He’d been incandescent with fury, but, as usual, very little showed. He’d kissed her lightly, squeezed her hand, said, “Wait here.” Then he’d left.
Minutes later, Letitia had arrived, fired with concern, ready to offer comfort and support; she’d lent a sympathetic ear while Minerva had ranted, literally raved over being denied her declaration, her supreme moment when she accepted Royce and pledged her love.
Penny had joined them a few minutes ago, bearing a tray with the brandy decanter and four glasses. She’d listened for a moment, then set down the tray and poured.
The door opened, and Clarice came in. Penny held out the fourth glass; Clarice thanked her with a nod as she took it, sipped, then
sank down onto the sofa opposite Letitia. She met their gazes. “Between us—Royce, Penny, Jack, and me—and surprisingly enough, Susannah—I think we’ve got everything smoothed over. Our story is that the three of us knew of the engagement—which, given your state this morning and what would naturally have followed from that, is the truth. And, indeed, that’s why we’re here, to witness the announcement for the grandes dames.”
Minerva scowled, sipped. “I vaguely recall Royce muttering something about wringing Susannah’s neck. Wasn’t she the one who brought the ladies up to the battlements? If she was, and he hasn’t, I will.”
“She was.” Penny sat beside Clarice. “But believe it or not, she thought she was helping. Being Cupid’s assistant, so to speak. She’d learned, somehow, that you were Royce’s lover, and decided she much preferred you as her sister-in-law over any other, so…” Penny shrugged. “Of course, she thought it was Royce dragging his heels.”
Minerva grimaced. “She and I were much closer when we were young—we’ve always been friendly, although recently, of course, the connection’s been more distant.” She sighed, and dropped onto the sofa beside Letitia. “I suppose that explains it.”
Penny’s Charles was right; the brandy helped, but anger still coursed her veins. Thanks to Susannah, she and even more Royce had lost what should have been a treasured moment. “Damn!” She took another sip.
Luckily, the incident on the battlements and its outcome had changed nothing beyond that; she literally thanked heaven that she’d already made up her mind. If she hadn’t…
Letitia stood. “I must go and speak with Royce.”
“You know,” Clarice said, “I always thought our husbands treated him with a respect that was somewhat overstated—as if they credited him with more power, more ability, than he or any man could possibly have.” She raised her brows. “After seeing him in action downstairs, I’ve revised my opinion.”
“Was he diabolical?” Letitia asked.
Clarice considered. “Mildly so. It was more a case of everyone being suddenly reminded of the Wolverstone family emblem—that it has teeth.”
“Well,” Penny said, “for my money, he has every right to feel savage.”
“Be that as it may,” Letitia said, “I have to go and bait the wolf.”
“He’s shut up in his study,” Clarice told her. “ ’Ware the snarls.”
“He might snarl, but he won’t bite. At least, not me.” Letitia paused at the door. “I hope.”
On that note, she left.
Minerva frowned into her glass, now less than half full—then set it aside. After a moment, she rose and tugged the bellpull; when a footman arrived, she said, “Please inform Lady Margaret, Lady Aurelia, and Lady Susannah that I wish to speak with them. Here. Immediately.”
The footman bowed—lower than normal; clearly the household already knew of her impending change in station—and withdrew.
Meeting Clarice’s inquiring glance, Minerva smiled—intently. “I believe it’s time I clarified matters. Aside from all else, with a ducal wedding to organize, the house party ends tomorrow night.”
Royce was standing at the window when Jeffers entered to announce Letitia; he turned as she came in. “How is she?”
Letitia arched a brow. “Upset, of course.”
The fury he’d been holding at bay—clamped tight inside—rose up at the thought, the confirmation. He turned back to look blindly out at his fields. After a long moment, during which Letitia wisely remained silent and still, he bit off, “It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”
Every word was invested with cold, hard rage.
The same words that had rung in his head as he’d driven back to Wolverstone after so many years away.
When he’d driven home to bury his father.
This time, the rage was even greater. “I can’t believe—can’t understand why—Susannah would do such a thing, even if, as she claims, she was trying to help.” That was the other element that was eating at him. He raked a hand through his hair. “What help is this—essentially forcing us into marriage?”
Letitia saw the tremble in his hand, didn’t mistake it for weakness; it was pure rage distilled. But he wouldn’t be so angry, so close to true rage, if he didn’t care—deeply— about Minerva’s feelings. If he didn’t have deep feelings of his own.