The Wicked Lord Montague. Кэрол Мортимер
in his tone.
‘I believe that sums up the situation very well, my lord, yes.’ The butler looked even more uncomfortable.
‘We shall see about that!’ Giles assured determinedly. ‘If you could organise a decanter of brandy brought into us, Lumsden, I would be most obliged?’
The elderly man straightened with renewed purpose. ‘Certainly, my lord.’
Giles turned with that same sense of purpose, his expression grim as he strode through to his father’s suite of rooms in the east wing of the house, more than ready to do battle with the man who was employed to be his father’s valet and not his jailer!
‘His Grace will be overjoyed, I am sure.’ Mr Seagrove beamed approvingly, having just been informed by Lily that Lord Giles Montague was returned to Castonbury Park, after all.
There was no answering pleasure in Lily’s face as she sat across the dinner table from her father in the small family dining room at the vicarage. ‘No doubt,’ she dismissed uninterestedly. ‘Would you care for more potatoes, Father?’ She held up the dish temptingly in the hopes of changing the conversation from the subject of the hateful Giles Montague, knowing full well that the creamy vegetable was one of her father’s weaknesses.
‘Thank you, Lily.’ He nodded distractedly as she spooned the potatoes onto this plate before replacing the bowl on the table, a worried frown marring his usually smooth brow. ‘I trust you and Lord Giles had a pleasant conversation together?’
She gave that earlier conversation some thought. ‘I believe I can say that I succeeded in being as polite to Lord Giles as he was to me,’ she finally replied carefully.
‘That is good.’ The vicar nodded, apparently unaware of the true meaning of Lily’s reply. ‘However, I think it best if we both call at the Park tomorrow morning to pay our formal respects.’
Lily felt her heart sink. ‘Oh, must I come too? I have several calls to make in the morning, Father. Mrs Jenkins and her new baby, and the youngest Hurst boy’s leg is in need of—’
‘Yes, yes, I appreciate that you are very busy about the parish, Lily.’ Mr Seagrove beamed his approval of the care and attention she had given to his parishioners since the death of his wife five years ago. ‘But His Grace is my patron, after all, and it would seem rude if we did not both call upon his heir.’
Lily could appreciate the logic of her father’s argument; Mr Seagrove’s tenure in Castonbury, although of long duration, was nevertheless still dependent upon the Duke of Rothermere’s goodwill. She just wished she did not have to see Lord Giles Montague again quite so soon. She had no wish to see that unpleasant man ever again, if truth be told! Though Lily knew it would never do for her father to suspect such a thing, which meant Lily had no choice but to accept she was to accompany her father to the Park tomorrow morning and make polite conversation with Lord Giles Montague.
‘It is good to see you again, Mr Seagrove.’ Lord Giles smiled with genuine warmth as he strode forcefully into the elegant salon where they waited.
Lily was momentarily taken aback by the change wrought on that haughty gentleman’s countenance when he smiled down at her father as the two men greeted each other; those grey eyes had softened to the warmth of a dove’s wing, laughter lines grooved into those hard and chiselled cheeks, his teeth appearing very white and even between the relaxed line of sculpted lips. Even the bruising on his jaw could not succeed in detracting from his pleasant demeanour.
Indeed, for those few brief moments Giles Montague looked almost … rakishly handsome, Lily realised in surprise. A rakish handsomeness, his sister Phaedra had confided to Lily, he had reputedly taken full advantage of these past months in London!
‘And Miss Seagrove.’ Lord Giles turned to bow, the genuine warmth of the smile he had given her father fading to be replaced by one of mocking humour. ‘I had not expected to see you again quite so soon.’
‘My lord.’ She met that gaze coolly as she curtseyed, her best peach-coloured bonnet covering the darkness of her curls today, a perfect match for the high-waisted gown she usually wore to church on a Sunday, her cream lace gloves upon her hands.
Mr Seagrove had been born the fourth son of a country squire, and so possessed a small private income to go with the stipend he received yearly from the Duke of Rothermere, but even so Lily possessed only half a dozen gowns, gowns she made for herself after acquiring the material from an establishment in the village. Unfortunately only three of the gowns Lily owned were fashionable enough, and of a quality, to wear out in company; including the gown Lily had been wearing yesterday, Giles Montague had already seen two of those gowns.
Which was a very strange thought for her to have—was it not?—when she had absolutely no interest in Giles Montague’s opinion, either of her personally, or the gowns she wore …?
No one likes to appear wanting in front of another, she told herself firmly as she answered, ‘My father, once told of your return, was of course anxious to call and pay his respects.’
Giles gave a knowing grimace as he easily discerned Lily’s own lack of enthusiasm at seeing him again. He fully appreciated the reasons for her antagonism after the frankness of their conversation a year ago. It was a conversation Giles had had serious reason to regret since Edward’s death; a marriage between his youngest brother and this particular young lady would still be most unsuitable. But Giles would far rather Edward had enjoyed even a few months with the woman he had declared himself to be deeply in love with, than for his brother to have died without knowing the joy of a union he so desired.
Surely Lily’s words yesterday, regarding her intention of loving his brother until she died, implied her heart still yearned for the young man she had loved and lost …?
‘Would you care for tea, Miss Seagrove?’ Giles’s voice was gentler than he usually managed when in this particular young woman’s company.
‘I—’
‘That would be most acceptable, my lord.’ Mr Seagrove warmly accepted in place of what Giles was convinced would have been Lily’s refusal. ‘His Grace is no doubt pleased at your return?’ Mr Seagrove looked across at him pleasantly.
Giles frowned darkly. As Lumsden had warned, Smithins had stood like a guard at the door of the Duke of Rothermere’s rooms the day before, his initial surprise at finding Giles walking through that doorway unannounced lasting only seconds before he informed Giles that his father was resting and not to be disturbed.
It had taken every effort on Giles’s part to hold on to his temper and not bodily lift the insufferable little man out of his way. Instead he had icily informed Smithins what he would do to him if he did not step aside. The valet may be a bumptious little upstart, but he was not a stupid bumptious little upstart, and so had had the foresight to step aside immediately.
Not having seen his father for nine months, Giles had been shocked, deeply so, at his first sight of his father seated in a chair by the window, a blanket across his knees as evidence that, despite the warmer weather, his almost skeletal frame was prone to feel the cold. The duke’s grief at the death of his two sons appeared to have aged him twenty years in just one, his hair having turned grey, his eyes having sunk into the thin pallor of his face whilst deep lines marked his unsmiling mouth.
His dull eyes had brightened slightly at the sight of his son, and his spirits had rallied for a short time too, but Giles could see his father’s strength failing him after they had spoken together for ten minutes, and so he had made his excuses and gone to refresh himself after his journey.
‘I believe so, yes,’ Giles replied to Mr Seagrove; his visit to his father’s rooms before breakfast this morning had led to the discovery that the Duke of Rothermere had completely forgotten his son’s arrival the day before, thereby making it impossible for Giles to ascertain whether his presence back at Castonbury Park was having a positive effect upon his father or not.
The guilt Giles now felt at having neglected his father by remaining from home these past nine months was not