The Sherbrooke Bride - Catherine Coulter [73]
He stared over at his sister, who was sitting astride Alexandra, holding her down, stretching her arms flung over her head on the Italian black and white marble floor.
He shook his head. Northcliffe Hall had gone to seed faster than any army could lose a battle. He threw back his head and laughed.
“My goodness,” came a familiar drawling voice from the open front door, “I say, Douglas, what the devil is going on here? Whatever is Sinjun doing sitting on Alex? Where did all these people come from? I believe it is nearly every Sherbrooke from London to Cornwall.”
Tony and Melissande stepped into the entrance hall and quickly joined the bedlam.
CHAPTER
13
GIVEN THE EARLIER ruckus, it was an amazingly sedate group of people who were seated around the formal dining table that early afternoon for luncheon. Hollis was at his post, looking as unflappable as a bishop, unobtrusively directing two footmen to serve. Neither Harry nor Barnaby said a word. They appeared to be treading on eggs. Douglas sat at the head of the long mahogany table, and Alexandra, still as a statue, sat on his right, placed there by a gently insistent Hollis. The Dowager Countess of Northcliffe sat at the foot of the table.
Ah, Douglas thought, what a damnable mess.
He took a bit of thin-sliced ham and chewed thoughtfully. His mother had established herself quickly, before Alexandra had come lagging into the dining room. As for Douglas, he hadn’t noticed until it was too late. He said nothing. No more upsets, no more scenes, at least for this afternoon. He couldn’t begin to imagine what his mother would say when informed she was no longer the mistress of Northcliffe and that chair down the expanse of long table was no longer hers. She was, at the moment, looking rather pleased with herself, and that bothered him. Did she enjoy the immense embarrassment his wife had caused? Did she believe that he would remove Alexandra from Northcliffe? Did she believe she could still remain the mistress here even if Alexandra remained?
Of course, Alexandra seemed oblivious of her duty as mistress, the damned little twit, oblivious of the fact that the dowager was sitting in her, Alexandra’s, rightful place. What to do?
He gave her lowered head a look of acute dislike. He’d offered her the earth and the moon and himself as a husband, and she’d flown at him like a damned bat, coshed him with a marquetry table, and locked him in the Gold Salon. She should have been grateful, happy as a grig, she should have thanked him for his generosity of spirit, for his forgiveness, for she’d been as duplicitous as Tony and her father. It really made no sense, particularly given her own behavior. Hadn’t she stripped off her clothes and offered herself to him to make him forget about an annulment? On the other hand, perhaps he hadn’t treated her all that well. He had rejected her, firmly and rather coldly. But no, that wasn’t important any more. He’d saved her, taking excellent care of her when she’d been ill. He shook his head. All that was in the past, both the well done and the miserably done. What was important now was that he’d finally decided to accept her.
His humor at seeing his sister sitting on top of Alexandra, holding both her arms over her head in the entrance hall had faded quickly. Alexandra had looked furious, her face flushed, but Sinjun was the stronger and she hadn’t been able to move. He’d looked at her when the laughter had burst out of him, really looked. Now he didn’t think there could be a funny nerve left in his body.
There was only grimness. His wife was still recovering from her illness, yet she wasn’t eating enough to keep her left leg alive. He wanted to tell her to eat more because she needed her strength, when in his mind’s eye, he saw her wielding that damned table at his head. She’d certainly been strong enough to bring him low. He sighed as he looked over at Melissande,