Jack on the Box by Patricia Wynn Page A

drink, and Mrs. Selby thought . . . well, she thought something else. Shakespeare, you know,” she finished, “has not been part of her education.”
    “Humph!” said Sir Waldo. “A fine conversation for a coachman on the mail that was. You never said anything about that to me, Cecily.”
    Cecily lowered her eyes in confusion. “No, I did not, Grandpapa. To tell the truth, I merely thought Mr. Henley had had a most particular upbringing. I did not think you should be bothered with it.”
    Sir Waldo smiled indulgently. “Naughty puss!”
    Then dismissing the topic, he continued to question Jack and to give him advice until the evening was much advanced. After tea had been drunk, he admitted the lateness of the hour and begged to be excused. Jack and Cecily passed together out of the room and strolled slowly down the corridor. Jack could now move soundly on his crutch with no assistance.
    “Miss Cecily,” Jack began staunchly, for this time he was determined not to be put off. “Something tells me I made a complete ass of myself when those men carried me in here. Can you deny it?”
    A laugh escaped her before she answered, “Of course you did not. You were only very funny.”
    Jack bowed and winced; his vanity slightly wounded. “Happy to have amused you, madam.”
    But Cecily would not allow him to be offended. “No, no, you misunderstand me!” she protested. “Surely I did not find your evident pain amusing, nor your efforts to remain gallant under such—trying circumstances. It was only your rendering of Shakespeare under the influence of Mr. Rose’s medicinal brandy that provided the much needed comedy. But I assure you that you acted neither foolish nor anything but very courageous.”
    Jack’s self-respect was grateful for the balm. “Let us hope so,” he said, dismissing it. “I will not ask you which lines I delivered that night. I can only be horrified at the thought. But I will ask you what you thought when you heard them, and why you did not tell your grandfather?”
    Cecily took a few steps in silence, before she reluctantly confessed, “I must admit that I thought you a gentleman. Doctor Whiting supposed you might once have been an actor. But when the maid unpacked your things and found two books, one in Greek and one in Latin, I could not think otherwise.”
    “Ah,” Jack replied, enlightened. “So all this time, you knew . . . .”
    She protested again, “I could not be certain! Mrs. Selby thought you must have stolen the books,” she said mischievously.
    Jack laughed, “As if anyone would. And I thought that I was being so clever . . . .” He sighed in mock disappointment, and Cecily laughed.
    They continued their walk until the end of the passage signaled the parting of their ways.
    “I shall send a footman to wait on you this evening and in the morning,” she told him. “Selby must devote most of his time to my grandfather, but he will assist you with your shaving and whatever else you need most.” She paused, as if uncertain how to go on.
    Thinking she must be waiting for his reply, Jack said, “There will be no need. I can very well shave myself. And the footman’s services should be enough to help me dress.”
    He could see that this was not what concerned her. Indeed, he perceived that something was causing her acute embarrassment. “You must not trouble yourself about my comfort,” he said, trying to help her. “I shall go on perfectly well.”
    She smiled at him gratefully. But her next speech was accompanied by a flush of self-consciousness. “I shall ask Mrs. Selby to bring you your laudanum,” she told him quickly. “I really ought not to . . .” She could not find the proper words.
    Immediately Jack grasped her difficulty. She ought not to come to his room now that he was known to be an eligible person. “Please don’t bother,” he said. “I do not really need it any more. In fact,” he added, feeling bold, “I have not drunk it any time these past