But this, by itself, wasn’t the source of the present earl’s prejudice. As he often said, “Everyone knows that Harold Beresford bore more resemblance to one of the footmen than to his own father.”

Whether Lionel Beresford was, in fact, a blood relation to him, St. Clare couldn’t be certain, but at face value there didn’t seem to be one drop of Beresford existing in the man. It was no wonder his grandfather exploded at the mere mention of his second cousin’s son. The very things Allendale prided most in the Beresford line were conspicuously missing from Lionel. He had no looks, no bearing, and no trace of the infamous athleticism and daring that had characterized generations of Beresford men before him.

What he had instead was a certain low cunning, quite evident in the flintlike eyes that peered out from under deceitfully lazy lids. By St. Clare’s measure, those eyes had already calculated the relative value of the artwork and the furnishings down to a ha’penny, and were presently making the same not-so-subtle evaluation of St. Clare himself.

“Lord Vickers and Lord Mattingly,” Lionel said with seeming disinterest. He drew out an enameled snuffbox, flicked it open with one hand, and took a pinch of snuff. He promptly sneezed. “Friends of yours are they, my lord?”

“Friends? Indeed, so distinguished,” Mrs. Beresford said. “Have you met them, Lionel? No? But then, we’re not up to town as often as we would like. Shall I ring for tea, Allendale? I will pour, of course, being the most senior Beresford lady present. But then, there are no ladies present, are there? Dear me, so many single gentlemen! But that must be the reason you are come back to England, Lord St. Clare. To find a wife and set up your nursery. Lionel will be marrying soon, will you not, Lionel? Standing ready to do his duty by the title if things should not go quite as you have planned.”

St. Clare fixed the woman with an implacable stare. He was pleased to see her artificial smile dim by several degrees.

“There will be no tea this morning, madam,” Allendale informed her. “You and this young pup of yours have stayed quite long enough.”

The very next moment, Mattingly and Vickers were shown in, and after introductions all around, the earl, very curtly, instructed Jessup to see Lionel Beresford and his mother out.

“Mushrooms,” Mattingly pronounced as he watched them go. “Come up from the country to sniff around your claim to the title, have they?”

“That seems to be the case,” St. Clare said.

Mattingly nodded. “No doubt they’ll attempt to attach themselves to you for the duration of their stay.”

At this, Vickers was properly horrified. “I say, St. Clare, you won’t be obliged to spend much time in that fellow’s company, will you?”

St. Clare grimaced. “Good lord, I hope not.”