tell me t’stay put in Spain, I’m goin’ to listen to ye.”
“Then I’ll consider the lesson well learned. And if you return home before I do, I’ll be at Donnelly House to take Miss Donnelly driving.”
The sergeant eyed him. “The lady’ll be thinkin’ ye have an infatuation with her, sir.”
“I do.”
Gordon blanched. “In the middle of a fight, Colonel? Can ye—”
Phineas raised a hand. “I believe I can govern my own affairs, Sergeant. And today, I’m only after information, anyway.” And another kiss, if the lady was amenable.
“What do you think, Richard?” Aunt Ernesta asked, tilting her head this way and that to examine her yellow-decorated hat in the mantel mirror. “It’s not too fussy, is it?”
Alyse tried to ignore the preening as she pulled a half dozen stitches from the embroidery her aunt had supposedly completed yesterday. Either the new proverb was “Cleanliness us Next to Goodliness,” or Aunt Ernesta couldn’t spell. And considering that the piece was meant to be a throw pillow for Lady Dysher’s birthday next week, she had no time to waste in “putting on the finishing touches,” as Aunt Ernesta had instructed her to do.
“You have all the makings of a milliner, Alyse,” Richard observed from behind his newspaper. “Or a dressmaker, perhaps.”
Alyse would have stuck her tongue out at him, but her aunt would have seen the gesture. The woman could detect both sin and ungratefulness from five hundred yards. “Thank you, Cousin,” she said instead, pulling out more stitches.
The butler walked into the morning room. “My lord, you have a note from Quence Park,” he intoned, holding out the silver salver.
Richard set aside the newspaper to pluck the missive off the tray. “Damnation,” he muttered as he read through it. “Saunders, have Raleigh saddled.”
“Right away, my lord.”
“Is William well?” Alyse asked as the butler exited the room again.
“Yes. Their coach overturned last night. His damned brother no doubt ran it into a ditch.”
Alyse just managed to stifle her gasp. “Is that what the note said? Is Phin unhurt?”
He glanced at her as he exited the room. “Mind your own business, Alyse.”
Alyse sat back. What in the world was Phin doing? He’d become reckless and angry and self-absorbed as he’d gotten older, but he seemed to have changed since his return. If he’d done as Richard had said, though, perhaps he hadn’t changed at all.
“Alyse, make certain Cook knows that Mrs. Potter will not tolerate cucumbers.”
She shook herself. “Mrs. Potter?”
“For luncheon. Have you forgotten that Eloise will be dining with me today?”
Blast it. “Of course not. I’ll remind Cook immediately.”
Oh, she’d completely forgotten. Phin was very distracting. Setting aside the embroidery, she hurried out of the room and down the succession of hallways to the kitchen. “Mrs. Jones,” she said into the general chaos, “I’m to remind you not to serve cucumbers.”
The cook nodded. “Yes, Miss Donnelly. I won’t be serving anything off a vine for luncheon.”
“Thank you,” Alyse said with a smile, then spied the berry tarts cooling on the table.
“Help yourself, miss,” Cook said, grinning. “I know how you like berries.”
“Oh, bless you, Mrs. Jones.”
Berry tarts. A small piece of heaven on Earth, as far as she was concerned. Taking small bites to make the treat last longer, she strolled back to the front of the house. Her aunt wouldn’t touch the tarts, so she would be expected to abstain, as well. Now at least she could do so without any unsightly drooling.
As she reached the morning room again, she heard her aunt speaking, and then a deep male voice answering. Saunders was in the dining room supervising the luncheon preparations, but as a shiver ran down her spine she knew it wasn’t the butler or a footman speaking. Straightening her shoulders, she strolled into the room.
Phin Bromley, smartly attired
“Then I’ll consider the lesson well learned. And if you return home before I do, I’ll be at Donnelly House to take Miss Donnelly driving.”
The sergeant eyed him. “The lady’ll be thinkin’ ye have an infatuation with her, sir.”
“I do.”
Gordon blanched. “In the middle of a fight, Colonel? Can ye—”
Phineas raised a hand. “I believe I can govern my own affairs, Sergeant. And today, I’m only after information, anyway.” And another kiss, if the lady was amenable.
“What do you think, Richard?” Aunt Ernesta asked, tilting her head this way and that to examine her yellow-decorated hat in the mantel mirror. “It’s not too fussy, is it?”
Alyse tried to ignore the preening as she pulled a half dozen stitches from the embroidery her aunt had supposedly completed yesterday. Either the new proverb was “Cleanliness us Next to Goodliness,” or Aunt Ernesta couldn’t spell. And considering that the piece was meant to be a throw pillow for Lady Dysher’s birthday next week, she had no time to waste in “putting on the finishing touches,” as Aunt Ernesta had instructed her to do.
“You have all the makings of a milliner, Alyse,” Richard observed from behind his newspaper. “Or a dressmaker, perhaps.”
Alyse would have stuck her tongue out at him, but her aunt would have seen the gesture. The woman could detect both sin and ungratefulness from five hundred yards. “Thank you, Cousin,” she said instead, pulling out more stitches.
The butler walked into the morning room. “My lord, you have a note from Quence Park,” he intoned, holding out the silver salver.
Richard set aside the newspaper to pluck the missive off the tray. “Damnation,” he muttered as he read through it. “Saunders, have Raleigh saddled.”
“Right away, my lord.”
“Is William well?” Alyse asked as the butler exited the room again.
“Yes. Their coach overturned last night. His damned brother no doubt ran it into a ditch.”
Alyse just managed to stifle her gasp. “Is that what the note said? Is Phin unhurt?”
He glanced at her as he exited the room. “Mind your own business, Alyse.”
Alyse sat back. What in the world was Phin doing? He’d become reckless and angry and self-absorbed as he’d gotten older, but he seemed to have changed since his return. If he’d done as Richard had said, though, perhaps he hadn’t changed at all.
“Alyse, make certain Cook knows that Mrs. Potter will not tolerate cucumbers.”
She shook herself. “Mrs. Potter?”
“For luncheon. Have you forgotten that Eloise will be dining with me today?”
Blast it. “Of course not. I’ll remind Cook immediately.”
Oh, she’d completely forgotten. Phin was very distracting. Setting aside the embroidery, she hurried out of the room and down the succession of hallways to the kitchen. “Mrs. Jones,” she said into the general chaos, “I’m to remind you not to serve cucumbers.”
The cook nodded. “Yes, Miss Donnelly. I won’t be serving anything off a vine for luncheon.”
“Thank you,” Alyse said with a smile, then spied the berry tarts cooling on the table.
“Help yourself, miss,” Cook said, grinning. “I know how you like berries.”
“Oh, bless you, Mrs. Jones.”
Berry tarts. A small piece of heaven on Earth, as far as she was concerned. Taking small bites to make the treat last longer, she strolled back to the front of the house. Her aunt wouldn’t touch the tarts, so she would be expected to abstain, as well. Now at least she could do so without any unsightly drooling.
As she reached the morning room again, she heard her aunt speaking, and then a deep male voice answering. Saunders was in the dining room supervising the luncheon preparations, but as a shiver ran down her spine she knew it wasn’t the butler or a footman speaking. Straightening her shoulders, she strolled into the room.
Phin Bromley, smartly attired
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