three weeks.”
Cecily gasped, and her eyes flew to his face. He read surprise in them, but no outrage. Her lids were quickly lowered, but a little smile hovered about her lips.
“You ought to be ashamed, Mr. Henley,” she said primly. “But something tells me that you are not easily cast down.” She gave him one quick, twinkling look and then said, “Good night, sir.”
Jack chuckled as he watched her disappear from view. The evening had passed off very well, he reflected. How much better it had been to take his dinner with Cecily and Sir Waldo, for even if the old gentleman did talk rather too much, Jack had at least been able to have the pleasure of Cecily’s company.
Of course, he did like and admire Sir Waldo. It was just that Jack was realizing he would be trading these more civilized meals for the privilege of having Cecily come to his room twice a day. That Cecily had suspected all along that he was, in truth, a gentleman, went a long way towards explaining her behaviour towards him. He doubted that she would have been so accommodating if she had believed he was nothing more than a coachman. He flattered himself that she had enjoyed their private meetings almost as much as he had. His spirits soared at the thought, only to be damped by another.
Cecily Wolverton was a lady, and a lady who would take her charity seriously. If he had been a beggar with the smallpox, she would have attended him just as dutifully.
Still, Jack thought, smiling to himself, now that she knew he was a gentleman he would have a better chance of impressing her with the Henley charm.
Then, as he was passing in front of a mirror, he caught a glimpse of himself in the glass. The smile was wiped from his lips. What was he about? What right did he have to start a flirtation with a lady like Cecily Wolverton when he was nothing better than a coachman?
The clicking sound of a dog’s paws echoed down the corridor, and Jack turned to find that Leto had risen from Sir Waldo’s hearth to follow him to his room. He held out a hand for her to sniff and scratched her absently on the shoulder. Leto welcomed this attention with idiotic bliss and sat down on the floor to facilitate her enjoyment. Unable to refuse the invitation, Jack lowered himself into a chair against the wall and continued to pet her.
Like most dogs, Leto had an expression which could shift from complete idiocy to great sensitivity due to the soulful cast of her eyes. The fur about her eyes and muzzle was white, also, giving the appearance of wisdom gained through the years. Jack stared at her and then put one arm about her, happy to have found such a trustworthy confident.
“You are a woman, Leto,” he began. “What would you think of a fellow, without a claim to anything, including his name, who conducted himself in such a way as to engage the affections of a lady? Irresponsible, would you say? Reprehensible?”
Leto drew in her tongue and swallowed, shifting uncomfortably.
“As bad as that?” Jack frowned at her. “But what if he hadn’t meant to? What if he couldn’t help himself? What if he did it without thinking?”
Leto yawned with a whine and started to leave. Clearly, Jack was not behaving as he ought. He called her back and started scratching her again where he knew she liked best.
When she had settled back down, he confessed to her, “It’s not so easy, you know, to remember not to enjoy someone’s company too much. Especially when that person is pretty and friendly and always willing to enjoy a joke with a fellow.” He was silent for a moment, thinking he might as easily have added that there was something else about her—maybe an air of authority mixed with just the right touch of femininity, which he found so enchanting in such a small lady. So much more appealing than the usual coyness.
“Cecily Wolverton,” he mused aloud. “Where have I heard that name before, Leto? You ought to be able to tell me.” He looked at her reproachfully
Cecily gasped, and her eyes flew to his face. He read surprise in them, but no outrage. Her lids were quickly lowered, but a little smile hovered about her lips.
“You ought to be ashamed, Mr. Henley,” she said primly. “But something tells me that you are not easily cast down.” She gave him one quick, twinkling look and then said, “Good night, sir.”
Jack chuckled as he watched her disappear from view. The evening had passed off very well, he reflected. How much better it had been to take his dinner with Cecily and Sir Waldo, for even if the old gentleman did talk rather too much, Jack had at least been able to have the pleasure of Cecily’s company.
Of course, he did like and admire Sir Waldo. It was just that Jack was realizing he would be trading these more civilized meals for the privilege of having Cecily come to his room twice a day. That Cecily had suspected all along that he was, in truth, a gentleman, went a long way towards explaining her behaviour towards him. He doubted that she would have been so accommodating if she had believed he was nothing more than a coachman. He flattered himself that she had enjoyed their private meetings almost as much as he had. His spirits soared at the thought, only to be damped by another.
Cecily Wolverton was a lady, and a lady who would take her charity seriously. If he had been a beggar with the smallpox, she would have attended him just as dutifully.
Still, Jack thought, smiling to himself, now that she knew he was a gentleman he would have a better chance of impressing her with the Henley charm.
Then, as he was passing in front of a mirror, he caught a glimpse of himself in the glass. The smile was wiped from his lips. What was he about? What right did he have to start a flirtation with a lady like Cecily Wolverton when he was nothing better than a coachman?
The clicking sound of a dog’s paws echoed down the corridor, and Jack turned to find that Leto had risen from Sir Waldo’s hearth to follow him to his room. He held out a hand for her to sniff and scratched her absently on the shoulder. Leto welcomed this attention with idiotic bliss and sat down on the floor to facilitate her enjoyment. Unable to refuse the invitation, Jack lowered himself into a chair against the wall and continued to pet her.
Like most dogs, Leto had an expression which could shift from complete idiocy to great sensitivity due to the soulful cast of her eyes. The fur about her eyes and muzzle was white, also, giving the appearance of wisdom gained through the years. Jack stared at her and then put one arm about her, happy to have found such a trustworthy confident.
“You are a woman, Leto,” he began. “What would you think of a fellow, without a claim to anything, including his name, who conducted himself in such a way as to engage the affections of a lady? Irresponsible, would you say? Reprehensible?”
Leto drew in her tongue and swallowed, shifting uncomfortably.
“As bad as that?” Jack frowned at her. “But what if he hadn’t meant to? What if he couldn’t help himself? What if he did it without thinking?”
Leto yawned with a whine and started to leave. Clearly, Jack was not behaving as he ought. He called her back and started scratching her again where he knew she liked best.
When she had settled back down, he confessed to her, “It’s not so easy, you know, to remember not to enjoy someone’s company too much. Especially when that person is pretty and friendly and always willing to enjoy a joke with a fellow.” He was silent for a moment, thinking he might as easily have added that there was something else about her—maybe an air of authority mixed with just the right touch of femininity, which he found so enchanting in such a small lady. So much more appealing than the usual coyness.
“Cecily Wolverton,” he mused aloud. “Where have I heard that name before, Leto? You ought to be able to tell me.” He looked at her reproachfully
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