A servant hurried toward her, appearing quite agitated. “Excuse me, madam.”
“What is it?”
“A visitor is waiting to speak with you in the Peach Drawing Room. I’m afraid they are not on the guest list.”
“A visitor. Now? Who?”
“A Mr. Peter Warner presented his card just as the ceremony began and demanded to see you. I put him off until now. What shall I do with him?”
Rebecca gasped. She was expected back inside for the party, but she could not neglect her brother-in-law. She hadn’t spoken to Peter Warner in over two years and had no idea what he might want with her. “I will see him. Would you inform her grace that I have been detained by a member of my late husband’s family? Tell her I will return as soon as I can but if I don’t appear in an hour to begin the breakfast without me.”
Rebecca had hoped now that the marriage had taken place that she could enjoy the fruits of her efforts for the rest of the evening in relative peace. But family always came first. She squared her shoulders and walked briskly toward the meeting. The timing of Peter’s arrival could not have been worse.
Peter Warner stood in the center of the room and smiled when she approached. He had always been a thin, ambitious man, and since inheriting her late home and the entirety of her husband’s estate, barring her jointure, he had not changed one bit. He had argued about her marriage settlement, claiming a duke’s daughter hardly required an income of her own. He had assumed she would return to live with her own family. Peter reminded her of her late husband far too much.
“Mr. Warner.”
“Mrs. Warner.”
She curtsied, and he offered a brief nod instead of bowing. Rebecca overlooked the insult implicit in his actions and begged him to sit. “What brings you to Stapleton, sir?”
“I should ask you the same?” he said as he took a place beside her. “Last I heard, you were gadding about London.”
“My time was better spent than that. My sister made her presentation at court, and I was there to support her.” But she had to wonder when Peter Warner had ever cared about what she did. After her husband’s shocking infidelity had become widely known, he’d been the first to place the blame squarely on her shoulders. “I always come home at this time of year. I’ve been here for weeks now.”
Peter Warner blinked. “Is that so?”
“Yes, always.” She drew closer to him. “Is something the matter?”
“No. Perhaps it is nothing. I am on my way to London, so I thought I should drop by and see if you were here.”
“That is kind of you to call, but unfortunately you’ve arrived on a momentous day.”
Peter leaned closer as his voice dropped to a whisper. “Is the duke hosting another of his little parties?”
She nodded. She didn’t like it when Peter got too close, or any man bar Rafferty, now. She had too much h
istory with Peter to believe he was talking to her as a brother or even a friend. “There was a wedding today.”
He looked at her sharply. “Whose?”
“My youngest sister has married our neighbor, Mr. Whitfield, and they were just made man and wife as you arrived. It will not be long before the wedding breakfast is to begin.”
“I suppose you had a hand in making the match,” he suggested, sitting down as if he planned to stay a while. “You were always so keen to pair people together, weren’t you?”
Rebecca sat reluctantly. She had tried to match Peter with a good woman once, but he had not been interested in what she’d had to say. She’d heard he’d married since her husband had passed, but she’d not met the woman. “Not at all. My sister and Mr. Whitfield realized their mutual admiration had become love and matched themselves, really.”
“Love?” Peter scoffed at the idea. “Or is it the meeting of two great fortunes.”
“Money had had nothing to do with Jessica’s choice of husband. How is everyone at home?”
He looked displeased by her question but shrugged. “Quite well. We manage very well without your interference.”
She refused to let that remark upset her. She’d been happier without her husband’s family in her life too. “I’m glad.”
Warner talked then of the estate crops thriving, the home farm a storm had wreaked havoc across, fields of barley harvested months ago, and a dozen small things that mattered little to Rebecca now. Once upon a time, she would have cared a great deal. She would have worked day and night to make sure everything ran smoothly.
Not that her efforts had ever been appreciated. “You have had your hands full.”