Mama glanced away, the uncertainty in her face clearly demonstrating how compelling she found Vanessa’s argument. “Well. Perhaps Grey is merely paving the way for his half brother to swoop in and take your dowry.”
“Come now, Mama. Can’t you see? It’s Lord Lisbourne who wishes to take my dowry.”
“I consider that unlikely.”
“Fine. Then you can marry him.” Vanessa turned and headed for her bedroom. “Oh, and by the way, he said he’s calling on us today, so I’d best get dressed.”
“What?” her mother screeched. “Why didn’t you say so? Good Lord, I barely have time to prepare!”
The last thing Vanessa saw as she went into her room was her mother hurrying toward her own bedchamber, calling for her maid and the housekeeper.
Precisely at three, when people from the previous night’s affair could be expected to pay calls, Vanessa slipped down the stairs as silently as a cat, hoping to avoid another private meeting with her mother. Vanessa already regretted the last one. She didn’t like it when she got angry and lashed out at Mama. It made her sound precisely like the child her mother made her out to be. She wanted to be in control of her temper. Papa had often gone into rages, and watching it as a child had terrified her.
Unfortunately, her mother brought out the worst in her. So Vanessa was relieved to hear from the footman that Mama was already downstairs waiting for her in the best parlor with their first caller.
Almost relieved, anyway. Because a peek inside the parlor revealed that Lord Lisbourne was their caller, and he’d clearly come “a-courting,” as Vanessa’s maid liked to say. As usual, he had dressed much too finely for paying calls—this time in another suit of velvet, but dark blue, with cerulean knee breeches, of all things. She supposed she should be glad he wasn’t sporting a powdered wig.
And why was the marquess obsessed with velvet, anyway? He certainly liked to be seen in it. Vanessa would think it was his age making him so unfashionable, except that her uncle of nearly the same age wouldn’t wear such a suit even in the grave. Surely Lord Lisbourne employed a valet who knew better than to dress him so.
Then again, she couldn’t imagine the pompous marquess allowing a mere valet to tell him what to wear.
He caught sight of her in the doorway and shot to his feet. That’s when Vanessa spotted what he held in his hand. Daisies. Oh, dear. This was going to be a problem. He’d brought her a lovely bouquet of daisies and hothouse roses, and he insisted upon handing them to her instead of asking a servant to put them in water.
She held them at arm’s length as if to admire them. “They’re beautiful.” She tried not to breathe in, but it was no use. As always for her with daisies, a fit of sneezing overtook her. “Forgive me . . . achoo! . . . Lord Lis—Achoo achoo! They’re . . . I can’t . . . Achoo!”
Thank goodness her mother rushed over to snatch the flowers from her. “You stop that this instant, young lady! These are lovely.” She sniffed them, then glared at her daughter. “I can’t imagine why you’re being so silly about them.”
That sparked Vanessa’s temper anew. “Mama, you know why.” Her reaction to daisies was so bad that they didn’t even have them in their garden.
“Balderdash.” Her mother looked at Lord Lisbourne, who appeared all at sea. “Pay her no mind, sir. No doubt she’s coming down with a cold is all.”
When he reared back from Vanessa in alarm, she had to stifle a laugh. Perhaps that was the key to ridding herself of Lord Lisbourne. She could just sneeze and cough her way to freedom.
Vanessa pulled out her handkerchief. “I do believe you’re right, Mama.”
Still gripping the bouquet, her mother called for a servant. After asking that they be put in a vase, she told Lord Lisbourne, “Forgive my daughter, sir. She must have picked up a chill at the theater last night.”
To punctuate her mother’s words, Vanessa sat down and markedly blew her nose in her handkerchief.
“Stop that, gir—daughter,” Mama said as she took her own seat. “It’s but the smallest of colds, since you were fine this morning.”
That seemed to soothe his lordship, for he settled back onto the sofa, though he made sure to sit at the opposite end from Vanessa.
An awkward silence ensued. Her mother tried to keep up the conversation by inquiring about Lord Lisbourne’s aged mother, who was nearly ninety. That proved to be a wrong turn, since the marquess went to great lengths to explain how he must stay away from any sick person to keep from giving an illness to his dear mother.
Fortunately, their butler appeared in the parlor doorway. “His Grace, the Duke of Armitage, is here to see Miss Pryde, my lady.”
Her mother glared at the servant. “Tell him we are not at home.”
Vanessa sprang to her feet. “Don’t be rude, Mama. He will see Lord Lisbourne’s phaeton and know we are home. We don’t wish to insult our dearest Grey’s brother.” When the butler stood stoically awaiting a decision, Vanessa added, “Please show His Grace in, if you please.”
Despite looking unhappy about the matter, her mother gave the faintest of nods, the butler hurried off, and Vanessa let out the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.
As he was announced, her mother and Lord Lisbourne joined her in standing. Sheridan looked particularly delicious today, his forest-hued riding coat highlighting the green of his eyes and his buckskin breeches with top boots making him appear rather casual for once.
Vanessa couldn’t help but smile at him. “It was very good of you to come, sir.”
Sheridan, who held both hands behind his back, bowed to her and Lord Lisbourne, then pulled out a dark bottle from behind his back and approached Mama with it. “Lady Eustace, I thought you might enjoy some perry made on my estate from our very own pears.”
A surprised smile crossed her mother’s face as she took it. “For me? Why, that is kind of you, Your Grace. Most kind indeed. I do enjoy a good cider from time to time, but I’ve never had the pear kind.”
“I hope you enjoy it,” Sheridan said politely.
He’d certainly found the quickest way to Mama’s heart. Her mother did love wine and cider.
Then he turned to Vanessa and offered her a posy of lilies. “These are for you.”
Her silly heart jumped. “How did you know lilies are my favorite?”
“Because I have a working nose.” When she cocked her head, unsure of what he meant, he laughed. “Your scent—it’s of lilies.”
“Oh! Why . . . so it is.”
Behind her, Lord Lisbourne snorted. Not that she cared. She couldn’t believe Sheridan knew what her scent was. And bought her flowers of the same kind! How amazing that he’d noticed such a thing. She would never have expected it of Studious Sheridan. Or Saint Sheridan, for that matter. When he bowed his head low enough so that the others couldn’t see, then winked at her, she had to stifle her laugh. She’d begun to notice he had a mischievous streak sometimes.
With a light heart, she went to ask the footman in the hall to put her posy in some water. As she returned, Lord Lisbourne was saying his good-byes. Fortunately, the rules of paying calls were on her side today. Not only were callers not supposed to outstay their welcome, but if a second person came to pay a call when the first one was still there, the first was expected to leave within a few minutes of the second’s arrival.