The Lady Pursues

Chapter Two (Part 2)

1811 (Continued)

"Come, it's not like that." Ian sat down heavily. "She always followed the both of us, wanting to play or—"

Ernie snorted. "The difference is that now she only wants to play with one of us."

Ian eyed him angrily. "This is nothing to joke about."

"Oh, don't be such a prig."

"You're talking of your own sister," Ian growled.

"Not like I mean anything by it. She's a brassy little baggage, but she's harmless enough. And I know you'd never get up to anything with her."

"Or any girl that I've seen," Stanborough said with a roll of his eyes, pointing his glass toward Ian. "Have to wonder about you, Douglass. Can't understand a man who barely drinks."

He stewed, staring at the bottle on the sideboard. If there was ever a time for a drink, it was now, but he couldn't afford it, not with the livestock and the garden and every other thing he had to take care of with what was left of the afternoon.

He knew Richard and Ernest thought he was a prig most times, if not all the time, but it was different for them. It wasn't just that they had time enough on their hands to get up to mischief, they also had a certain immunity that he never would. He'd seen it at Eton. They could be hooked doing almost anything and it would all be chalked up to young men and high spirits. For him, it would just be proof of how base-born he was, how an education was wasted on him. Not that the Crewes treated him that way. Though he'd always earned his keep, he was never made to feel low about it, possibly because Lady Crewe considered his mother a particular friend. His masters at Eton, however, had certainly seen fit to tell him how grateful he should be and how carefully he should watch his step.

"Come, have a drink, Ian," Ernest urged. "You damned well deserve it. I don't know how you put up with her cussed calf-love. I wouldn't stand for it, myself."

Stanborough laughed loudly. "Had a lot of experience with that, have you?"

"Shove off, Stan!"

"Mostly on the other end. Why don't you tell him to try whatever Isabella Sloane told you when you—" That earned Stanborough a pillow in the face, after which he stood. "Right! You've asked for it now!"

"Stay back, you bugger!" Ernie said on a laugh.

Stanborough obviously wasn't going to. He was after the fire irons when the door swung open to reveal the Countess, who looked rather put out.

Ernest coloured up, then tried to hide both his drink and his cheroot behind his back while Ian stood quickly. It wouldn't do for the Countess of Stanborough to find him sitting down in her home.

Stanborough only tossed the poker back toward the grate and picked up his drink again, inclining his head to her. "Afternoon, Mother," he said without an ounce of shame. Then again, he was older, but she'd never so much as blinked at his habits before and they didn't seem to bother her now, though the noise must have. "Too loud again? Barnes did say so earlier, but I must have forgotten after the fifth." He lifted his glass, and rather brazenly in Ian's eyes.

"Well, I wish you and your friends would be still. I can hear all the way upstairs and it's giving me absolute agony. I barely slept last night." Her shaky hand moved to her head as she sketched a weak curtsy toward Ernest, who belatedly remembered to bow while still holding his drink upright behind his back.

"Lady Stanborough."

She only glanced briefly toward Ian, who bowed. "Mi'lady."

She didn't seem to notice Ernest's predicament, or the smoke coming from behind his jacket, turning to her son. "Did Jones not send my tonic?"