ine,” Ivy said, before he could say anything. Hugh’s heart swelled with pride at the way she lifted her chin, refusing to be intimidated by either his aristocratic mother or the grandeur all around. “Thank you very much for your hospitality, uh…your…”
“Technically it’s Lady Hereford.” His mother waved a hand, brushing the title away like a fly. “But simply Margaret is fine.”
“We’ll stick with Lady Hereford, thanks,” Ivy said firmly. She hesitated. “Uh, just for future reference, what are we supposed to call your husband? The, um, Earl?”
“Hopefully, nothing,” Hugh said. “But if you do happen to cross paths, feel free to use any obscenity that happens to spring to mind.”
“Hugh,” his mother said, a shade reproachfully.
“Sorry.” Not sorry. “I take it he’s at home, then.”
“I’m afraid so. I didn’t know you’d be coming, or I would have encouraged…alternative arrangements.” She waved a hand round at the lavish swags of holly and glittering baubles adorning every pillar and beam of the entrance hall. “But as you can see, he’s needed here at the main house this week.”
“I did think the decorations were a bit much, even for us,” he said, wrinkling his nose at the appalling tree. “I take it the Christmas Ball is imminent?”
Hope’s eyes widened even further. “Shut up. An actual ball? For real?”
“For charity, in fact,” his mother said, smiling. “My husband and I hold it every year, and it’s always one of our most successful fundraisers. Even in this day and age, there are still people will pay quite handsomely for the chance to meet an Earl.”
“More fool them,” Hugh muttered.
“As you may have realized, my son has a very low opinion of his elevated position,” his mother said to Ivy and Hope, rather dryly. “In any event, you would both be very welcome to attend the festivities, of course.”
Hope looked like all her Christmases had come at once, but Ivy’s expression betrayed her dismay.
“Didn’t Hugh tell you about me?” she said. “I can’t be around crowds.”
“I understand that you share my son’s need for personal space, albeit for slightly different reasons,” his mother said delicately. She cast a significant glance at the discretely unobtrusive butler busy ferrying cases and cat carriers in from the car behind them. “I have informed the staff of your special requirements. You may rest assured that everyone here will respect your privacy.”
The butler had disappeared outside again, but Hugh lowered his voice anyway. “They don’t know about us. No shifters on the estate. And don’t worry about the ball. I’m not going either.”
His mother pursed her lips, looking slightly pained. “You know I would never ask you to put yourself in an uncomfortable situation, Hugh. But it would mean a great deal to your father if you would at least put in a token appearance.”
He cocked an ironic eyebrow at her. “You do realize that’s an excellent reason not to, as far as I’m concerned?”
“Hugh, I’m pretty sure we need to talk,” Ivy muttered under her breath.
“I too am beginning to feel that there is much my son has neglected to tell you,” his mother said, shooting him a somewhat sardonic glance. “Hope, dear, let’s go and get you settled into your rooms. Hugh, I think perhaps the Chinese Bedroom would suit Ivy.”
The Chinese Bedroom was, he noted with dark amusement, the furthest it was possible to be from his own suite without actually being in the stables. His mother had picked up on the vibe between the two of them.
He drew his mother aside under the pretext of sorting out the suitcases. “You don’t have to guard my virtue,” he murmured into her ear. “I do have some willpower, you know.”
Her gaze flicked to Ivy. “Does she?”
“More than you can possibly imagine.” He touched his mother’s stiff shoulder, wishing with all his heart that his powers could soothe her anguish. “You don’t have to fret, Mother. I’m not going to turn into my father.”
“I’m not worried about that.” Her expression was as controlled as ever, but her blue eyes betrayed her hidden sadness. “I’m worried that she might turn into me.”
Chapter 16
The bed had damask hangings.
At least, that’s what Ivy suspected the richly-embroidered gold curtain-thingies were. The only place she had previously encountered carved four-poster beds was in fairy tales, where they had inevitably been described as having ‘damask hangings.’ She had a sudden mad urge to search for a pea underneath the two-foot-thick mattress.
Hugh put her battered suitcase down on the oriental rug, where it immediately lowered the tone of the entire room. Closing the door, he leaned against it as though barricading out the whole world.
“I’m sorry,” he said.