marquises—or just the Marquis of Warefield. Quin pursed his lips, trying to decide how much he could ask Malcolm without giving away his own growing interest. “Malcolm, might I ask you a question?”
“Certainly.”
“Why does Miss Willits seem to…dislike me so intensely? I haven’t done anything to offend her, have I?”
Malcolm grinned. “You’ll have to ask her. It’s not for me to say.”
Quin sighed and climbed to his feet. “You warned me to be careful with her. You might have warned me to bring a suit of armor along, as well.”
His uncle only laughed.
Seeing Eloise’s letter propped up on his dressing table reminded him once more that he hadn’t written since he’d set out for Langley. With an impatient glance out the window toward the garden, he sat and pulled out a pen and some ink.
Dearest Eloise ,
Uncle Malcolm is doing well. Unfortunately, it appears that I’ll be staying here longer than we’d planned—in addition to the crops and accounts, a new irrigation system is needed at Langley. No real adventures to speak of….
Quin sat back. That last part wasn’t exactly true, but he didn’t wish to relate the near-drowning or near-shooting incidents, and he doubted Eloise would find his war with Miss Marguerite amusing. Nor was she likely to appreciate his odd battle of wits with Miss Willits.
He dipped the pen again.
…but Langley is rather rustic. I still plan to visit you at Stafford Green before the Season. Please give my regards to your father .
Yours,
Quinlan
It wasn’t very long, but it would have to do for now. He’d give her more details in the next missive, when he knew how much longer he’d be staying. He sealed the letter, scrawled Eloise’s address on the outside, and left it for Garrett to send out with the post.
He restlessly wandered about the house for a while, hoping Maddie would return from her seclusion before he had to return to the fields. Exasperated, he looked through the morning room window just in time to see her green skirt disappearing into the garden shed. Quin started outside, then stopped. If he appeared, she’d only accuse him of following her and neglecting his duty to Malcolm, and to Langley—and he’d damned well heard enough of that rubbish. So he’d have to be certain he wasn’t neglecting anything.
Inspiration hit. “Aha,” he muttered, grinning, and headed into the office at the far end of the hallway. Lifting the last ledger book out of its drawer, he flipped to the page where the handwriting changed.
With the book tucked under his arm, he marched into battle. “Miss Willits?” he called, making a show of looking about the grounds for her. “Miss Willits, are you here?”
For several moments she neglected to answer, but just as he was beginning to think he’d have to “accidentally” discover her in the potting shed, she emerged.
“Yes, my lord?” she said, brushing a stray lock of auburn hair back behind her ear.
“Ah, Miss Willits. I’ve a question for you.”
Distrust entered her gray eyes as she watched him open the ledger. He stepped over next to her, holding the book so she could see it, too. She smelled of earth and lavender, and dirt smudged her fingers and one cheek. And the heat that began coursing along his veins had absolutely nothing to do with simple curiosity.
Attempting to return his attention to the accounts, Quin pointed at one of the last entries, dated only two days before. She’d been sneaking in and doing the accounts while he was out working—after he’d asked her to refrain from touching them. “What is this?”
She leaned a little closer to him to look at the page, then glanced up at his face. “How should I know, my lord?”
“Do you think me a complete idiot, Miss Willits?” He stifled a smile as she opened her mouth to respond. “No, don’t answer that. Allow me to explain. Here,” and he turned back several pages, “is my uncle’s writing. The only Bancroft with worse
“Certainly.”
“Why does Miss Willits seem to…dislike me so intensely? I haven’t done anything to offend her, have I?”
Malcolm grinned. “You’ll have to ask her. It’s not for me to say.”
Quin sighed and climbed to his feet. “You warned me to be careful with her. You might have warned me to bring a suit of armor along, as well.”
His uncle only laughed.
Seeing Eloise’s letter propped up on his dressing table reminded him once more that he hadn’t written since he’d set out for Langley. With an impatient glance out the window toward the garden, he sat and pulled out a pen and some ink.
Dearest Eloise ,
Uncle Malcolm is doing well. Unfortunately, it appears that I’ll be staying here longer than we’d planned—in addition to the crops and accounts, a new irrigation system is needed at Langley. No real adventures to speak of….
Quin sat back. That last part wasn’t exactly true, but he didn’t wish to relate the near-drowning or near-shooting incidents, and he doubted Eloise would find his war with Miss Marguerite amusing. Nor was she likely to appreciate his odd battle of wits with Miss Willits.
He dipped the pen again.
…but Langley is rather rustic. I still plan to visit you at Stafford Green before the Season. Please give my regards to your father .
Yours,
Quinlan
It wasn’t very long, but it would have to do for now. He’d give her more details in the next missive, when he knew how much longer he’d be staying. He sealed the letter, scrawled Eloise’s address on the outside, and left it for Garrett to send out with the post.
He restlessly wandered about the house for a while, hoping Maddie would return from her seclusion before he had to return to the fields. Exasperated, he looked through the morning room window just in time to see her green skirt disappearing into the garden shed. Quin started outside, then stopped. If he appeared, she’d only accuse him of following her and neglecting his duty to Malcolm, and to Langley—and he’d damned well heard enough of that rubbish. So he’d have to be certain he wasn’t neglecting anything.
Inspiration hit. “Aha,” he muttered, grinning, and headed into the office at the far end of the hallway. Lifting the last ledger book out of its drawer, he flipped to the page where the handwriting changed.
With the book tucked under his arm, he marched into battle. “Miss Willits?” he called, making a show of looking about the grounds for her. “Miss Willits, are you here?”
For several moments she neglected to answer, but just as he was beginning to think he’d have to “accidentally” discover her in the potting shed, she emerged.
“Yes, my lord?” she said, brushing a stray lock of auburn hair back behind her ear.
“Ah, Miss Willits. I’ve a question for you.”
Distrust entered her gray eyes as she watched him open the ledger. He stepped over next to her, holding the book so she could see it, too. She smelled of earth and lavender, and dirt smudged her fingers and one cheek. And the heat that began coursing along his veins had absolutely nothing to do with simple curiosity.
Attempting to return his attention to the accounts, Quin pointed at one of the last entries, dated only two days before. She’d been sneaking in and doing the accounts while he was out working—after he’d asked her to refrain from touching them. “What is this?”
She leaned a little closer to him to look at the page, then glanced up at his face. “How should I know, my lord?”
“Do you think me a complete idiot, Miss Willits?” He stifled a smile as she opened her mouth to respond. “No, don’t answer that. Allow me to explain. Here,” and he turned back several pages, “is my uncle’s writing. The only Bancroft with worse
Similar Books
