The Stanforth Secrets by Jo Beverley Read Free Book Online Page A

Chloe.
    “I feel terrible at leaving you here.”
    “You feel terrible at being alone with her,” she replied quietly with a grin. “Don’t worry. She’s harmless. And no, I am not driving your team even if they are tied. It is no distance. When you get to the Hall, they’ll take care of her.”
    He accepted his orders and drove on.
    “A very pleasant gel,” said the Dowager in the best manner of a Society Lady. “Niece of the Duke of Tyne, you know.”
    Justin looked at her and found that, apart from her clothes, she seemed completely normal. Many elderly ladies clung to the styles of their youth, not liking the high waists and straight skirts of fashion. He was shocked, however, at the deterioration in her since he had last been at Delamere. Aunt Sophronia looked to be well over sixty and yet he doubted she had reached fifty yet. He remembered when he had first visited Delamere at age ten. Then his aunt had been a plump and pretty woman with a merry sense of humor.
    “Yes, I know,” he said in reply to her comment, and got no response. He remembered the lady’s hearing had been failing for years.
    “How are you, Aunt Sophronia?” he shouted.
    “Very well, thank you,” she said. “But I am your mother, Stephen. Try to remember these things. I am sure I don’t know where you have been recently but you are far too brown. I have a lotion. . . .” Her voice trailed off. After a bewildered pause, she said, “ Potpourri is quite delightful.”
    Justin stared at the Dowager, wondering what response to make. As the lady was looking ahead and humming a little song to herself, he decided to make none. He had to confess, however, that the thought that he was now responsible for her terrified him more than enemy fire.
    They arrived in front of the house and servants came forward. As soon as someone was at the horses’ heads Justin went around to assist his aunt to the ground. “I’m not Stephen,” he shouted, feeling more than a little foolish, “I’m Justin.”
    The Dowager looked at him. “I suppose you are,” she said with a frown. Then she smiled sadly. “First Stephen, then George, now you. You see,” she said, with a smile that hinted at the teasing beauty of her youth, “I do know what is going on. Do you want an apple?”
    Justin looked at her with close attention.
    “Why?” he said loudly, wishing he could whisper as seemed more appropriate. “Do you have one for me?”
    She looked at him with well-bred astonishment. “Why would I have an apple with me? I haven’t the teeth for one. But Stephen was coming here to pick apples, and George kept laughing whenever anyone asked for an apple. I don’t think eating apples is particularly humorous, do you? George was dicked in the nob, though, and greedy. Even the Duchess is always asking for apples. Personally, I like a grape. Remind me to give you that lotion, dear. . . .”
    With a fond tap on his cheek, the Dowager Lady Stanforth allowed herself to be led off by her anxious companion, leaving Justin staring after her.
    He thought about driving back to pick up Chloe but saw she was already in sight, walking at her usual brisk pace. She had never been a dawdler.
    Chloe had been hurrying directly toward the house. She was later than expected and there would be matters to be handled, especially with the advent of two young men of fashion.
    When she saw Justin still standing by his carriage, however, she slowed her pace. She didn’t want to speak to him again just yet. It wasn’t only her grubby habit, but the effect he was having on her. She tried to tell herself it was just his resemblance to Stephen, but that wasn’t so strong, not now Justin had toughened. . . . Perhaps it was simply that she’d grown unaccustomed to having gentlemen around. Sir Cedric Troughton from nearby Troughton House was the only regular caller, and there was no comparison between formal Sir Cedric and Justin Delamere.
    When Chloe saw Justin turn to Randal and take him