Alicia steeled herself to see that sentiment change in the next minutes. Lifting her head, she confessed, “Torrington has asked that I and my household move into his house in Upper Brook Street—his widowed cousin and her daughters will be staying there, too.”
Lady Amery’s gaze grew distant as she considered, then she refocused on Alicia’s face. “Bon. Yes, I can see that that would be much more comfortable, especially for him, what with this latest brouhaha.” Her eyes twinkled, then, reading Alicia’s troubled expression, she grew serious. “But you do not wish this? Would it be difficult to move to Upper Brook Street?”
Alicia stared into her ladyship’s transparently sincere eyes. Blinked. “No…that is…” She dragged in a breath. “I just don’t want to do anything to give the gossips food for slander—I don’t want inadvertently to do anything to damage his name or his standing.”
Lady Amery’s concerned expression dissolved into smiles. She patted Alicia’s hand. “It is very right that you think of such things—such sentiments do you credit—but I assure you in this case, there is nothing to concern you. The ton understands such matters—oui, vraiment.” She nodded encouragingly. “There will be no adverse repercussions to your moving to Upper Brook Street in such circumstances.”
The assurance with which she made the statement put the matter beyond argument.
Her expression easing, the weight on her shoulders lightening, Alicia smiled and let herself accept it. Despite her worries, her reservations, everyone—absolutely everyone—insisted Tony’s suggestion was not only sound, but an outcome to be desired.
Despite that… she said nothing when he returned bearing glasses of champagne. Lady Amery claimed his attention and chatted animatedly about shared acquaintances, to Alicia’s relief making no allusion to their discussion or her advice.
Finally, the long evening drew to a close, and they headed home. Geoffrey held to his new habit and accompanied them to their door; Tony, as usual, stayed with them beyond it.
In her bedchamber, they undressed—in silence. She felt herself tensing, waiting for him to ask her again, to press his case… instead, he said nothing. She climbed into the big bed; he pinched out the candle, and joined her beneath the covers.
He reached for her, drew her to him, then hesitated. In the dimness, he looked at her face. “You’re still considering?”
There was no hint of a frown, of irritation or impatience in his voice; he simply wanted to know.
“Yes.” She held his gaze. “But I haven’t yet made up my mind.”
She felt him sigh, then he tightened his hold on her, lowered his head. “We can discuss it in the morning.”
When she awoke the next morning, however, he’d already left her bed. She lay staring at the canopy as minutes, then half an hour ticked by, then she sighed and rose.
Washed, gowned, her hair severely coiled, she headed downstairs.
Pausing in the doorway of the dining parlor, she studied the back of Tony’s broad shoulders; she wasn’t surprised to find him there, in the chair at the end of the table.
Her brothers saw her and turned; Tony glanced around and rose as she entered. Going past him, she waved him back to his seat, exchanged greetings with her brothers and Adriana—then, to Adriana’s amusement, remembered to bid their guest a good morning, too.
He returned it with aplomb, recommending the kedgeree. She poured herself a cup of tea, then rose and crossed to the sideboard. She made her selections, all the while conscious of her brothers’ whispers, of the anticipation welling, notch by notch, around the table.
Calmly, she returned to her chair, set down her plate, then sat, thanking Maggs, who held the chair for her.
That done, she picked up her fork—and looked around the table.
At four pairs of expectant eyes. And one black gaze she couldn’t read.
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.