point out that calling somebody by the correct name rather than the incorrect one— particularly when that someone was his fiancée—most definitely wasn’t splitting hairs. Instead, he turned pink with embarrassment.
Abby couldn’t believe the change she was seeing in Toby now that he was with his mother. The woman undermined him constantly, and he made no attempt to stand up to her. It was astonishing. The confident, highly articulate hotshotcity lawyer Abby knew and loved had suddenly been reduced to a toadying, weak-kneed wimp.
On the one hand, she felt sorry for him. If at the age of thirty-four he was still petrified of his mother, heaven only knew what terror the women must have instilled in him when he was a child. On the other hand, Abby couldn’t help feeling massive disappointment that a grown man could allow his mother to dominate him in this way.
A waiter arrived with Abby’s brandy. She thanked him, but she still didn’t fancy it. What she did feel like, though, was food. It was only now that she realized how ravenous she was. She looked up at the waiter. “You know, I could murder a fat, juicy steak and a mountain of fries.” The waiter assured her it was no problem.
“I’m sure Abby would love to come to the hunt ball,” Toby said as the waiter took his leave. “Wouldn’t you, Abby?”
“Well, things tend to get pretty busy at work…” Another kick under the table from Toby. “Yes… er, absolutely. Of course, I’d love to come.”
“Jolly good. Jolly good. Toby can teach you to dance the Gay Gordons. He’s particularly good at it.”
Toby flushed hunting scarlet.
“So, Annie, tell me—what do your people do?”
“My people?”
“Your parents, girl. Your parents.”
“Oh, right. They travel quite a bit, but they don’t do a lot, really.”
“Ah, landowners, are they?” Lady Penelope said, apparently forgetting that landed gentry were pretty thin on the ground in Croydon. “How many acres do they have? What is it? Arable? Grazing?”
“Well, they’ve got a hundred-foot back garden, which isn’t bad for Croydon, and the grass must be pretty tasty, because from time to time next door’s rabbit burrows under the fence and munches at the lawn.”
“Really?” The expression on Lady Penelope’s face was giving every impression that she was in physical pain.
“And where did you go to school?”
“Manor Park.”
“Really? I don’t think I’ve heard of it.”
“You wouldn’t have. It’s just the local—”
“Girls’ public day school,” Toby piped up.
“And Toby tells me you went to Oxford.”
“Well, not actually Oxford. It was Oxford College of Art and Design. I did a degree in textile design.”
“I see.” Lady Penelope raised a disapproving eyebrow at Toby. In return, he offered her a weak, apologetic smile.
“And what do you do for a living?”
“I have my own flower shop.”
“How utterly enchanting.” Lady Penelope’s smile was taut and thin-lipped. “Toby, you didn’t tell me we were about to have a regular Eliza Doolittle joining the family.”
At this point, Abby’s steak arrived. “So, Annie,” Lady Penelope said as Abby began stacking chips on her fork. “I take it that you are in excellent health?”
Abby was taken aback by the question. “As far as I know.”
“Ovaries and whatnot all in working order?”
Abby almost choked on her chips. “I believe so.”
“You see, Toby is an only child. He is also the last male in the Kenwood line. We rather need a boy to carry on the family name and inherit the estate. So I would suggest that you get yourself checked out as a matter of urgency.”
There was so much Abby wanted to say that she didn’t know where to start. Would Lady Penelope put pressure on Toby to walk away from their relationship if she did have some kind of fertility problem? And what would his mother do if he refused? Cut him out of her will? And why wasn’t she suggesting that he take a fertility
Abby couldn’t believe the change she was seeing in Toby now that he was with his mother. The woman undermined him constantly, and he made no attempt to stand up to her. It was astonishing. The confident, highly articulate hotshotcity lawyer Abby knew and loved had suddenly been reduced to a toadying, weak-kneed wimp.
On the one hand, she felt sorry for him. If at the age of thirty-four he was still petrified of his mother, heaven only knew what terror the women must have instilled in him when he was a child. On the other hand, Abby couldn’t help feeling massive disappointment that a grown man could allow his mother to dominate him in this way.
A waiter arrived with Abby’s brandy. She thanked him, but she still didn’t fancy it. What she did feel like, though, was food. It was only now that she realized how ravenous she was. She looked up at the waiter. “You know, I could murder a fat, juicy steak and a mountain of fries.” The waiter assured her it was no problem.
“I’m sure Abby would love to come to the hunt ball,” Toby said as the waiter took his leave. “Wouldn’t you, Abby?”
“Well, things tend to get pretty busy at work…” Another kick under the table from Toby. “Yes… er, absolutely. Of course, I’d love to come.”
“Jolly good. Jolly good. Toby can teach you to dance the Gay Gordons. He’s particularly good at it.”
Toby flushed hunting scarlet.
“So, Annie, tell me—what do your people do?”
“My people?”
“Your parents, girl. Your parents.”
“Oh, right. They travel quite a bit, but they don’t do a lot, really.”
“Ah, landowners, are they?” Lady Penelope said, apparently forgetting that landed gentry were pretty thin on the ground in Croydon. “How many acres do they have? What is it? Arable? Grazing?”
“Well, they’ve got a hundred-foot back garden, which isn’t bad for Croydon, and the grass must be pretty tasty, because from time to time next door’s rabbit burrows under the fence and munches at the lawn.”
“Really?” The expression on Lady Penelope’s face was giving every impression that she was in physical pain.
“And where did you go to school?”
“Manor Park.”
“Really? I don’t think I’ve heard of it.”
“You wouldn’t have. It’s just the local—”
“Girls’ public day school,” Toby piped up.
“And Toby tells me you went to Oxford.”
“Well, not actually Oxford. It was Oxford College of Art and Design. I did a degree in textile design.”
“I see.” Lady Penelope raised a disapproving eyebrow at Toby. In return, he offered her a weak, apologetic smile.
“And what do you do for a living?”
“I have my own flower shop.”
“How utterly enchanting.” Lady Penelope’s smile was taut and thin-lipped. “Toby, you didn’t tell me we were about to have a regular Eliza Doolittle joining the family.”
At this point, Abby’s steak arrived. “So, Annie,” Lady Penelope said as Abby began stacking chips on her fork. “I take it that you are in excellent health?”
Abby was taken aback by the question. “As far as I know.”
“Ovaries and whatnot all in working order?”
Abby almost choked on her chips. “I believe so.”
“You see, Toby is an only child. He is also the last male in the Kenwood line. We rather need a boy to carry on the family name and inherit the estate. So I would suggest that you get yourself checked out as a matter of urgency.”
There was so much Abby wanted to say that she didn’t know where to start. Would Lady Penelope put pressure on Toby to walk away from their relationship if she did have some kind of fertility problem? And what would his mother do if he refused? Cut him out of her will? And why wasn’t she suggesting that he take a fertility
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