Violet jerked the bell pull, but Albert was already bringing in fresh tea and more cups and saucers, followed by Charity with a plate of biscuits.
‘Tea?’ Violet asked and began to pour before anyone answered. Her hand shook and she put the teapot down for a moment, then resumed filling cups more steadily.
Jane’s parents were staring as though mesmerised by the sight of a marquess in Violet’s front parlour. Neither spoke. Perhaps, Jane thought, they were working on the principal that a marquess was like royalty and one had to wait to be addressed. Jane, who at least had had the benefit of a duke to practice on recently, took the plunge. Someone had to.
‘My parents have arrived from London within the hour, my lord.’
‘Excellent timing,’ he said drily. ‘A smooth journey, Mrs Newnham?’
‘Very, my lord, thank you, although, like all travel, exhausting. We used our own carriage, naturally.’
‘I find it best,’ the Marquess, presumably owner of an entire carriage house full of the things, agreed gravely.
What are you doing here?
Jane tried to catch Ivo’s eye, but he was looking at her mother, politely attentive as she chattered on, apparently in the grip of nerves. Once started she did not seem able to stop.
‘Your family are clearly intrepid travellers, ma’am,’ the Marquess remarked, stopping her mother in her tracks. ‘I have to offer my most sincere thanks to Miss Newnham for her courageous efforts on behalf of my grandson.’
He might as well have dropped a bomb, fuse fizzing, into the middle of the room. Ivo, who had been so expressionless as to appear carved from wood, visibly winced. Violet let a low moan escape her and Jane’s parents stared at Lord Westhaven and then at Ivo and then at her and then back to the Marquess. Her father’s jaw had dropped, her mother gave a faint shriek.
‘He is the man? This is the...person you removed from a common alehouse?’
At which point there was another knock on the front door, followed moments later by Albert, wide-eyed with nerves at this apparently unstoppable deluge of aristocrats. ‘Lady Tredwick, Lady Merrydew and Lord George Merrydew, Miss Lowry.’
Jane wondered if she had fainted without anyone noticing, because she was aware of nothing until she heard her name and, blinking, found the new arrivals seated. The room was becoming exceedingly cramped, but the ladies settled themselves on to the sofa with the air of two large chickens making themselves comfortable on their nests with much fluffing of feathers and gentle clucking.
And the clucking was, presumably, the sound of two gossips looking forward to a truly wonderful session, full of delicious revelations.
Ivo stood up abruptly. ‘Mr Newnham. I wonder if I might have a word with you in private, sir?’
Her father, still looking faintly stunned, got to his feet. Her mother fanned herself vigorously with one of the tiny embroidered napkins and Violet gave herself a visible shake.
‘Please, use my little library. It is just across the hall, Cousin Arthur.’
Presumably Ivo, with great good sense, was removing her father from the crowd to explain the situation in a more tranquil setting, Jane thought. She could only hope that Papa would be sufficiently soothed by Ivo’s status. She realised that everyone else in the room was staring at her and felt the colour rising in her cheeks.
‘My goodness, Miss Newnham, never tell me that the news we learned yesterday was in advance of your parents’ approval?’ Lady Tredwick said coyly as the door closed behind the two men.
Her mother gave an audible gasp. ‘News?’ she murmured faintly.
‘Honoria, dear friend.’ The Marquess fixed Lady Tredwick with a look that made Jane, on the periphery of it, gulp. ‘I never took you for a gossip.’
Her Ladyship bridled. ‘Certainly not. I was merely—’
He turned to Jane. ‘I understand that you are a considerable artist, Miss Newnham.’
She found her voice from somewhere and, by some miracle, did not babble. ‘Lord Kendall is too kind. I do find it very satisfying to attempt to master the skill.’
‘Portraits are your forte, he tells me. In oils.’
And what else has he told you? Not, surely, that I talked of painting professionally or you would be shocked. Even more shocked than you must be already.
‘That is my favourite subject and medium, my lord.’
‘And Jane does such lovely little watercolour sketches,’ her mother interrupted. ‘Landscapes, posies of flowers, kittens...’
‘How delightful,’ Lady Merrydew cooed. ‘Such a charming pastime for a young lady.’