Page 118 of Love ad Lib
The soundof the front door slamming was the cue for the start of the verbal assault.
‘So,Elizabeth, we were rudely interrupted yesterday, just when you were telling me all about how you got started in publishing.’
‘Libby, please call me Libby, my lady.’
‘Well, if we are to converse in such informal terms, are you now intending to refer to me as Gram-Gram?’
Libby bit the inside of her cheek. ‘Conversing’ with the Dowager Duchess of Somerset was like trying to navigate a crocodile-infested swamp whilst defusing a bomb.
‘I’ll address you in whatever way makes you feel most comfortable.’
Gram-Gram sniffed. ‘“My lady” will suffice for now.’
Thought so. ‘Of course, my lady.’
There was a pause as Gram-Gram eyed her, as if waiting for her to crack. Libby kept as still as a statue, her spine straight. As long as she pretended she was on stage and this was a performance, she could get through it. She was praying that Henry was currently sprinting a four-minute mile to Foxbrooke Pharmacy and back.
‘Where were we?’ Gram-Gram asked. ‘Ah, yes, your publishing journey.’
Libby smiled as she continued to weave her story of fact and fiction based on India’s sister’s career. Whilst her speech was perfect, complete with little asides and personal touches, behind her calm countenance, she was crying into a pillow. What she’d begun with Henry the previous night could go nowhere. How could they have any future when she’d lied so completely and utterly to his family? Even if they both came clean with the truth, it would tarnish their opinion of her forever.
‘And what is your favourite Polly Hart book?’ Gram-Gram asked. ‘I have them all.’
She pointed her cane at a bookshelf where every title was displayed in publication order.
Fuck. Libby hadn’t read any of them. Buying time, she crossed to the bookshelf, selecting a couple and quickly skimming the blurbs on the back covers.
‘This one, I think.’ She held it out. ‘Christmas Sparkles and Homely Hedgehogs at the Tiny Village School on Bluebell Bay. It was the first in her Bluebell Bay series, and I think her best.’
‘Hmm… I loved Daisy Spring and Wolf Redwood’s wedding scene. Absolutely charming, don’t you think?’
Libby knew how to read people, and Henry’s granny looked like she was readying to push her inside a roasting hot oven and shut the door.
She gazed at the book and frowned. ‘I didn’t think their wedding took place in this one?’
The light dimmed slightly in Gram-Gram’s eyes and her lips thinned. ‘Ah yes, of course. You are correct.’ She gave a brittle smile. ‘My memory isn’t quite what it was.’
Libby replaced the book on the shelf and sat, knowing full well Gram-Gram’s mind was sharper than a box of tacks.
‘I have to say,Libby, I’m glad my grandson has chosen you as a partner.’
‘You are?’
‘Yes. He needs a woman who can compensate for his lassitude.’
Excuse me?‘Er, lassitude?’
‘General weakness in character. He’s like his father. But whereas my son squanders his energy on acts of moral turpitude, Henry simply fails to fulfil the most basic of his responsibilities.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘He has no drive or ambition. Even Cousin Rupert is moving into politics. Henry lacks sufficient moral fibre, that’s why he’s still in London and not here where he belongs.’
‘I thought you considered Henry thoughtful, polite, sensible, and kind?’
Gram-Gram gave a dainty laugh. ‘Well, one needs to findsomethingpositive to say about the heir to the Foxbrooke estate. But those are hardly virtues one looks for in the future Duke of Somerset.’
‘Clearly. And how do you believe I can remedy these character defects?’
