straight away his things were moved into the best guest bedroom.
Chapter Seven
Jack could not be sorry for the improvement in his accommodation or status. It was true that he had lately been comfortable enough but he could not deny the immediate benefits of being recognized as a gentleman. Mr. and Mrs. Selby, who had been informed of the change, and told that Jack’s deception had been due to a delicate family matter, had been forced to alter their manners towards him. Selby might never come to regard him with anything approaching respect, but Mrs. Selby was openly curious. If she had speculations of her own, however, concerning the young gentleman, she kept them to herself, which was a rare occurrence indeed.
That first evening, a table for two was set up in Sir Waldo’s room alongside his bed where he was taking a tray. When Jack arrived at the time he had been bidden—washed, combed, and shaved at Mr. Selby’s hands—Cecily was already seated. Sir Waldo looked quite elegant in a brocade dressing gown, and Leto lay curled up before the fire.
Sir Waldo regarded Jack expectantly.
“Not too shabby an appearance for a coachman, eh, Cecily?” he joked. “I see Selby has made you the loan of one of my neckcloths. You are welcome to them. I have no use for them now and, truth to say, I never could abide them. Always interfered with my driving. It’s hard to watch the road when your neck’s laced up like a boot.”
Jack took a seat opposite Cecily and they exchanged smiling glances. He had never seen her in candlelight, for she had always taken care to come to his room before dusk. Now, in the softly reflected light, she appeared to glow with an inner radiance. The amusement in her eyes only served to make her sparkle the more. Jack felt strangely that, despite his many adventures, he had never experienced a more extraordinary occurrence than sitting down to table with this lady, her in her evening finery, and himself dressed no better than her servants. In spite of Sir Waldo’s protective presence, he could easily imagine they were alone in the room.
But Sir Waldo dominated the conversation, as was his habit. He loved to talk, and when the recipient of his wisdom was as well versed in the things he loved as Jack, there was no restraining him. He kept the conversation centred upon horses: their prices; good qualities in wheelers and leaders; and the fastest times to be achieved between villages.
Jack wished he could include Cecily more in their talk, but she seemed to be satisfied just to listen, and only occasionally gave him a mischievous look, as if to say, “Humour him, please. It makes me happy to see him so lively.”
Only once during the evening did Cecily venture a comment, and that was when Sir Waldo asked Jack about his driving escapades at Oxford.
“Did you act in any Shakespeare when you were at Oxford, Mr. Henley?” she asked.
Her question startled him. “Why, yes, I did,” he admitted. “I played Romeo. It was a terrible performance, as I recall,” he added, chuckling. “The present Lord Beasley played Juliet.”
Cecily put her napkin quickly to her mouth and smothered a laugh. He wondered what she had found to be so funny, for he doubted she was acquainted with Beasley, who now measured over six feet in height and even then had had a very heavy beard.
“Pardon me, Mr. Henley,” she said when she had recovered. “It is just that something suddenly struck me as funny. But it was not the idea of your performance; I am certain you were quite competent as Romeo.” She smiled as if she would like to continue laughing at his expense, and Jack returned her look with a challenge.
“What made you ask if I had read Shakespeare, Miss Wolverton?” he asked.
Cecily strove for an air of innocence, but failed. “Oh, it was nothing. Simply that you recited a few lines the day you were brought into the manor. The ostlers from the inn thought you were too much under the influence of
Chapter Seven
Jack could not be sorry for the improvement in his accommodation or status. It was true that he had lately been comfortable enough but he could not deny the immediate benefits of being recognized as a gentleman. Mr. and Mrs. Selby, who had been informed of the change, and told that Jack’s deception had been due to a delicate family matter, had been forced to alter their manners towards him. Selby might never come to regard him with anything approaching respect, but Mrs. Selby was openly curious. If she had speculations of her own, however, concerning the young gentleman, she kept them to herself, which was a rare occurrence indeed.
That first evening, a table for two was set up in Sir Waldo’s room alongside his bed where he was taking a tray. When Jack arrived at the time he had been bidden—washed, combed, and shaved at Mr. Selby’s hands—Cecily was already seated. Sir Waldo looked quite elegant in a brocade dressing gown, and Leto lay curled up before the fire.
Sir Waldo regarded Jack expectantly.
“Not too shabby an appearance for a coachman, eh, Cecily?” he joked. “I see Selby has made you the loan of one of my neckcloths. You are welcome to them. I have no use for them now and, truth to say, I never could abide them. Always interfered with my driving. It’s hard to watch the road when your neck’s laced up like a boot.”
Jack took a seat opposite Cecily and they exchanged smiling glances. He had never seen her in candlelight, for she had always taken care to come to his room before dusk. Now, in the softly reflected light, she appeared to glow with an inner radiance. The amusement in her eyes only served to make her sparkle the more. Jack felt strangely that, despite his many adventures, he had never experienced a more extraordinary occurrence than sitting down to table with this lady, her in her evening finery, and himself dressed no better than her servants. In spite of Sir Waldo’s protective presence, he could easily imagine they were alone in the room.
But Sir Waldo dominated the conversation, as was his habit. He loved to talk, and when the recipient of his wisdom was as well versed in the things he loved as Jack, there was no restraining him. He kept the conversation centred upon horses: their prices; good qualities in wheelers and leaders; and the fastest times to be achieved between villages.
Jack wished he could include Cecily more in their talk, but she seemed to be satisfied just to listen, and only occasionally gave him a mischievous look, as if to say, “Humour him, please. It makes me happy to see him so lively.”
Only once during the evening did Cecily venture a comment, and that was when Sir Waldo asked Jack about his driving escapades at Oxford.
“Did you act in any Shakespeare when you were at Oxford, Mr. Henley?” she asked.
Her question startled him. “Why, yes, I did,” he admitted. “I played Romeo. It was a terrible performance, as I recall,” he added, chuckling. “The present Lord Beasley played Juliet.”
Cecily put her napkin quickly to her mouth and smothered a laugh. He wondered what she had found to be so funny, for he doubted she was acquainted with Beasley, who now measured over six feet in height and even then had had a very heavy beard.
“Pardon me, Mr. Henley,” she said when she had recovered. “It is just that something suddenly struck me as funny. But it was not the idea of your performance; I am certain you were quite competent as Romeo.” She smiled as if she would like to continue laughing at his expense, and Jack returned her look with a challenge.
“What made you ask if I had read Shakespeare, Miss Wolverton?” he asked.
Cecily strove for an air of innocence, but failed. “Oh, it was nothing. Simply that you recited a few lines the day you were brought into the manor. The ostlers from the inn thought you were too much under the influence of
Similar Books
