Wizard's Daughter (Sherbrooke Brides 10)

The pale young man who'd greeted him at the front door stood not a foot outside the drawing room, wringing his hands. He was darting frantic looks behind Nicholas's left shoulder.

"What are you doing hare?"

Nicholas turned to see Lancelot Vail trip quickly down the front staircase, dressed elegantly, like his older brother, his face flushed at the sight of Nicholas.

"I was on the point of leaving, Lancelot," Nicholas said. "Why don't you go pour your brother a nice snifter of brandy?"

21

Rosalind was staring out the bow window at the daffodils waving in the Wednesday afternoon breeze, waiting for Nicholas, when the door opened. But it was Willicombe who came into the drawing room. She was impatient and worried, but still she smiled at him because Grayson had recently confided in her that he was making Willicombe a magician in his next novel, with a head full of red hair, and it was to be a surprise. Rosalind cocked an eyebrow at him.

"Lady Mountjoy is here to see you, Miss Rosalind ."

Wrong Mountjoy.

Lady Mountjoy didn't simply walk into the drawing room, she sailed in, a figurehead swathed in lavender from her boots to her big bonnet decorated with big clusters of purple grapes. She was short and on the plump side, but still, she looked ready to take on the Roman legions, something both to alarm and impress. Beneath the awesome bonnet, her hair was quite blond, the few gray strands difficult to see. Her eyes were very light, perhaps blue or gray. Lancelot was Picture of his mama. So this was Nicholas's stepmother,

Miranda, the woman who had spawned three sons and taught them to hate Nicholas.

Lady Mountjoy didn't look happy, but she did look deter­mined, and to Rosalind's eyes, she looked fretful, lines of discontent bracketing her mouth. She looked on the edge, as if afraid that something was happening she couldn't control. Ah, perhaps she's upset that her sons failed to get rid of me to prevent Nicholas from having a boy child off me, and she's come to convince me to break off my betrothal to Nicholas herself. Rosalind hoped the woman didn't have a stiletto in her lovely beaded reticule.

She eyed her future stepmama-in-law and hoped this was her mission; she could get her teeth into that. Maybe she was here to try to buy her off. Rosalind remained silent as Lady Mountjoy stopped a foot short of her nose—very rude, to be sure—but Rosalind found she wanted to laugh at this plump little peahen of a woman trying to intimidate her. Lady Mountjoy looked her up and down, and snorted. She took one step back, as if realizing she was at a disadvantage since Rosalind topped her by a good six inches, and announced, "You are young and don't look as if you have much sense. I am surprised Nicholas would choose you, but than again, perhaps he is desperate. Tell me, missy, how much of a dowry are the Sherbrookes putting in his pockets?"

Missy?

A straight shot over the bow, no namby-pamby attack for this one. "Ah, I presume you are Nicholas's stepmother?" "Unfortunately that is true."

"I understand you haven't seen your stepson since he left after his grandfather's death. What was he, twelve years old? And how many times did you and his father visit him while he was living with the former earl's father? Once, twice? It appears to me, madam, that you do not even know him; Nicholas is a stranger to you. You could pass him on the street and not know him. Why then are you surprised at whom he would choose?"

Lady Mountjoy waved her hand around. "One hears things from one's relatives and one's friends. All agree he is not stupid and therefore choosing you has left them bewil­dered, perhaps believing you seduced him."

"Hmmm. I only met him a week ago. A very fast seduction, don't you think?"

"Don't you make sport with me, missy!"

Rosalind gave her a sunny smile and a wave of the hand. "How do you do, Lady Mountjoy? To what do I owe the honor of your presence?"

"You ask me how I am? Very well, I will tell you how I am. My spirits are upended; I am perturbed. I didn't wish to ever meet you, missy, yet here I am forced to come. I wish you no honor with my presence."

"Should you care to leave? I will not force you to re­main."

Rosalind got a fat diamond-adorned nanny finger shaken in her face. "You will be quiet. You are really quite common, although it does not surprise me."

"Perhaps I could sing for you. I'm told I have a lovely voice, that when one listens to me sing, one easily forgets my youth and my commonness. I do not even need a pianoforte to accompany me. What you think?" Rosalind didn't smile, she simply stood there, waiting to see what Lady Mountjoy would do.

"I do not wish to hear you sing. That is ridiculous. Now, I am looking for Nicholas, though I imagine he will be rude and not show himself."

"Did not your relatives and your friends tell you his resi­dence is currently at Grillon's Hotel? He has a lovely suite of rooms there and all the staff are quite deferential to him. Should you like the direction to Grillon's?"

"I know where Grillon's Hotel is located, you impertinent little no-account. I have also heard he has a heathen servant who is very likely more dangerous than he is. No, I shall not go there."

"Lee Po, dangerous?" Rosalind nodded thoughtfully. "Possibly so. As for Nicholas being dangerous, I cannot be certain about that. However, in all honesty, he can be rather curt, but it is because he feels things so very deeply, you know."

Lady Mountjoy snarled. "He is a man, you ninny. Men rarely feel much of anything that is worth remarking upon. It is true they feel lust in their younger years, but in their older years one must pry the brandy bottle from their hands."

Perhaps that was part of the reason for Lady Mountjoy's discontent—no lovemaking and no brandy. Rosalind said, "It is a great pity you don't know your stepson at all, ma'am, for I believe him to be truly remarkable.

"I fear Nicholas isn't here at the moment. I believe he went off with my uncles to shoot at Manton's. I wanted to go, but they do not yet allow ladies. Would you care for a cup of tea?"