Spencer’s smile widened. “Excellent. I want to hear how you outsmarted the brigands who locked you in the dungeon. I couldn’t pry the story from Uncle Philip.”
Lady Catherine raised her brows. “Brigands? Dungeon? I’ve not heard of this. I thought you and Philip spent your time unearthing artifacts.”
“We did,” Andrew assured her. “However, as your brother possessed an uncanny penchant for landing in scrapes, I was forced to perform several rescues.”
Mischief gleamed in her eyes. “I see. And you, Mr. Stanton-did you never find yourself in need of rescuing?”
Andrew did his best to look innocent and pointed to the center of his chest. “Me? I, who epitomizes the model of decorum-?”
“There was that time Uncle Philip helped you escape those machete-wielding cutthroats,” Spencer broke in, his voice ringing with animation. “Fought them off using nothing but his cane and quick wits. They were after you because you’d kissed the one blackguard’s daughter.”
“A great exaggeration,” Andrew said, with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Your uncle Philip is notorious for hyperbole.”
Lady Catherine’s lips twitched. “Indeed? Then what is the true story, Mr. Stanton? Did you not kiss the blackguard’s daughter?”
Damn. How did every conversation with her of late veer down these disastrous paths? “It was more like a friendly good-bye peck. Completely innocent.” No need to mention that the two hours prior to that friendly, goodbye peck were anything but innocent. “Her father unfortunately objected-rather strenuously, I’m afraid.” He shrugged and smiled. “Just when it appeared I was about to become a human pincushion, a stranger strode into the fray, bold as you please, brandishing his cane and shouting out in some foreign language. In truth, I thought he was insane, but he quite saved the day. Turned out to be our very own Philip, and we’ve been friends since that day.”
“What on earth did he say to them?” Lady Catherine asked.
“I don’t know. He refused to tell me, claiming it was his little secret. To this day I do not know.”
“Which means he must have said something absolutely heinous about you,” Spencer said with a grin.
“No doubt,” Andrew agreed, laughing.
“Well, Spencer and I shall look forward to hearing more about your travels during your stay, Mr. Stanton. Shall we get you settled?” She held out her uninjured arm to Spencer. They started up the walkway, and Andrew fell in behind them. He noted how firm she kept her arm, enabling her to bear a great deal of Spencer’s weight as he limped down the path. Admiration for her-for both of them-hit him. He knew the emotional burdens she bore, yet she did so with humor and dignity, her love for her son shining like a warm glow of sunshine. And Spencer, in spite of the physical difficulties he faced, was obviously an amiable and intelligent young man who openly returned his mother’s affection. Most certainly a lad any man would be proud to call his son. Andrew’s hands clenched thinking of the boy’s father rejecting him so cruelly.
They passed over the threshold, stepping into a spacious, parquet-floored foyer. A round mahogany table stood in the middle of the floor, its shiny surface bearing an enormous arrangement of fresh-cut flowers set in a porcelain vase. The bloom’s fragrance filled the air, combined with the pleasant scent of beeswax. Peering beyond the foyer, he noted the wide, curved staircase leading upward, and corridors fanning out to the left and right. Several long tables decorated the corridors, all adorned with vases filled with cut flowers.
A formally attired, slightly built butler stood by the door like a sentinel, his spectacles riding low on his beaklike nose.
“Welcome home, Lady Catherine,” the butler said in a voice far too deep and sonorous to come out of a man of such slight proportions. Indeed, it looked as if a stiff wind would knock the man on his posterior.
“Thank you, Milton.” While handing him her bonnet and shawl, she said, “This is Mr. Stanton, my brother’s business partner and a dear friend of the family. He’ll be staying for several days. I’ve instructed that his things be taken to the blue guest chamber.”
Milton bowed his head. “I shall see that the room is readied at once.”
Spencer nodded toward the mahogany table. “Did you see your newest flowers, Mum?”
Andrew noted the slight flush that crept up her cheeks. “They are rather difficult to miss.”
Spencer made a disgusted sound. “That one isn’t nearly as large as the arrangement in the drawing room. They’re turning our house into an indoor garden! Why can’t they leave you alone?” He turned toward Andrew, clearly seeking an ally. “Don’t you think they should leave her alone?”
“They?”
“The suitors. Lords Avenbury and Ferrymouth. The Duke of Kelby. Lord Kingsly. Then there’s Lord Bedingfield, who recently purchased the estate bordering ours to the west. Between them, they send enough flowers to make one feel as if one is living in a botanical prison.”
Spencer made a disgusted sound. “I feel as if I’m choking on flowers. Don’t you think they should stop?”
Hell, yes. Andrew forced himself not to shoot the floral tribute a sizzling glare. Before he could answer, Lady Catherine, whose blush had deepened to rose, said, “Spencer, that is very discourteous. Lords Avenbury and Ferrymouth and the others are merely being polite.”
Andrew swallowed the irritated humph that rose in his throat. Polite? Hardly. He had to bite his tongue to refrain from announcing that a man didn’t send a woman enough flowers to sink a frigate just to be polite.
“Shall I arrange for tea?” Milton asked, wading into the awkward silence.
“Yes, thank you, but just for two. In the drawing room.” She turned to Andrew. “I’ll see you settled in, but then I’m afraid I have a previous appointment.” She touched Spencer’s sleeve. “Will you entertain Mr. Stanton while I’m gone?”
“Yes. Is your appointment with Mrs. Ralston, or with Dr. Oliver?”
“Doctor?” Andrew asked, his gaze jumping to Lady Catherine. “Are you ill?”
“No,” Lady Catherine said quickly. “My appointment is with Mrs. Ralston.”
Spencer turned to Andrew. “Mrs. Ralston is my mother’s greatest friend. Unless the weather is foul, Mum walks to her house every day to visit and help her.”
“Help her?” asked Andrew.
Spencer nodded. “Mrs. Ralston has arthritis in her hands. Mum writes letters for her and tends her flower beds.”
Andrew smiled at Lady Catherine. “Very kind of you.”
She appeared to blush. “Genevieve is a very dear lady.”
“And fortunate to have such a staunch friend.” Andrew returned his attention to Spencer. “And who is Dr. Oliver?” he asked casually.
“Another suitor, although he’s quite nice, and isn’t wealthy enough to send these gargantuan bouquets. No, the doctor merely gazes upon Mum with mooning eyes.” Spencer proceeded to demonstrate “mooning eyes” by adopting a simpering expression and fluttering his lashes.
If any other woman besides Lady Catherine were involved, Andrew would have found the boy’s antics highly entertaining. Instead, he grimly noted that Lady Catherine’s cheeks flamed to crimson. He clearly recalled Philip mentioning that one of Lady Catherine’s admirers was a village doctor. Based on her reaction, he strongly suspected this was the man.
“What nonsense, Spencer,” she said. “Dr. Oliver makes no such faces and is merely a friend.”
“Who stops by every day.”
“Not every day. And besides, he is only being polite.”
“It would appear that there is an abundance of polite gentlemen in Little Longstone,” Andrew said dryly.