“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 lookedoutside 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 knowthrough 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.
Chapter Seven
Bennington Abbey had once truly been an old abbey destroyed by Henry VIII and converted a century later by one of Mirabel’s late husband’s ancestor into a home. Over the centuries, the Palmer family had built more wings until it had become a huge, rambling place with a great deal of charm and the layout of a rabbit warren.
Lady Palmer was the first to greet Neal when he arrived.
“My lord, we have been waiting for you. I am Mirabel, Lady Palmer, your hostess.”
“Thank you, my lady. It is a pleasure to be here, and I appreciate your willingness to host this unusual gathering.”
“I’m enjoying myself,” she confided, taking him by the arm and steering him inside the house. She led him into a sitting room tastefully decorated in reds and golds. It would have been ostentatious except for the size of the room and the comfort ofthe furnishings. “I can’t tell you how much fun it is to have one’s name on everyone’s lips. I’ve never had so many friends ‘find’ me again after ignoring me for years.”
“Am I that exciting?”
“A man with your purse? Absolutely,” she told him.
“I was hoping I’d be here before the others,” he said. “I thought it might be best if I were to welcome them—depending on your plans, Lady Palmer.”
“I have no plans except to enjoy my guests and this week,” she said with an airy wave of her hand. “And please, call me Mirabel. Lady Palmer is my dull name and reserved for people I don’t like.”
“I’m pleased to be one of those you do like,” he said.
“You should be. It’s a short list. Ah, here is Thea now.”
Thea walked in from a windowed side door, her arms full of daisies, larkspur, and other greenery and posies from the garden. Her cheeks were flushed from being outside, and several curls had escaped from her usually severe hairstyle. Her straw hat had fallen back and was held around her neck by green ribbons that matched the colorof her dress. She appeared younger, more relaxed, carefree.
Her step slowed as she realized Neal had arrived. She smiled at him, and for a second, he felt a bit dazzled by her. In this moment, she was the very epitome, in his mind, of English womanhood.
“Welcome, my lord,” she said in her low, melodic voice. “I hope your journey was uneventful.”
Neal knew he should make a comment, but he was having trouble finding his tongue.