Lyon's Gate (Sherbrooke Brides 9)

Hallie gave her a shameless grin. “I do hope you don’t have a gun behind your back.”

Alex felt an unwanted tug of liking. “Hmm. Be very deferential to me, Miss Carrick, nod in modest agreement at everything I say, and you might survive.”

“Sorry, Mother. Even if she tried, I can’t see that happening,” Jason said.

“In that case, then you must come into the drawing room, Miss Carrick. My dear mother-in-law, Lady Lydia, the dowager countess of Northcliffe, is here for her weekly visit. You can meet her and have a lovely cup of tea.”

Jason groaned.

Hallie looked suddenly wary.

Jason tried to catch his mother’s eye, but she’d taken Hallie’s arm and was steering her in a straight line toward the drawing room. He’d rather be tossed on the back of a wild two-year-old, with no bridle, perhaps even boiled in oil. A firing squad was a good option.

His grandmother hated every female in the known universe except for his aunt Melissande, including his mother and Corrie, and that was why his father had finally moved her into the dowager house at the end of the lane five years before.

He said from behind them, “Mother, perhaps you should reconsider this particular course of action. She’s a lamb to the slaughter.”

“Nonsense. You are a bit on the dirty side, dearest, but your grandmother won’t mind. And Miss Carrick surely is a well-enough behaved girl to sail smoothly through, don’t you think?”

“No. Miss Carrick, do you know Wilhelmina Wyndham?”

“Oh dear.”

CHAPTER 14

Jason would rather empty chamber pots than walk into that drawing room with the tethered goat, but he simply couldn’t leave Miss Carrick to his grandmother alone and unarmed. It would be too cruel. Not that his presence would make much difference. She would be crushed by that malicious aged tongue; his grandmother would look at Hallie and see fresh meat. Odd how she never turned her cannon on either him or James or his father. Just t

hose unfortunate enough to be female.

Jason saw Corrie seated in a wing chair, James standing behind her, his hand lightly on her shoulder, doubtless to keep her from leaping up and kicking over his grandmother’s chair when she started shooting insults.

His grandmother’s eyes lit up when she saw him. “Dear Jason, what a sight you are, my boy, but that certainly isn’t important, now is it? What’s a little dirt in the flow of time? Come and give me a big kiss.”

Jason grinned at the old woman, leaned down and kissed her parchment cheek. She lightly touched his hair and whispered, “I have some nutty buns Hollis brought me this morning. Come later and I will share them with you.” Jason gripped her veiny old hands and whispered back that indeed he would.

When he stepped back, the dowager countess looked up to see her daughter-in-law, the red-haired hussy, gripping the arm of a young lady she’d never laid eyes on before.

Jason saw it in her eyes as clearly as if she’d spoken aloud: new prey, bring me new prey.

“Who are you?”

Alex dropped Hallie’s arm. “This is the young lady who is moving into the neighborhood, Mother-in-law. I fear”—she cleared her throat—“that is, it appears she will be staying with us for a while. Isn’t she lovely? Don’t you think she’s beautifully gowned? And observe how gracefully she moves. Miss Carrick, this is Lady Lydia, the earl’s mother.”

“Well, come here, girl, and let me look at you.”

There was a moment of stark silence in the drawing room. Hallie saw that everyone was staring from her to the old woman, and not breathing.

She looked at the little old lady, with her shiny pink scalp showing through her white hair, and couldn’t imagine her being the least bit like Wilhelmina Wyndham. Surely not; Jason was joking with her. Lady Lydia was by no means frail, nor did she have the look of a placid old lady to have her hand patted and pillows settled behind her ancient back. She looked as substantial and solid as Hallie’s mare, Piccola, and surely that wasn’t a bad thing. On the other hand, Piccola could bite her and whip her with her tail at the same time. The dowager’s old eyes gleamed, her mouth opened, and suddenly out of Hallie’s mouth came, “Do you remember the French Revolution, my lady?”

Lady Lydia froze. “The what, girl?”

“When the French people rose up against the king and queen and guillotined them?”

Lady Lydia studied that lovely young face for a very long time before saying quietly, “I remember it like yesterday. None of us could believe the French rabble had locked their king and queen in the Conciergerie. There were reports the king and queen would go to the guillotine. We waited, wondering how such a thing could come to pass. And then one day they cut off the king’s head.

“I remember so many people tried to save the queen after that, but you know, she’d become quite dotty toward the end, and the final escape failed. She insisted on the coach stopping so she could smell some flowers. Do you know something else, girl? I also remember Waterloo.”

“Did you ever meet the duke of Wellington, ma’am?” As she spoke, Hallie sat down on the foot cushion at Lady Lydia’s feet.