Chapter 4

Torie was at the door to the drawing room when she realized that her sister's fiancé had followed her.

"You needn't accompany me," she told Lord Kelbourne, pushing open the door before he could reach over her shoulder and do

it for her; that courtesy had always made her feel useless and short. "Your butler will direct me to the nursery."

Ignoring her, he closed the door behind them. "Flitwick, I'd like to introduce you to Miss Victoria, my fiancée's younger

sister."

Flitwick was the stately sort of butler, with a melancholy face like a grasshopper's. Torie had noted that butlers often resembled

their employers. Naturally, her family's butler had a red nose and a propensity to sway back and forth.

Flitwick bowed with all the elegance of a duke. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Victoria."

"I prefer Torie." Her smile seemed to soften his expression, so perhaps he wasn't as rigid as his master. "Do you remain in

London all the time, Flitwick, or do you travel to Kelbourne Manor when Parliament is out of session?"

"As his lordship's head butler," Flitwick said, "I accompany him to Northamptonshire."

"May I ask whether you have a family?" Torie inquired.

"Mrs. Flitwick is my housekeeper," Kelbourne put in, not hiding his impatience. "She travels back and forth to the country

with us. Shall we go to the nursery?"

"In a minute," Torie told him, relishing the fact that unlike her sister, she didn't need to keep the viscount sweet. Not that Leonora seemed to bother, now that she had a ring and an emerald bracelet.

He blinked. Kelbourne was apparently unused to being contradicted. Married life with Leonora would be a revelation.

"Could you please tell us how the children are settling into their new life? My sister is most anxious that they be happily

established."

She caught Kelbourne's twitch at this untruth, but she didn't take her eyes off the butler.

"The twins have settled well," Flitwick declared. "Nanny Bracknell accompanied them to London, so their education has not

been interrupted."

"Not that," Torie said, waving one hand. "How are they, Flitwick? I'm certain that you know what I mean. It's a terrible blow to lose both parents at once."

Flitwick's stern countenance eased. "The children are very lucky to have you take an interest, Miss Torie. They are well.

Intelligent, without question, and Mrs. Flitwick tells me that they have pleasant manners when they remember to use them.

But they're eccentric, you might say. Always talking of the strangest topics."

"They will outgrow such foibles," Kelbourne said, frowning as if he had been informed that all the butter in the house was

rancid.

Torie had the distinct impression that "eccentric" was anathema to his lordship. After all, he had chosen to marry Leonora, the epitome of an English lady.

On the surface.

"Lord Kelbourne, please do rejoin your guests in the drawing room," she told him. "Flitwick will escort me upstairs."

"I haven't yet visited that floor, so I might as well make certain the children are comfortable."

Torie stared at him. "You have not visited the nursery at all?"

"As I said." Kelbourne's expression was always closed, but his mouth got a little tighter. He clearly didn't like criticism,

even the implicit sort.

"Their parents died a week ago," she pointed out. "And they arrived at your house when?"

"Four days ago," Kelbourne said stiffly.

"Has anyone lived there in the nursery since you were a baby?"

"It was hardly the Middle Ages."

"I can assure you that the mattresses were aired, and the rooms recently cleaned," Flitwick put in.

"Of course they were," Torie said. "But if Lord Kelbourne means to be in local parentis , he must be hands-on." She began to climb the marble steps leading to the first floor.

" In loco parentis ," Kelbourne corrected, following.

"I took your use of the term to mean that you plan to be a father. You could stow them in the country, as Leonora suggested. She comes by that model honestly: after our mother died,

we were sent to the country estate, and Sir William never darkened the door of the nursery again."

"Was his absence significant to you as a child?"

She glanced over her shoulder, and then quickly turned her head forward again. Kelbourne was altogether too handsome for normal

life. His profile belonged on a Greek coin. "A father's attention would have been helpful. Our nanny was as cuddly as your

Nanny Bracknell."

"No nanny is cuddly," his lordship said.

They reached the landing. Generous corridors stretched left and right, caramel-colored floorboards shining in the afternoon

sunshine. The wallpaper featured brilliantly colored, improbable birds.

"I adore this paper," Torie commented, stopping to admire it. "Peacocks and parrots!"

"My sister chose it just before she left the house to marry." His voice softened. "Hand-colored and a ridiculous expense for

a mere corridor. Letitia was extravagant." He glanced down at Torie but held his tongue.

"A ‘luxury,' like myself?"

Kelbourne's eyelashes flickered. Torie let her smile widen. She always enjoyed it when she could interpret her acquaintances.

Clara bounced on her toes when she was excited. Her future brother-in-law's eyelashes fluttered when he was irritated.

"I particularly like these cranberry-colored birds," she told him, tapping one. "I would like a reticule in precisely that

color."

He frowned at the wall. "The red ones?"

"They're not red!" Torie protested.

"They look red to me."

She held out her skirts. "I suppose you think that my gown is merely black?"

He looked at the fabric she was holding up. "You must be jesting."

"I spent the best part of a day in Partlet's Emporium finding just the right shade of mourning bombazine," she told him. "This

black has a touch of silver that complements my hair."

His gaze went from her hair to her skirts and back.

"Don't you dare look disdainful," Torie cried. "The silver streaks in my hair would be garish against matte black. You're going to be my brother, so you'll have to trust my opinion."

His eyes returned to her face. "Are you sure you want a brother? Your sister exhibits a remarkably dismissive opinion of your

worth."

When Leonora's feelings were ruffled, she lost her temper and got snappy, but her sister never meant it. "That's merely Leonora's

way," Torie said airily. "I don't take it seriously."

His eyes were blue-gray with a black rim around the irises. "Is it merely your father's way to compare you to an opera-singing

pig?"

Torie cleared her throat. "Sir William loves me, if that's what you're wondering. As does Leonora."

"Hmmm."

She fidgeted, fluffing her skirts. "Shall we continue?"

"Why is your sister so brusque with you?"

"Leonora thinks... no, she is right. I am flighty and frivolous. I truly can't read or write, which makes me fairly useless. I can count, but calculations are above

me. I have a veritable passion for expensive silks; if I were Eve, Adam would likely scold me for overindulging in fig leaves

and leaving none for his breeches."

He took her hand in his. "I don't think you're flighty. You seem loyal and kind." Warmth spread through her body from the

large fingers wrapping around hers.

"I don't mind the word," she said, summoning up a smile. "We can't all be in the House of Lords. I may be useless, but I am

very ornamental. Rather like this wallpaper." She was rattled—she shouldn't be holding hands with her sister's fiancé!—and

so the next sentence just rolled out of her mouth, unprovoked.

"Or your mistress."