Lord Wraybourne's Betrothed (31 page)

The elderly lady greeted Chloe with a sharp, “Hussy!” and made as if to pull away from her hands. Then she recognized her daughter-in-law and her mood changed. She happily allowed herself to be hoisted up into the curricle. Justin looked over her head at Chloe.

“I feel terrible at leaving you here.”

“You feel terrible at being alone with her,” she replied quietly with a grin. “Don’t worry. She’s harmless. And no, I am not driving your team even if they are tired. It’s no distance. When you get to the Hall, they’ll take care of her.”

He accepted his orders and drove on.

“A very pleasant gel,” said the Dowager in the best manner of a Society Lady. “Niece of the Duke of Tyne, you know.”

Justin looked at her and found that, apart from her clothes, she seemed completely normal. Many elderly ladies clung to the styles of their youth, not liking the high waists and straight skirts of fashion. He was shocked, however, at the deterioration in her since he had last been at Delamere. Aunt Sophronia looked to be well over sixty and yet he doubted she had reached fifty yet. He remembered when he had first visited Delamere at age ten. Then his aunt had been a plump and pretty woman with a merry sense of humor.

“Yes, I know,” he said in reply to her comment, and got no response. He remembered the lady’s hearing had been failing for years.

“How are you, Aunt Sophronia?” he shouted.

“Very well, thank you,” she said. “But I am your mother, Stephen. Try to remember these things. I am sure I don’t know where you have been recently but you are far too brown. I have a lotion. . . .” Her voice trailed off. After a bewildered pause, she said, “
Potpourri
is quite delightful.”

Justin stared at the Dowager, wondering what response to make. As the lady was looking ahead and humming a little song to herself, he decided to make none. He had to confess, however, that the thought that he was now responsible for her terrified him more than enemy fire.

They arrived in front of the house and servants came forward. As soon as someone was at the horses’ heads Justin went around to assist his aunt to the ground. “I’m not Stephen,” he shouted, feeling more than a little foolish, “I’m Justin.”

The Dowager looked at him. “I suppose you are,” she said with a frown. Then she smiled sadly. “First Stephen, then George, now you. You see,” she said, with a smile which hinted at the teasing beauty of her youth, “I do know what is going on. Do you want an apple?”

Justin looked at her with close attention.

“Why?” he said loudly, wishing he could whisper as seemed more appropriate. “Do you have one for me?”

She looked at him with well-bred astonishment. “Why would I have an apple with me? I haven’t the teeth for one. But Stephen was coming here to pick apples, and George kept laughing whenever anyone asked for an apple. I don’t think eating apples is particularly humorous, do you? George was dicked in the nob, though, and greedy. Even the Duchess is always asking for apples. Personally, I like a grape. Remind me to give you that lotion, dear. . . .”

With a fond tap on his cheek, the Dowager Lady Stanforth allowed herself to be led off by her anxious companion, leaving Justin staring after her.

He thought about driving back to pick up Chloe but saw she was already in sight, walking at her usual brisk pace. She had never been a dawdler.

JO BEVERLEY
is widely regarded as one of the most talented romance writers today. She is a
New York Times
best-seller, a five-time winner of Romance Writers of America’s cherished RITA Award, and one of only a handful of members of the RWA Hall of Fame. She has also twice received the
Romantic Times
Career Achievement Award. Born in England, she has two grown sons and lives with her husband in Victoria, British Columbia, just a ferry ride away from Seattle. You can visit her Web site at
www.jobev.com
.