyes of a starving child? Had he never seen skin mottled blue from the cold? Was his heart wrapped so tightly in expensive silk that the organ no longer ached with emotion?
Lydia clenched her fists at her sides. “I would not expect you to understand. Why would you when you have never had to struggle?”
Lord Randall seemed almost pleased by her rebuke. “Acting for the meek and impoverished only serves to make them lazy.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Arabella chirped, and then caught herself when she remembered she wasn’t supposed to be listening.
“And I disagree,” Lydia scoffed. Who wanted to battle on the same side as a braggart? She turned to Mr Gilligan. “I’m sure when you show Lord Greystone the condition of the cottages, he might see things differently.”
Mr Gilligan offered yet another pitying grin. “And therein lies the crux of the problem. I doubt Lord Greystone will ever set eyes on the place again.” He shrugged. “And in the meantime, I must strive to do my best in his absence.”
Lydia frowned. Had Lord Greystone not informed his steward of his return?
How odd.
“Then I have good news for you, sir.” Lydia pushed aside her doubts. She’d seen the brief look of despair in Greystone’s eyes when she mentioned the dilapidated condition of his estate. “Hope is on the horizon.”
“Hope?” Mr Gilligan’s grin stretched from ear to ear. “Do you speak of your own soon-to-be windfall?”