Page 11 of Hearts at Home

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A s she gently put down the sheet of paper she would have much preferred to crumple into a ball and throw across the room, Lady Wayford did not allow any of her irritation or concern to show on her features. A display of emotion was not only ill-bred; it caused wrinkles. Unnatural boy. Every line on her face was down to the man her correspondent called ‘Mr. Eric.’

Her beloved Osric had been prophetic when he named the annoying creature ‘Wreck,’ for he certainly went out of his way to wreck her peace. He had caused her endless trouble almost since his birth. Look at the pains she had taken to make sure he was housed according to his possible future station, despite the ugly excrescence that had marred his face and against Wayford’s determination to get rid of him.

In fact, she had hidden the little monster from her own husband, and kept his relationship to her a secret even from the servants who tended him and from the little brat himself. He was a relative she was housing at a minor family estate out of compassion, she had allowed them all to believe.

When her darling second son died and Wayford’s profligacy caught up with him, she searched Europe for surgeons who could remove the ghastly thing. Then she devoted herself to the affairs of the earldom, despite the fact it was not her problem. To be fair, she did it for dear Osric, who was certainly not interested in managing anything more significant than a glass of brandy or one of his mistresses. Still, Wreck was the one to benefit.

Lady Wayford touched a handkerchief to the corner of each eye, blotting so she did not disturb the powder that kept her skin looking youthful. To lose poor Ulric so young, and then Osric. Was ever a mother more betrayed by her young?

When she sent a messenger to Italy to inform Wreck that he was her son, was now an earl, and must return to England, she had been proud of her own foresight. For the earldom’s sake, naturally.

Did Wreck return from Italy grateful for her intervention in his life? He did not. Instead, he ignored her guidance, refused to choose from the damsels she had carefully chosen as suitable brides for a man in his position, and finally fled to the one place she was reluctant to follow. To do what? To meet this Miss Fishingham?

Just as well she had staffed the place with a couple loyal to her. She picked up the housekeeper’s letter again and frowned briefly before she could compose her expression. Fishingham. She did not know the name, but the housekeeper called the girl a lady, and spoke of the estate next door.

Bath was a relatively short drive from Eastwood Hall. Would the girl attend the assemblies there? Her friend Lady Constance would know. Constance had just returned from the place, complaining about how unfashionable it had become. Trust her friend to know the names and pedigrees of every person who attended the least event that Constance graced with her presence.

If the maiden was suitable, she would let Wreck have her. Lady Wayford nodded decisively. She was not an unreasonable woman. Miss Fishingham would need to be a maiden, of course, which her unchaperoned visits to Eastwood put into question. Well-born. That went without saying. Biddable, and grateful to Lady Wayford for her sponsorship. Able to do credit to the family in her looks, dress, carriage, and manners. Unlikely to wrestle with her Mother-in-law for control of the family finances.

Lady Wayford knew precisely the sort of woman Wreck should marry, and every one of the rejected brides fitted her specifications. She greatly feared Miss Fishingham would not, but it was only fair to find out before taking action to separate the pair.

“Martha?” She called for her servant. “Martha, a walking dress, if you will. And let Charles know that I wish him to carry a note to the Menton townhouse.” She would visit Lady Constance immediately and begin her investigations.