Nathaniel leveled his gaze at his mother. “Mother, you will be civil, and you will be pleasant to her. You will not be stubborn and aloof, merely because you did not choose her for me. Am I understood?”
“I shall decide when I meet her,” Abigail replied, squinting up at her son. “Comb your hair back at once. You look slovenly with that lock flopping over your eye like that.”
Nathaniel shrugged. “I like it, so it shall stay this way.”
“Must I come over there with a comb and do it myself?” Abigail began to stand as if she truly meant to.
“Mother, leave me be. I am not a little boy. If you come within a foot of me with a comb, I shall take Leah and her mother elsewhere for dinner, and you shall be left here to think about your behavior with an entire feast to devour alone,” Nathaniel warned, half smiling. He could never stay angry with his mother for long.
She sniffed. “Well, when this Lady Leah thinks you look unkempt, do not complain to me.”
“I would not dare,” Nathaniel said, walking to the side-table to pour himself a small measure of brandy—a nip for courage.
He had just swallowed the hearty mouthful when a bell sounded through the townhouse, tinkling vigorously. He banged on his chest, struggling not to choke as the liquor seared down his throat and into his stomach.
She is here…
“Be nice,” Nathaniel warned again as he headed back out into the entrance hall to greet Leah and her mother personally.
The butler, Mr. Parker, was also halfway to the front door. Seeing Nathaniel, the older man froze and frowned as if uncertain of how to proceed.
“I shall manage this, Parker,” Nathaniel said with a smile, leaving the butler at a bemused standstill, right in the center of the entrance hall. It would make for a strange welcome, but Nathaniel could not do anything about that now.
He pulled open the heavy front door, his eyes widening in delight as he saw Leah standing there on the porch attired in a pretty dress of ivory muslin with a fur tippet to stave off the gathering cold. The weather in London was always temperamental, but it seemed to know exactly when the society season would begin and had decided to speed up the approach of winter, putting a severe chill in the air that crept under doorways and through the cracks in window-frames.
“Welcome, welcome!” Nathaniel crowed, ushering Leah and her mother into the house. There, he offered the butler a reprieve. “Mr. Parker, would you take their coats and furs? I assure you, ladies, it is more than warm enough in this house. My beloved mother never lets a fire dip below roaring.”
The butler rushed forward to obey, taking possession of the pelisse coats and tippets and bonnets, his arms full by the time Leah and her mother were comfortably divested of their outdoor garments.
“I thought we might begin in the drawing room,” Nathaniel suggested, “before moving to the dining room. I find that it is always easier to converse in a more informal setting, and I should like you both to be at ease here.”
Leah’s mother seemed relieved by the suggestion. “That would be delightful, Your Grace, and thank you ever-so kindly for inviting me. You have a beautiful residence. So beautiful that I am doubting whether or not to invite you to dine at our apartments, lest you find them too… humble.”
“Nonsense, Countess. I should be thrilled to be invited to dine with you,” Nathaniel insisted. “And please, do not refer to me as 'Your Grace'. My name will suffice.”
Leah’s mother, Sarah, shook her head. “Oh, I cannot do that.”
“As you prefer.” He smiled, not wanting to make her feel awkward. “In truth, I will answer to almost anything. You could yell 'hedgehog' across a ballroom, and I would likely turn to respond.”
Sarah covered her mouth with her hand, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “I shall have to remember that.”
“Goodness, Nathaniel, must you leave the door open wide?” His mother’s voice grumbled, moments before she appeared from the drawing room. “I have cultivated a particular warmth, and you are making it chilly.”
Nathaniel gestured to the closed door. “It is shut, Mother.” He paused, turning to Leah and Sarah. “But now that you are here, Mother, it is my great pleasure to introduce you to Sarah Bolton, the Countess of Druidstone, and her dear daughter, Lady Leah. Ladies, this is my mother, Abigail, the Dowager Duchess of Bergfield.”
“Your Grace.” Sarah gave a low curtsy, still as graceful and elegant as a woman half her age.
Leah echoed the gesture, holding Nathaniel’s attention. If her mother had the grace of a ballerina, then Leah had the grace of a prima ballerina, her arms flowing out with the slow bend of her legs, like a bird’s wings. “Your Grace,” she said softly, lifting her gaze. Her eyes flitted toward Nathaniel, a shy smile turning up the corners of her lips before she returned her attention to Abigail.
“A pleasure,” Abigail replied in a tone that suggested it was anything but. Nathaniel shot her a sharp glare which she promptly ignored. “Shall we make our way to the dining room? It is almost seven o’clock, and I do not like to have dinner served late.”
“I thought we could—” Nathaniel began, but Leah cut him off.
“Of course, we should hate to delay dinner by even a moment.”
Abigail stared at her as if she suspected sarcasm. “Yes, well…”
Without another word, she marched off in the direction of the dining room, leaving Nathaniel, Leah, and Sarah to follow behind. As they walked, Nathaniel searched Sarah’s face for any sign of disapproval, but she seemed to be too distracted by the portraits and paintings and vases and ornaments to notice that his mother had been curt with Leah. As for Leah herself, while she had been lithe and graceful not a moment ago, now she was rigid with nerves, chewing upon her lower lip as ifthatwas dinner.
