“You mustn’t fret, Elizabeth. I will get to the bottom of his likes and dislikes, I assure you. Is there anything or anyone you would deem unacceptable for your family or the duchy?”
“Unacceptable?” Elizabeth pondered. She shook her head. “I only want my son to be happy.”
That was one small victory, at least, but Lila didn’t believe her. Generally, she was up against parental demands that the person be well-connected or come with a sizable dowry, or bear a title that was impossible to find and match. “Wonderful! I think I have all that I need.”
“Lila.” Elizabeth leaned forward and placed her hand on Lila’s knee to gain her attention. “My son will need a woman who does all the talking. That’s the only way it will ever work—he must have someone who hardly cares if he speaks or not.”
“I understand.” But was that really what the poor man needed? Lila’s guess was that, like everyone, he needed someone who understood he was thoughtful and wouldn’t expect a response to everything she uttered. She also truly believed that when he found someone he loved and trusted, the words would come. Trust was such a grave issue with people in powerful positions.
For all couples, really.
The thing made most clear at that tea was that Elizabeth really didn’t know her son very well at all. Lila would have to rely on the viscount himself, which, naturally, she would have done under any circumstance. But it always helped to have another eye or opinion.
In the days that followed she’d tried to gain entry into the Abbott house on Grosvenor Square. Unfortunately, the viscount made that nearly impossible. He was too occupied, or had engagements across town, or was simply unavailable. Lila wasn’t entirely surprised—she’d suspected he might try and stonewall her after their initial meeting with Beck and his mother. His displeasure at being introduced to her by complete surprise in the garden was evident.
Still, he’d agreed to the matchmaking. Lila had even cornered Mr. Callum on his way out of the residence one evening, asking him to put her on his calendar.
“And jeopardize my position with the Abbott estate?” Mr. Callum had exclaimed. “I think not. I hardly know what he thinks of me as it is.”
Lila had been forced to call on Beck and ask him to intervene.
“Ah, the new Viscount Abbott,” Beck had mused when Lila had presented the reason for her call.
“Who, Papa?” The question had come from one of his middle daughters, Lady Margaret, who was lounging on the settee in the drawing room, idly separating strands of her long hair.
“Lord Abbott. You remember him, darling. I asked if you’d like to marry him.”
Lady Margaret wrinkled her nose. “He’s so old.”
Lila blinked. “He’s eight and twenty.”
“Ugh,”said Lady Margaret.
“You see?” Beck had asked, gesturing to his daughter, who was now gliding out of the room. “I won’t be able to marry off a single one of them. Their mother has spoiled them terribly.”
Lila knew who had done the spoiling, and it wasn’t Blythe.
In the end, it wasn’t Beck who gained her the meeting. It was Donovan, the mysterious servant or friend or uncle to the Iddesleigh household. He’d been present, too, standing at the hearth. Lila had never been certain of exactly what the relationship was between Mr. Donovan and the Hawke family, but he was ever-present. He was an astonishingly handsome man, had never married, and was, Lila knew, partial to gentlemen.
But he was clearly an important part of this large family. “I’ll do it,” he’d said with a shrug.
“Do what?” Beck had asked.
“Get Lady Aleksander in the door at Grosvenor Square.” He smiled. “Leave it to me.”
“You heard the man. Leave it to Donovan, Lila,” Beck had said, happy to be rid of the responsibility.
Lila didn’t know how Donovan had done it, and she dared not ask. All she knew was that today, at long last, she had an invitation to meet with the viscount at three o’clock.
“You’ll not have much time,” Donovan said. “The gent doesn’t care for empty talk. My advice to you, madam, is to get straight to the point.”
Lila assured him she would. She was certain the next meeting with the stubborn viscount would be doubly difficult. Which meant she had an awful lot of ground to cover. She was prepared. “I’ve dealt with clients like you,” she’d muttered to her reflection as she fixed her bonnet to her head in her dressing room. “Don’t underestimate me, sir. I will have what I want from you.” She smiled at her reflection with confidence and went out.
CHAPTER TWELVE
MRS. O’MALLEYHADperfected her brandy balls and was so pleased with the outcome she insisted on sending some to Grosvenor Square with Hattie.
In the kitchen, there was quite a lot of conversation about them in Spanish. In the end, having polished off two of the balls, Mr. Borerro said something to Yolanda which prompted her to find a dish and arrange three of the remaining balls on it. That left two, which one of the footmen swiped up and popped into his mouth, ignoring the cries of distress from the rest of them.
