“Glad to hear it,” Max said.
“Your home is beautiful,” Esme said. “Thank you so much for welcoming us.”
“I hope your ordeal wasn’t too overwhelming, Miss Worthington,” Max said.
Esme smiled at Fielding, and it was so genuine, he found it difficult to look away from her.
“Thankfully, Mr. Grey was there to rescue me,” she said. “Otherwise, I’m not certain what I would have done. I suppose eventually the rats would have eaten me.”
“Mercy, child, don’t say such a thing,” Thea exclaimed. “You’re safe now,” she said, patting Esme’s hand. “That’s all that matters.”
“Well, it was a distinct possibility,” Esme said. She bit into a biscuit. Her eyes closed as she savored the bite. She washed it down with a decidedly feminine sip of tea.
One minute Thea had been engaged in the conversation and the next she’d fallen quite asleep, though her teacup and saucer remained on her lap without a drop spilling.
Fielding could not have felt more out of place had he been sitting with the queen herself. He could sometimes go several days without speaking to anyone, save the few he kept on staff at his home. And when he was in the field hunting for an antiquity, he hired the bare number of men necessary to complete the task. Yet it appeared he now would be surrounded by people, at least for the time being.
“Worthington,” Max said casually. “Tell me, why do I know that name?”
Esme shifted in her seat, and her cheeks pinkened ever so slightly. She set down her plate and straightened her skirt, paying particular attention to one of the pleats.
While he’d known her only two days, Fielding noted he’d never before seen Esme look nervous, despite the ordeal she’d been through.
She bumped up her chin, then licked her lips. “You might know my sister.” She uncrossed and crossed her legs at the ankles.
Max was silent for a brief moment. “Elena,” he supplied in almost a whisper.
Esme shifted again, moving forward ever so slightly. “Yes,” she said, her voice tight.
Max was going to think him a liar for making Esme out to be a talker when she seemed intent on providing the marquess with tightlipped answers.
After a thoughtful sip, the marquess spoke again. “Pretty girl. I believe we danced a few times.” He gave Esme a sly grin. “Before she saddled herself with Griffin.”
“Yes, she’s quite lovely,” Esme agreed, her voice seeming too thin.
Fielding tried to determine the emotion that darkened Esme’s eyes.
Jealousy, perhaps. Resentment, maybe. Sorrow, a touch. Max had inadvertently hit on a sensitive subject. So there was more to Esme Worthington than first met the eye. More than her incessant chatter and innocently brazen behavior. For some reason that pleased Fielding.
“How is your sister?” Max asked.
Esme stiffened and took several breaths before answering. “I presume she’s doing quite perfectly.”
Fielding knew there was something more. Something Esme left unsaid.
“Thank you, my lord, for your kindness in offering us sanctuary. I do hate to be rude, but I believe my aunt needs to rest.” Esme stood and placed her hand on Thea’s shoulder, which instantly roused the woman. “Could you point us in the direction of our room?”
“Of course. I’ve put you in adjoining rooms in the north wing.” Max rang a bell, and a moment later his butler appeared. “Please take the ladies to their rooms.”
Fielding grabbed Esme’s elbow. “When you get settled, come back down and we’ll get back to those books.”
After the ladies left the room, Fielding nodded to Max. “You know her sister?”
“Not in the biblical sense, Grey, if that’s what you’re asking. But I do recall meeting her on occasion. And that husband of hers.”
Esme had told Fielding she had no family, that she lived only with her aunt. He did not appreciate being lied to, no matter what the reason. Still, he felt compelled to ask, “What do you know of them?”
“Raymond Griffin, the Earl of Weatherby,” Max said. “I can’t say that we’ve ever exchanged more than salutations. My impression, though, is that the man is a bastard.”