“Bad news, Mother?” Alex strolled into Lady Crawford’s sitting room, dressed for riding in breeches and top boots. “Yes indeed, from Mrs. Cleethorpe.” “Susanna?” Alex raised a brow. “What ails her, pray? She seemed well enough when she was here the other day.” “Oh, it is not her. She is in good health and writes very prettily to thank me for including her in my house party. What a silly goose! As if we could exclude her and dear Michael from any of our little entertainments. It was such a shame they could not stay longer. Young people are always in such a tearing hurry nowadays.” “Then what does Susanna have to say that so distresses you?” Alex knew the answer was not likely to be straightforward. His mother was perfectly capable of going off on several tangents simultaneously if he did not keep her focused in the right direction. He swished the tails of his coat aside with a practiced flip of his wrist and seated himself as he waited for her to get to the point.
