Lord Greywell's Dilemma by Laura Matthews Read Free Book Online Page B

solemn in its deep timbre, nonetheless affected her with its gentleness.
    But any favorable impression she might have received was shattered when her father announced, “Elspeth, this is Lord Greywell. Hampden’s nephew, you know.”
    Certainly she should have known. Not that he bore any resemblance to the rather florid Winterbourne, but simply because he was here. She made no further effort to straighten her hair, instead dropping her hands listlessly to her sides and nodding a greeting to him. Despite her annoyance with her father and Hampden Winterbourne, she could not entirely bring herself to be unkind to this obviously grief-stricken gentleman.
    “Mr. Winterbourne told me of your sad loss,” she said as she crossed the room to join them. “You have my deepest sympathy.”
    “Thank you. It was good of Hampden to stay at Ashfield with me for so long.”
    Greywell waited for her to seat herself before disposing himself in the chair he’d risen from. Sir Edward was regarding his daughter’s disheveled appearance with chagrin tempered by the necessity to say nothing in front of their guest.
    And she was rather unkempt, Greywell thought, with her tousled hair, her red nose, and her dusty boors. Apparently no one had told her there was a visitor and she’d come straight from a ride—she wore an attractive navy-blue riding habit—straight to the parlor to warm herself. It was bitterly cold outdoors. Greywell could hear the wind beating against the windows of the room. Not exactly the sort of day a young woman usually chose to ride out for pleasure. Perhaps she’d gone on some mission of mercy to one of the families in the neighborhood. The thought encouraged him somehow.
    There was a moment’s silence before Elspeth turned to her father to ask. “Have you rung for refreshment for Lord Greywell?”
    Sir Edward, who had entirely forgotten, said, “We were waiting for you, my dear.”
    “Would you prefer tear, or something stronger?” Elspeth asked their visitor as she rang for the footman. His eyes were gray, she decided as their gazes met. A rather interesting color, and unusual in their intensity.
    “Tea will be fine, thank you.”
    Her father usually had Madeira at any time past three in the afternoon, but he said smoothly now, “That will be fine for me, too, dear.”
    Elspeth lifted her brows briefly in surprise, but did no more than relay her instructions to the footman. Tea, in Sir Edward’s oft-expressed opinion, was the worst-tasting beverage ever invented by man. He didn’t consider it redeemable, either, by adding a dollop of spirits. When visitors of whatever description came, it was his invariable rule to have his Madeira brought in with the tea, and Elspeth hadn’t considered it even necessary to ask him. The footman gave no sign that there was anything unusual in her order as he withdrew his bland countenance from the room.
    Again there was a silence, with Lord Greywell and Sir Edward both watching her expectantly, as though she were responsible for the conversation which would ensue. Elspeth felt her irritation grow. There was nothing the matter with either of their tongues, and she didn’t want them staring at her disordered hair and crumpled riding habit that way. If someone had bothered to inform her they had a guest, she would have made herself presentable and not felt quite so much like an object of curiosity. She didn’t choose to think about why Lord Greywell had come.
    “Hampden said your son was not very stout, Lord Greywell,” Elspeth finally stated. “I hope he’s stronger now.”
    “I’m afraid not. He continues rather sickly despite our best efforts to strengthen him.”
    Greywell’s eyes were hooded for a moment, and one hand tightened against the chair arm where it rested. “The doctor in our neighborhood, Dr. Wellow, says there are some infants who simply have a difficult time. He doesn’t know what the problem is.”
    “Have you considered changing his wet nurse?