An Unlikely Father Read Free Page A

Millet, were well advanced into their seventies.
    As the ladies shook the wrinkles from their gowns, the footman knocked. Despite the early hour, the butler answered the door in a matter of minutes.
    “Ah, Bedows, I see you are as efficient as ever,” the dowager remarked as she entered and moved to a fire burning in the elegantly appointed hall.
    “You are too kind, my lady.” The butler’s thin face beneath his white hair showed no pleasure at the compliment. He stoically went about the business of helping the ladies remove their wraps, then ushered them upstairs into the drawing room. “I shall inform his lordship of your arrival.”
    “You mean warn him, don’t you, Bedows?” Lady Hawksworth chuckled. Perhaps it was the light, but she could swear the servant’s mouth twitched into a bit of a grin.
    “Would your ladyship like refreshments while you wait?”
    “That is an excellent suggestion since I have no doubt my grandson will keep us waiting for some time.”
    The butler made no comment. He closed the door, leaving the ladies alone. Within a very short time he returned with a footman carrying a tray loaded with an assortment of cakes and tea.
    The dowager and Miss Millet had already made great inroads into the French cook’s efforts and ordered a second pot of tea by the time Lord Hawksworth arrived in the drawing room. His appearance gave no indication of the haste required to get him out of bed and dressed in under an hour.
    Oliver Carson, tenth Earl of Hawksworth, was not a dandy, but he took great pride in dressing in the first style of elegance. At present he wore a simply cut dark - green morning coat over a sedate green-striped waistcoat and tan pantaloons. What set him apart from the average man was the elegance of his neckcloth, tied in the Mathematical, a style few could replicate.
    As he sauntered into the room to greet his grandmother and her companion, the earl wondered fleetingly what new scandal had reached Lady Hawksworth’s ears. It mattered little, for there had been so many over the past years that he’d gotten quite used to being jarred from his bed at some ungodly hour to explain his actions.
    He greeted the ladies and had just settled into a chair when his grandmother surprised him from his complacency.
    “Do you never read your correspondence?”
    Oliver’s brows rose slightly. “In truth, Grandmother, I discovered years ago that there is little of interest in the letters people send to me. I rarely pay attention to the post. People who write letters are either asking for something, which is a dead bore, or telling you about something they have done which is an even deadlier bore.”
    The dowager gave an unladylike grunt at her grandson’s jaded attitude. “Well, I sent you two letters summoning you to Woburn on a matter of some urgency. Because of your negligence in reading your messages, I have had to make the long drive to London in this wretched weather.”
    The earl propped his head upon his hand, as if to show how tired he was of explaining himself to his interfering grandmother. “You really should not listen to all the gossip your friends tell you about my wicked deeds, madam. That way you wouldn’t have to inconvenience yourself coming to Town to ring a peal over my head.”
    “But if I told my friends to tell me only your good deeds, my boy, you should never be spoken of again, or so it seems.”
    Oliver laughed. “Surely I am not as bad as that. Why, only last week I succumbed to Lady Chesterly’s entreaties and donated a generous sum to the Foundling Hospital.”
    Lady Hawksworth gave a snort. “You cannot fool me into believing you gave a thought to some orphaned brats. I have long known your dislike of anyone, and especially children, disrupting your pursuit of pleasure. This Lady Chesterly must be a complete ninny to be taken in by such an obvious ploy.”
    “ ’Twas never her mental prowess or lack thereof that attracted me to the lady, Grandmother.”