London
“Of course she will receive me!” a cold feminine voice intoned from the lower reaches of the house. “You will inform her to come down at once!”
Brynn, hearing the imperious command all the way from her upstairs sitting room, gave a start of surprise to think she had a caller. This was her second afternoon in her new home, and thus far her only companions had been loneliness and boredom. She wasn’t accustomed to such inactivity, or to having servants cater to her every whim.
After quickly smoothing her simple blue muslin gown and checking to see that her hair was still tamed, Brynn descended the grand staircase to find a tall, regal, silver-haired lady awaiting her impatiently.
“I should like a word with you in private, miss,” the dame snapped. Turning, she swept from the grand hall and into the adjacent salon, obviously expecting Brynn to follow.
Brynn sent the butler a bewildered glance. “Who in heaven’s name is that?”
Naysmith’s usually stern expression came surprisingly close to a grimace and, more surprisingly, held a hint of sympathy. “Forgive me, Lady Wycliff, but she would not permit me to announce her. That is his lordship’s great-aunt, Lady Agatha Edgecomb. Do you wish me to tell her you are not receiving?”
“No, thank you, Naysmith. I will speak to her.”
Squaring her shoulders, Brynn made her way to the salon. Lady Agatha was facing the door, her spine ramrod straight, as if girded for battle.
“What is the meaning of this outrage?” she demanded at once, brandishing a newspaper in her hand. “I was left to learn of my nephew’s marriage from the society pages, of all things!”
“Our marriage was very sudden,” Brynn answered as calmly as she could, considering the woman’s rudeness. “I expect there was not time for you to be informed.”
“Why the need for such haste? Are you enceinte?”
Brynn blinked at such bold speaking. “No, I am not, my lady. Although I fail to see how that could be any of your concern.”
“Certainly it is my concern! I am head of this family!” Lady Agatha’s gray eyes narrowed in dislike. “What sort of impertinence is this, missy? I will not countenance such disrespect! My nephew will hear of this, I can assure you.”
“You may tell him whatever you wish, Lady Agatha. Indeed, if you have objections to our marriage, you must take them up with my husband.”
“If I have objections! Of course I have objections! Wycliff has completely disregarded what he owes his family and his title. Who are you? Who is your family? Tell me that!”
“My father was Sir Samuel Caldwell of St. Mawes, Cornwall. My mother, Miss Gwendolyn Vaughn.”
“Just as I thought! Wycliff has gone off and married a nobody. And that hair of yours. Only a jezebel would have hair that wild color!”
Brynn drew herself up to her full height. “If you have come simply to harangue me, Lady Agatha, you may take your leave. Otherwise, I would be pleased to invite you to stay for tea.”
The lady’s face turned purple. “I would sooner take tea with a Hottentot!”
Deliberately Brynn stepped aside, making way for her unwanted guest to leave.
Lady Agatha glared in indignation, the feathered plumes of her bonnet all aquiver with rage. “I feared the worst and now that I see you, I realize I was right. Wycliff was seduced by a hussy! A scheming interloper! Well, I am here to tell you, you will not succeed!”
With that dire prediction, she swept from the room in a rustle of silk skirts and creaking stays.
In her wake, Brynn stood rooted to the floor, unable to move. She was unsurprised to find herself trembling with fury and perhaps even a little shock.
It was a long moment before she realized she was no longer alone and that someone stood behind her at the salon door. Stiffening, Brynn turned and looked up, her expression tight with the strain of holding her temper.
“Oh my, I see you have met Lucian’s great-aunt Agatha,” the young woman there said in a low, husky voice.
She was an absolutely stunning beauty, Brynn saw, with raven hair and intensely blue eyes.
&nbs
p; “If it is any consolation,” the visitor added, offering a smile, “Lady Agatha treats everyone that way. Please don’t let her distress you. She can be perfectly dreadful-almost as difficult as my own aunt.”
Her smile held a genuine warmth that Brynn hadn’t felt since leaving Cornwall, and Brynn felt her anger easing.