Chapter Six #3
Thea gave him a doubtful look. “I believe you did just a bit. I think you washed here, and here.” She punctuated her words by giving each of them a wiggle of their earlobes. Both giggled and she felt her mood lighten.
“How did you know?” Jonathan asked.
“I’m your mother. I know everything about you because I love you so much.” To her surprise, tears filled her eyes.
“What’s the matter?” kindhearted Christopher asked, his expression worried. “Did someone hurt you?”
“No one hurt me,” Thea answered. “I cry because I’m happy.” She pressed a kiss to his forehead. “I’m very happy.”
“I’m happy too,” Christopher assured her.
“Now let us go and give you both a proper washing,” Thea said. She started up the stairs with Christopher. Jonathan held back. She turned to him. “Come along, Jonny.”
Instead of obeying, he said with troubled eyes, “What did that woman mean about a witch?”
Thea wished he hadn’t overheard. “Eavesdropping is very bad manners.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Jonathan answered dutifully. “Are you in trouble?”
“No,” Thea quickly replied. She sat on the step in front of him so that they were eye level. “I’m in no trouble.”
“Is Lord Lyon in trouble?”
This one was trickier. “I don’t think so. He doesn’t believe he is, and, as I said to his sister, what he thinks is all that is important. As to the witch, she was having bad dreams. You’ve had bad dreams before, so you know they can be scary. But we can’t live our lives being afraid of dreams.”
Jonathan digested this a moment and then nodded his head.
“Come upstairs,” Thea instructed. “It’s time for all of us to go to bed . . . after you have rewashed your faces.”
Groans from Jonathan met her demand and she knew he had accepted her explanation.
She thought she was done with it.
But in the wee hours of the morning, Thea found herself staring at the ceiling, reliving the scene with Lady Margaret. The woman was not a fool. Her dreams frightened her.
Either there was madness in the Chattan family, or there really was something to fear.
“I don’t see anything wrong with this list, do you, my lord?” Sir James asked Neal.
Neal sat in the chair in front of his desk. He’d brought the list to Sir James for his opinion. “No,” he replied noncommittally.
“You aren’t satisfied?” Sir James hazarded.
Neal wasn’t certain what he felt. “They are all from exceptional families. I know many of their extended family members.”
“Do they not meet your criteria?”
They met them too well. “Yes.”
“Then what is not pleasing you?” Sir James sat back in his chair. “I have known you for many years, Lyon. I know when you are not happy. Do you wish me to convey your thoughts to Mrs. Martin? I will be happy to do so.”
Neal stood, suddenly feeling confined in the chair. “I told her the list was fine. It’s a start.”
“These are high-strung fillies,” Sir James said, indicating the list.
“They are more or less what I asked for,” Neal said, walking over to the window. He looked outside at the overcast day. He’d not been able to sleep the night before. Margaret had spent an hour expressing her strong objections to the endeavor.
She’d told him about her dreams.
Neal wasn’t the superstitious sort. Neither was Margaret.
Perhaps that was why he was so unsettled .
. . that and Harry had gotten into the laudanum again last night.
Neal worried about his brother. There were times he sensed Harry might be trying to take his own life.
Harry put up a carefree front, but he seemed more affected by the curse, by the uncertainty of it, than Neal was.
Perhaps he drank to fill the emptiness in his life?
Neal himself had overindulged many a time as a way of coping with the hopelessness that was the legacy of the curse.
Or could Harry’s weaknesses be connected to the war?
His brother was well respected, yet Neal had noticed the military sorts kept their distance from Harry. He had few, if any, duties with the Horse Guard. His life, once full of purpose, had become aimless.
And, yes, Harry kept a bevy of women around him, but he had few male friends.
Sir James spoke, drawing Neal’s attention back to their interview.
“Duruset has let me know through different channels that he is not pleased to hear you are working with his sister. I know for a fact, he does not want her in London. You’ve already made enough of an enemy going against him in the Lords last year.
Be careful you don’t cross him again by wooing his sister. ”
“There is nothing other than an old friendship between Mrs. Martin and myself,” Neal murmured dismissively. There couldn’t be—about that Margaret was right. In spite of the years that had passed, the bonds between him and Thea were strong.
“Aye, I’m certain that is true,” Sir James said, his voice belying his words. He tapped the list on his desk with one finger. “However, you’ve crossed Duruset more than once. Be wise. Keep your sights on the women on this list.”
“You needn’t worry,” Neal told him.
“And that is why I worry,” was the lawyer’s reply.