At four pairs of expectant eyes. And one black gaze she couldn’t read.
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She drew in a deep breath, exhaled. “All right. We’ll move to Torrington House.”
Her brothers cheered; Adriana beamed.
She looked down at her plate, poked at the pile of kedgeree on it. “But only when Lord Torrington’s cousin is ready to receive us.”
The cheering didn’t abate, instead it broke up into excited speculation, mixed with whispered plans. She glanced at her brothers, then looked at Tony.
Raised a brow.
Tony knew better than to allow his satisfaction, let alone its depth, to show; looking down the table, holding Alicia’s gaze, he inclined his head. “I’ll send word when Miranda is recovered from her journey and ready to meet you.”
Knowing Miranda, he predicted that would be about ten minutes after she arrived.
SEVENTEEN
AS HE’D PROPHESIED, SO IT PROVED. MIRANDA ARRIVED agog to meet the lady who had finally, as she put it, snared him.
An openhearted lady of considerable charm, her husband’s early death had left her sincerely bereft.
“Although I doubt that will last forever.” Blond curls framing her heart-shaped face, she looked up at Tony as he stood before the fire in his drawing room. “Meanwhile, I’m on pins, positive pins, waiting to meet this widow of yours. Dare I guess she’s ravishingly beautiful?”
Tony fixed her with a not entirely mock-severe glance. “You will behave. Furthermore, you will not regale Alicia with tales of my youth, nor yet of my childhood.”
Miranda’s grin deepened. “Spoilsport.”
He snorted, and turned to the door. The clock on the mantelpiece chimed—twelve tings. “I’ll go and inform her of your great willingness to make her acquaintance.”
At the door, he paused, glanced back. “Just remember—she and I haven’t yet formally discussed our marriage.” By which he meant she hadn’t yet, in so many words, agreed.
Miranda looked both intrigued and delighted. “Don’t worry—I won’t scuttle your punt.”
Feigning disbelief, he left.
The atmosphere reigning in Waverton Street was as close to pandemonium as anything he’d experienced. He stood in the front hall transfixed by the activity. Crates lay open on the tiles; the green baize door stood propped wide, and a hum of noise pervaded the house. The boys were rushing up and down the stairs, calling to each other, ferrying books and toys, clothes and shoes, stuffing them joyously into the crates before, pausing only to flash him wide grins, racing up the stairs once more.
Through the open dining-room door, he saw Cook and Fitchett carefully wrapping glassware. A sound drew his attention to the gallery; he watched as Maggs, a heavy case on one shoulder, slowly descended the stairs.
“Madhouse, it is.” Depositing the case beside two closed crates, Maggs grinned at him. “Almost as bad as one of your mama’s journeys.”
“Heaven forfend,” Tony muttered. “Where’s Mrs. Carrington?”
“In her room packing.” Maggs stepped aside as the boys came whooping down once more. “Think she’s nearly done, but she did say as she’d be out to organize these three devils betimes.”
The boys looked up from where they were carefully squeezing slippers and dressing robes in around their toys. They grinned.
Tony fixed them with a direct look. “Do you three devils still need your eldest sister to organize you?”
“’Course not.” David shrugged. “But she does anyway.”
The other two nodded.
Tony raised his brows. “So if I take her away, you’ll be able to manage on your own? My cousin is waiting to meet her, and I thought it might be easier if Alicia came first, on her own.”
David and Harry exchanged glances, then nodded encouragingly.