“But, my sweet boy-”
“Good day, Mr. Marker. Corrie, you stay.”
Hollis magically appeared in the doorway of the estate room. “Mr. Marker, it seems to me that you would like a nice glass of ale before you confront William. Isn’t it always so that a man, regardless of his own high moral standing, must face bad behavior in his children? I do have some suggestions for how you might deal with him.”
Mr. Marker folded his tent. He followed Hollis from the estate room, his old hat clutched in his fingers.
“Did Willie really try to kiss you?”
Corrie shuddered. “Yes, it was awful. I turned my head really fast and he kissed my ear. James, I had to do something-”
“Yes, I know. You clouted him.”
“Right in the nose. Then I kicked him in the shin. You know these boots, the toes are really sharp.”
“No wonder he wanted to get back at you. At least you didn’t knee him in his-”
“What? You mean-” Her eyes fell, looking directly at his crotch. She frowned. “Why would I do that?”
“Never mind. Now, you look a fright. Go home and take a nice bath and get all the dust off your face and out of your hair. Why did you come here, Corrie?”
She fidgeted a moment, then whispered, “I came here to Northcliffe because I couldn’t imagine what my aunt and uncle would have done faced with Mr. Marker. But I knew you would take care of things, or your father. Thank you, James.”
Suddenly, the dowager countess of Northcliffe, a big woman with more than ample padding, who would outlive them all, appeared in the estate room door, pumped herself up, and bellowed, “James!”
“Yes, Grandmother?” It needed but this, he thought, dutifully turning to give his grandmother his full attention, hoping it would focus her eye and tongue on him. But of course it didn’t. She was still tall and straight, her white hair thinning now, her blue eyes faded, but there was nothing at all wrong with the workings of her mouth, her brain, or her diction, unfortunately.
If a voice could be said to ring, hers did. “Coriander Tybourne-Bennett, your dead parents would be appalled! Look at you-you’re a disgrace. You look like a ruffian. I must speak to your aunt and uncle, even though both of them are feckless creatures, but they must do something.”
Corrie stuck her chin in the air. “They are.”
“They are what, miss?”
“They are doing something. I’m going to London for the Little Season. They are not feckless.”
The dowager’s blue eyes glittered with anticipation. She saw fresh prey and wanted to dig in her claws and bring it down. She opened her mouth, but her grandson dared to insert himself.
“Grandmother, Corrie will be all ready to go to London. My mother will assist her aunt in seeing that she knows things and dresses appropriately.”
The dowager turned on her grandson. “Your mother? That redheaded girl your father was forced to keep when that bad boy Tony Parrish stole your father’s real bride, Melissande? No one can believe they are sisters. Why, all you have to do is look into the mirror to see the face of the glorious creature your father should have married. But no, he was tricked into remaining with your mother. May I ask, young man, just what your mother knows about anything at all? Why, it is your dear father who dresses her, who tells her how to behave, who scolds her, but not often enough, the good Lord knows, only he can’t control her cutting her gowns down to her ankles. How many times have I told him-”
“Madam, that is quite enough!” James was so angry he was shaking with it. He’d never in his life interrupted his grandmother, but he couldn’t stop himself. Corrie was forgotten as his brain sharpened itself up to go toe-to-toe with the old besom. “Madam, you are speaking about the countess of Northcliffe-my mother. She is the most beautiful lady I have ever met, she is loving and kind and makes my father very happy and-”
“Ha! Loving is right, or something far more lewd. Why, at her age, she still sneaks up on my dear Douglas and kisses his ear. It is disgraceful. Never would I have done that to your grandfather-”
“I am sure you would not, Grandmother. However, my mother and father, despite their advanced years, quite love each other. I do not wish for you to speak ill of her again.”
“I like her too,” Corrie said.
The dowager turned her cannon on Corrie. “You dare to interrupt me, missy? A grandson, the future earl, is one rudeness I must accept, but not you. Goodness, just look at you, a viscount’s daughter and you’re-” Words failed her, but only for a moment. “I don’t believe for an instant that little Willie Marker kissed you. He’s a sweet little boy. You probably tried to kiss him.”
James said more calmly now, “He’s sweet to you, madam, because he knows if he weren’t, you’d have him boiled in oil. Fact is, he’s a bully. He is the scourge of the neighborhood.”
Corrie said, “And I would rather kiss a toad than Willie Marker.”
“I don’t believe that, James. He is a precious little fellow.” She whirled on Corrie. “When he kissed you, you struck him? There, doesn’t that show that you have no breeding, no sense of who or what you’re supposed to be? You, supposedly a lady, struck him? That proves what I think-you are a pathetic ragamuffin.”
With that parting shot, she flounced out of the estate room, her petticoats flapping.