The Heir - Catherine Coulter [30]
“Oh yes, I know that. I got the look a couple of times. I don’t remember hearing about that incident.” He laughed this time, a deep rich sound that made the daffodils and roses tremble for a moment in Lady Ann’s hand. Tremble? Goodness, she would be a halfwit by the end of the week if she didn’t get a hold on herself.
“How do you think the earl will adjust to Bella’s most unwomanish competence in a traditional man’s domain? To boot, the chit is nearly eight years his junior.”
“To tell the truth, Paul—and no, I am not being biased—he seemed to me to be rather pleased. I think he will come to admire her tremendously. Actually, I think he will exploit her shamelessly. I don’t think he has any particular enthusiasm for estate accounting.”
Dr. Branyon paused and dropped a hand on Lady Ann’s shoulder, gripping it an instant. She stopped immediately and turned to face him. “I think you’re right, Ann. Though I can easily picture some ferocious fights between them, they are perhaps better suited than most. Arabella needs a mate of great strength, else she would render the unfortunate’s life miserable. As for Justin, I vow that, given an obliging, meek little spouse, he would become a household tyrant in very short order.”
She’d rather hoped he would say something else. Well, he was right about Arabella and the new earl. She just prayed the two of them would see things in the same light. She wanted to sigh, but couldn’t. She said lightly instead, “How very tidily you wrap up all my concerns.” Had she really been concerned? She didn’t think so, but she’d had to say something. She gaily plucked a daffodil from her bunch and with a mock curtsy pulled its stem through a buttonhole in his coat.
“And now I’m a dapper dog as well.” He smiled tenderly down at her upturned face.
Lady Ann gulped. That look of his surely must be intended for something he was thinking. It couldn’t be intended for her. It was too tender a look, too intimate, too close. Suddenly, she gave a guilty start. “Oh goodness, I forgot about Elsbeth. She will think I’ve given her not a thought, poor child. And I have, just not for the past fifteen minutes or so. And that is all your fault, sir. Come, let’s find her. It is nearly teatime.” She didn’t care a whit about tea or anything else, but she knew her duty, at least most of the time. Curse it.
He nodded, but then, without warning, he pulled up short in his tracks and gave a shout of laughter.
“Whatever is that for?”
“It just occurred to me, my dear Ann, that you will soon be the Dowager Countess of Strafford. You, a dowager. It boggles the imagination. You look like Arabella’s sister, not her mother. Oh, how you’re going to be teased and twitted and given such very complacent looks. Some of the old bats will be delighted. They’ll doubtless try to convince themselves that you’ve gone all wrinkled and gray and gloat.”
“Well, I am becoming quite matronly. Soon I just might have a gray hair. Goodness, do you suppose I’ll pull it out? Do you suppose that by the time I’m of truly advanced years, I’ll be bald?”
“You may tug and pull as you please. I promise now to buy you a number of wigs if you need one. Also, I will begin right now to assist you. Here is my arm to support you. When you can no longer walk without me, then I shall prescribe a cane.”
She had no idea that her blue eyes were dancing as wildly as the wicked new waltz from Germany, but he did. He was enchanted. Oh God, he was more than enchanted. He was King Arthur. He was Merlin. He was everything in the world that could be enchanted and entranced and charmed and so in love that he could barely bring himself to breathe.
All he could do was watch her mouth as she said, all gaiety and