“Notice she doesn’t offer her father any tea,” Deverill said, lifting his own cup, tilting it back and forth a little, grinning as he gave Rex the knowing look of one man of the world to another. “She knows it’s not necessary. I’ve got my tea already.”
Rex felt a wave of pity. “Yes,” he agreed mildly. “So it would seem.”
His reply must surely have conveyed something of what he felt, but Deverill didn’t seem to notice. His daughter, however, was a different matter.
“Sandwich?” she asked, her voice still unnaturally bright. “Or would you prefer a scone with cream and jam?”
When he looked into her face, he banished any hint of pity from his own, for that emotion was one he sensed she would not welcome. “A scone would be lovely, thank you.”
“Do you know His Grace?” Deverill asked.
“Not well, I’m afraid.” Rex took the plate Clara handed him, placed it on his lap, and once again turned his attention to the other man. “Though we have met, of course.”
“He and Irene are in Italy on honeymoon. Taking their time about it, too,” he added with a chuckle. “Marriage seems to agree with her. Would you ever have guessed that, Clara?”
“Not in a hundred years, Papa. My sister,” she added for Rex’s benefit, “had often declared quite adamantly that she’d never marry.”
Deverill gave a bark of laughter. “Funny that. The daughter who vowed she’d never marry has made a brilliant match and is off on her honeymoon, and the one who’s always wanted a husband and children more than anything is still waiting her turn. You’ve got the connections now, Clara, so best get on with it.” He gave Rex a meaningful glance as he spoke. “Don’t want to be forever outshone by your sister, do you?”
Rex slid his gaze to the girl beside him, watching as the color in her cheeks deepened, and he decided it was time to offer her Auntie’s invitation and take his leave. He finished his scone, but before he could down the last of his tea and depart, the door opened and a man entered the room.
“Begging your pardon, sir,” he said to Mr. Deverill, “but Dr. Munro is here for your weekly appointment.”
“Bah, doctors,” Deverill said, an indignant sound that made his opinion of the medical profession quite clear. “Send him away.”
“Really, Papa, you do need to see the doctor occasionally,” Clara said before the manservant could turn to leave again. “And you never know. He might have some new treatment to offer.”
“I doubt it. Munro’s a dour Scotsman. His idea of how to prolong one’s life is to take away all the things that make life worth living.”
“See him for my sake, then,” she said, beckoning the servant into the room. “If not for your own.”
“Oh, very well,” he grumbled as the servant crossed the room toward him. “But it’s so unnecessary. All Munro will do is look at me with all that disapproval of his, and tell me not to drink.”
“Then your meeting with him should be blissfully short,” she pointed out, the cheery determination in her voice reminiscent of a nursery governess dealing with a recalcitrant child.
“I doubt it,” he shot back as the manservant moved behind his wheeled chair and released the brake mechanism. “The list of things I’m not supposed to have grows longer by the day. No strong cheese, no animal fats, no drink of any kind, no sugar, no milk—not even in tea... I ask you, Clara, what’s left on a man’s plate after all that’s taken away?”
She didn’t offer a reply to his question, but as the valet rolled her father’s chair past her seat, she stood up, signaling the manservant to pause.
Rex rose as well, watching her as she leaned down to kiss her father’s cheek, a tender regard for her parent that—in his opinion at least—the other man did not deserve.
“I will see you tomorrow, Papa,” she said as she resumed her seat. “In the meantime, do try to obey the doctor, hmm?”
Still grumbling, he was wheeled out of the drawing room, but as they departed, he gestured for his valet to close the door behind them, giving his daughter a conspiratorial wink over his shoulder just before it swung shut.
Clara’s cheeks were now absolute scarlet. She made a sound, half sigh and half groan. “I am so sorry about that,” she mumbled, lowering her head into her hand as if to hide her hot face. “One’s parents,” she added with a smothered laugh, “can be so embarrassing.”
Despite the laughter, it was obvious that she was not amused. “I am the one who should apologize,” he answered at once. “Forgive me. If I had known—”
“It’s quite all right,” she interrupted, sparing them both his self-recriminations on the subject. Lowering her hand, she straightened in her seat and looked at him. “As you pointed out, you’d have been expected to meet him sometime.”
“Yes, but we could have arranged it for a time when he would be... himself.”
“I doubt it. He hasn’t been himself since I was eleven.” The moment the words were out of her mouth, she grimaced, pressing her palm to her forehead. “Heavens, I don’t know what made me say that. Most of the time, other people have to pry words out of me.” She stirred a little on her end of the settee. “But you already knew that,” she added in a low voice.
“Yes, although...” He paused, giving her a frown of mock aggravation. “I’ve not seen much of this reticence, myself, Clara. You don’t ever seem to hold your tongue with me.”
“Goodness, I don’t, really, do I?” she said with a laugh. Then her smile faded a bit as she considered. “That’s because of you, I expect, not me. You’re very good at... drawing people out.”
