Page 5 of A Lady in Name

Neither of them, Stefan reflected, bore Corisande the least grudge for having largely ignored her offspring. There were benefits to be had in owning a creature so scatterbrained as to give her children their heads because her own was so firmly entrenched in the study and compilation of poetic works relating to an age of courtly knights, legendary dragons and damsels in distress.

“It is a heresy,” stated Mrs Ankerville, “and in another age, my love, you would have been —”

“— burned at the stake,” finished Stefan in unison with his sister.

“If I had a guinea for every time I have been threatened with that fate,” added Dion, “I should be dowered well enough to catch a marquis.”

“Why should you want one?” objected her mother. “Your duties would leave you not a moment to yourself. You had much better look lower.”

“Oh, yes. Sir Beauregarde de Fontaineville or some such fanciful person, I presume.”

“As far as I know, there is no such person.”

“And you would certainly know if there was,” put in Stefan, eager to promote this harmless theme until he should be alone with his sister.

“If I were you, Dionisia,” continued Mrs Ankerville as if he had not spoken, “I should look about me for a knight possessed of all the noble qualities that —”

“Is it not for you to find a suitable parti for my cousin, ma’am?” interrupted Paulina, acid in her tone.

Not much to Stefan’s surprise, Mrs Ankerville stared at his cousin as if she was an unidentified monk responsible for an error in an ancient manuscript. “What in heaven’s name can I do in the matter? Even had I the time, Dionisia would never allow me to interfere. Besides, one cannot dictate upon the subject of love. All the great romances demonstrate just how unpredictable —”

“Now look what you’ve done,” Dion broke in over the top of her mother’s discourse, looking accusingly across at Paulina. “She won’t stop now.”

“— and even when it comes to dragon slaying, there is no rhyme or reason to tell us why one hero rather than another will put his whole life at risk for the sake of —”

“Mama!”

Mrs Ankerville broke off, and looked enquiringly at her son. “What is it, Stefanus?”

He grinned at her, crossing to a desk set into an alcove next to the fireplace. “Have you forgotten you were in need of paper?” Pulling open a drawer, he drew out a sheaf and held it up. “A secret stash.”

His mother jumped up, crossing quickly to him. “Stefanus, you are a genius. Now I can get on again.”

Stefan watched her retreat busily from the room, the precious paper clutched to her bosom. Then he moved to warm his coat-tails by the fire, laying one arm along the mantelpiece, and turning his attention to Paulina. “And to what do we owe the honour of this particular visit, cousin?”

He almost winced as Lady Sarclet let out one of her breathless laughs. Stefan knew it for a signal of embarrassment, but it never failed to irritate.

“Do I need a reason? We are family, Stefan, and Pennington Manor is, after all, my ancestral home.”

“And you live so close, don’t you?”

He doubted whether Paulina caught the acidity, for she merely simpered. “So fortunate, as I have frequently had occasion to observe to Sarclet.”

“Fortunate for whom?”

“Stefan!” His sister’s reproof was productive of nothing more than a strong desire in Stefan to build upon what he had started. But Dion made haste to change the subject. “Paulina was bewailing the change of paintings in the main hall, Stefan. She thinks we would have done better to have kept the ancestral portraits there, instead of exchanging them for those classical pieces.”

His cousin leapt on the theme before Stefan could respond. “Not that I mean to criticise your taste, Stefan, but Papa always felt it appropriate to honour the earldom’s line.”

“Did he? Well, if my uncle chose to tolerate that gloomy crew glaring down at him, that is his affair. I couldn’t wait to be rid of them.”

Lady Sarclet’s cheeks flew colour, much to Stefan’s satisfaction, and she surged to her feet, her belly protruding before her. “I fear I must take my leave of you, Dion.”

He received a reproachful look from Dion, who threw her legs to the floor and jumped up to kiss Paulina’s cheek — no mean feat, considering the huge mound she must circumvent. A stir of remorse moved him to offer his hand.

“You must forgive me, cousin. I have been on an errand this morning which has put me a trifle out of temper.”

Paulina’s clasp was weak as she accepted the proffered olive branch, but Stefan noted uncertainty in her hazel eyes.