Chapter 1 #2
Selina cringed at her father’s furious roar as he strode back into the parlor. Evidently, he had realized no one had followed him in his furious departure and had come to find out why.
He glanced at his two children and barked, “Well, what are you two doing standing around there? We are going to that den of defilers right this instant!”
Selina stared at her brother desperately. “Reuben, you must reason with him.”
“Oh, I think we are well past that now,” he told her somberly. “I think you should get in the carriage as he says, my dear, before it all gets worse than it is now.”
It was the very last thing Selina wanted to do, but she would rather walk than be dragged.
Rising from the settee as her father stomped out again, she hastily slipped the book to a trusted maid on the way past and whispered, “Hide it in my room for me.”
It could not save her now.
“It is certainly good to see you back where you belong, Philip. Why, I thought that it would take my demise to bring you back to England, if ever at all!”
Philip stretched out his legs in front of him and regarded his grandmother with a raised eyebrow. “I highly doubt that, Grandmother.”
The weathered old woman pressed a dramatic hand to her heart and gasped, “You mean that even if I had tragically passed, you would not have bothered to leave your battlefields to come to my deathbed?”
“I mean that even Death himself would not be so brave as to consider escorting you to the afterlife.” He smiled at her.
“If ever you should decide to shuffle off your mortal coil, Death shall only come at your invitation, and I do not think you would have wasted that invitation trying to bring me back to England.”
No, it had been another death altogether that had brought him back to the place he was supposed to think of as ‘home.’ A death he was glad about, though it wasn’t polite to say so.
“Miss the opportunity to berate me for being away so long? Never,” he added wryly.
“You naughty boy!” Aurelia St. Maur, the Dowager Duchess of Ashbrook, sputtered. “Why, I shall have you know that Dr. Alvers told me just last week that my heart is ailing—ailing, he said—and I am not to be antagonized anymore, lest I—”
“Waste his time when we all know your heart is sturdy as a rock?”
“Oh, you! You!”
Philip grinned as his grandmother wagged her finger at him. Three score years of existence on this cursed mortal plane, and she was still as sprightly as ever. Perhaps she may even outlive them all.
Besides, he could see in the wrinkled corners of her eyes and the slight curve of her mouth that she was not cross with him. He was exactly where she wanted him to be; what did she have to be cross about?
“Speaking of hearts made of rock,” she continued, a slyness in her voice, “perhaps you may want to turn your attention to your other duties, now that you have settled into your title and inheritance and home.”
Philip bristled. He wasn’t stupid. He knew precisely what she was referring to, but he didn’t intend to make it so easy for her.
“What other duties, may I ask?” he said blankly. “Do you mean the estate ledgers? The tenants?”
The old woman set her teacup down and regarded him with bright eyes. “You know that is not what I mean.”
“Then please, be direct.”
“Why, I mean the task of finding a wife, of course!”
At that point, his sister, Lizzy, who had been most uncharacteristically quiet sitting next to their grandmother, choked on her tea.
Philip glared pointedly at her, and the hellion, instead of ducking her head and muttering some excuse like any gently bred young lady would have, burst into laughter.
She was laughing at him, the traitor.
Then again, they were not particularly close, neither in age nor affection. They barely knew one another.
“Oh, you are one to laugh, Elizabeth!” Their grandmother turned to her. “I took great pains to introduce you to the most darling young gentlemen at your debut, and still, you spurned them all!”
“They had nothing to recommend themselves, Grandmama,” Lizzy countered.
“Nothing to recommend themselves? The young Marquess of Wilmington is considered the catch of the Season and stands to inherit his father’s title!” the Dowager Duchess huffed. “His manners are impeccable, and every young lady I know—except you, of course—is swooning at his feet.”
“He is also an inveterate flirt,” Philip supplied. “If darling Lizzy were to wed him, we would be attending his funeral a fortnight after the nuptials.”
Lizzy smiled sharply at him. “Thank you, Philip, for your backhanded support.”
“The pleasure is all mine, sister dearest.” His tone was just as dry.
“Much appreciated, Brother.” Lizzy sighed. “Besides, I am in no mood for courting fools when I am bereaved. Truly, I am glad to be away from London for a while.”
Philip knew his sister cared as much about their father’s passing as he did, and saw the excuse for what it was: his sister had seen what was on offer in society and decided it was not for her.
Their grandmother would be devastated. Meanwhile, Philip suspected it was the first thing that he and his sister had agreed upon since his return.
Just then, he noticed the shrewd glint in his grandmother’s eyes as her gaze swiveled between him and his sister. Saw her hand flying to her chest as she pretended to fall back against the settee in true dramatic fashion.
Some theatrics were to be expected when it came to his grandmother. What he certainly did not expect was the ruckus that erupted right outside the drawing room window at that exact moment.
“Ashbrook, you detestable cretin! Come out and face me, you vile blackguard!”