Page 58 of The Secrets of Lord Grayson Child
Cottesloe chose that moment to wheel in the tea trolley, and the conversation paused while her mother poured and Jordan handed around the cups.
After they’d taken their first sips, Gray replied, “As I explained to Isadora, I found I missed England, so yes, I intend to make my home here.” He sipped, then added, “I’m currently searching for a country house, and it’s been suggested that I consider standing for a seat in Parliament.”
“Is that so?” Silas regarded Gray with even greater interest. “Have you had a chance to catch up with the bills pending?”
“Some, but not all.” Gray met Silas’s eyes. “I intend to focus particularly on bills that impinge on industry and manufacturing.”
Silas leaned closer. “Is that where your investing interest lies?”
The discussion that followed skated over several pieces of pending legislation before veering into investments of various sorts and the prospects for each. While much of it went over Izzy’s head—and her mother’s and Marietta’s—quite aside from Silas’s active involvement, Jordan was following the conversation, too.
Intriguingly, while her mother couldn’t possibly comprehend much of what was said, she was observing the exchange as if it contained some significant revelation.
Izzy shifted her gaze to Gray and Silas and grasped what her mother had seen; this was the new Grayson Child—a mature, seasoned, experienced gentleman who had come to an understanding about himself and what he wanted to do with his life. There was purpose in his manner and conviction in his voice, neither of which had been in evidence ten years before.
She wasn’t surprised because she’d been interacting with him over the past days, but for her mother, this Grayson Child was a new entity very different from the nobleman she remembered.
As for Silas, Izzy had known him for long enough to gauge the signs, and there was no doubt whatsoever that that shrewd and canny gentleman was deeply impressed by what he saw in Gray. She sipped and cynically acknowledged that it didn’t hurt at all that Gray’s interests and attitudes in business and investment largely mirrored Silas’s.
While Gray and Silas continued to entertain each other, Jordan engaged Marietta in a discussion of the few social events looming in their calendars, and that also drew Sybil’s attention.
Izzy quietly sipped, watched, and listened; she felt more relaxed and well entertained than she’d dreamed possible—and she suspected everyone else would say the same.
The evening had gone exceedingly well; she hadn’t had to leap in and divert the conversation once.
Eventually, the clock on the mantelpiece chimed for ten-thirty, and with the tea consumed and the cups returned to the trolley, Gray declared he should go. He rose and made his farewells with his usual charming grace.
After thanking the dowager and farewelling Marietta and Jordan, Gray turned to Silas and shook the man’s proffered hand. “Do send me that information. I’m particularly keen to expand my knowledge in that area.”
“I will,” Silas promised. “The more like you who understand the evolving situation, the better.”
Gray turned, and Izzy waved toward the front door, clearly intending to see him out.
He followed her into the hall. “Thank you for inviting me. It was a thoroughly enjoyable and, at least for me, educational evening.”
She met his eyes. “I’m sure the same reflection is passing through everyone’s mind. Thank you for bearing with so many questions.”
“Did you think I wouldn’t?” He accepted his coat from Cottesloe and shrugged it on.
“More that you would grow bored and cut short the inquisition.”
“It seemed a reasonable price to pay for making Silas’s acquaintance.”
Gray accepted his hat from Cottesloe, and on receiving a nod of dismissal from Izzy, the butler retreated, vanishing through the swinging door at the rear of the hall.
Izzy tipped her head, regarding Gray quizzically. “You and Silas got on very well.”Better than I expecteddidn’t need to be said. “And,” she went on, “at a level significantly deeper than the charmingly superficial.”
“As the editor ofThe London Crier, you, of all people, should know better than to harbor unnecessary preconceived notions.”
“Such as the likelihood of a duke’s son taking a genuine interest in the opinions of a millowner?”
He smiled. “Indeed.”
She continued to study him as if seeking some physical sign to verify her deduction, namely that he wasn’t the same duke’s son she’d thought he was; that realization showed clearly in the emerald of her eyes.
Then she blinked and, with her usual haughtiness, refocused on him. “Should I warn Cottesloe you’ll be here for breakfast? If you unexpectedly appear, he gets thrown off his stride and worries the kitchen won’t have appropriate dishes to serve you.”
He laughed softly. “Heaven forbid I rattle Cottesloe.” He caught her gaze and inclined his head. “So yes, I plan to be here for breakfast tomorrow.”
