you care for tea, Miss Seagrove?’ Giles’s voice was gentler than he usually managed when in this particular young woman’s company.
‘I—’
‘That would be most acceptable, my lord.’ Mr Seagrove warmly accepted in place of what Giles was convinced would have been Lily’s refusal. ‘His Grace is no doubt pleased at your return?’ Mr Seagrove looked across at him pleasantly.
Giles frowned darkly. As Lumsden had warned, Smithins had stood like a guard at the door of the Duke of Rothermere’s rooms the day before, his initial surprise at finding Giles walking through that doorway unannounced lasting only seconds before he informed Giles that his father was resting and not to be disturbed.
It had taken every effort on Giles’s part to hold on to his temper and not bodily lift the insufferable little man out of his way. Instead he had icily informed Smithins what he would do to him if he did not step aside. The valet may be a bumptious little upstart, but he was not a stupid bumptious little upstart, and so had had the foresight to step aside immediately.
Not having seen his father for nine months, Giles had been shocked, deeply so, at his first sight of his father seated in a chair by the window, a blanket across his knees as evidence that, despite the warmer weather, his almost skeletal frame was prone to feel the cold. The duke’s grief at the death of his two sons appeared to have aged him twenty years in just one, his hair having turned grey, his eyes having sunk into the thin pallor of his face whilst deep lines marked his unsmiling mouth.
His dull eyes had brightened slightly at the sight of his son, and his spirits had rallied for a short time too, but Giles could see his father’s strength failing him after they had spoken together for ten minutes, and so he had made his excuses and gone to refresh himself after his journey.
‘I believe so, yes,’ Giles replied to Mr Seagrove; his visit to his father’s rooms before breakfast this morning had led to the discovery that the Duke of Rothermere had completely forgotten his son’s arrival the day before, thereby making it impossible for Giles to ascertain whether his presence back at Castonbury Park was having a positive effect upon his father or not.
The guilt Giles now felt at having neglected his father by remaining from home these past nine months was not something he intended to discuss with anyone, even the kindly Reverend Reginald Seagrove. Certainly Giles did not intend to reveal his feelings of inadequacy in front of the quietly attentive Lily Seagrove. Indeed, she was a young lady who saw far too many faults in him already than was comfortable!
‘Perhaps now that you are home you will be able to see to the necessary repairs about the estate, my lord?’ It was almost as if that young lady knew of at least some of Giles’s thoughts as she smiled sweetly.
‘Perhaps,’ he dismissed stiffly.
She gave a gracious inclination of her head. ‘I am sure His Grace would be most gratified. Not to mention the tenants of the estate.’
Giles’s mouth tightened as Lily Seagrove’s comment hit home. It was a way of pointing out his own shortcomings, he was sure. Shortcomings which Giles needed no reminding of when he had only to see the frailty of his father’s health, and the neglect about the estate, to become all too aware of them himself.
‘Shall I pour, my lord?’ she prompted lightly as Lumsden returned with the tea tray and placed it on the low table in front of her before departing.
‘Please.’ Giles gave a terse inclination of his head. He suffered more than a little inner restlessness as he felt the chains of responsibility for Castonbury Park tighten even more painfully about his throat. Chains which Lily Seagrove no doubt prayed might choke him!
‘Perhaps now that you are home, I might broach the subject of this year’s well-dressing, and the possibility of the celebrations afterwards returning to Castonbury Park?’ Mr Seagrove prompted hopefully. The Duke of Rothermere, having been in a turmoil of emotions the previous year, had requested that the garden party after the well-dressing take place on the village green rather than in the grounds of the estate as was the custom.
Although, as everyone knew, ‘garden party’ did not quite describe the celebrations that took place after the villagers had attended the church service and seen the three adorned wells in the village blessed. Much food was eaten, many barrels of beer consumed, with several stalls for bartering vegetables and livestock, and there was a Gypsy fortune-teller in a garishly adorned tent, and of course there would be music and dancing as the day turned to evening.
Giles was slow to turn his attention back to the older man, so intently was he watching Lily’s slender, gloved hands as they deftly managed the tilting of the teapot. Good heavens, sitting there so primly, her movements gracefully elegant, it was almost possible to imagine that Lily might, after all, have made Edward a passably suitable wife!
Almost.
For one only had to look at that black and curling hair, the ivory-white of her complexion, those lively green eyes and her full and berry-red lips to be reminded that Lily Seagrove’s true parentage was of much more exotic stock than the homely Mr and Mrs Seagrove.
No, as Giles had said only yesterday, it simply would not have done. Lily Seagrove was the type of young lady that gentlemen like the Montagues took to mistress, not to wife. An opinion, if Giles remembered correctly—and he had no doubts that he did!—to which his brother Edward had taken great exception a year ago. And which, when Giles had made those same remarks to Lily Seagrove, had resulted in her landing a resounding slap upon his cheek!
Giles’s mouth tightened at that memory even as he turned his attention back to Mr Seagrove. ‘What exactly would that entail?’
‘Oh, there is nothing for you to do personally except give your permission, my lord,’ that cheerful gentleman assured him eagerly. ‘Lily and Mrs Stratton usually work together on the organisation of the celebrations.’ He beamed brightly.
‘Indeed?’ Giles’s gaze was unreadable as Lily Seagrove stood up to hand him his cup of tea.
Lily kept her lashes lowered demurely as she avoided all contact with Giles’s long and elegant fingers as she handed over the cup of tea into which she had placed four helpings of sugar, despite having no idea whether or not that gentleman even liked sugar in his tea. Perhaps he would understand that she believed his demeanour could do with sweetening also.
She had felt a slight uplift in her spirits as she saw Giles Montague’s discomfort at mention of the neglect currently obvious about the estate, only to have her heart sink upon hearing her father put forward the idea of the celebrations after the well-dressing once again taking place at Castonbury Park. She knew that if Giles Montague were to agree, it would necessitate her spending far more time here than she would ever have wished, now that he was back in residence.
Lily moved across the room with her father’s tea. ‘I am sure it is not necessary to bother either His Grace or Lord Montague with something so trivial, Father,’ she dismissed evenly. ‘The venue of the village green proved perfectly adequate for our purposes last year.’
‘But, my dear, the garden party after the well-dressing ceremony has, by tradition, always been held at Castonbury Park—’
‘Mrs Stratton informed me only yesterday that His Grace is far more comfortable when he does not have too much rush and bustle about him.’ Lily could literally feel Giles Montague’s gaze upon her as she resumed her seat on the chaise before taking up her own cup of tea.
‘I
