of Madeline’s business, really, but Miss DeWitt was lovely.
Sir Jack sat back, the butter knife in his hand gleaming silver in the morning sunshine. “Oh, of course. Mama has been parading potential wives
before me since I came home. This is the first time she’s inveigled a young lady into impersonating a houseguest, though. Miss DeWitt is barely half
my age, and all she wants is a solid fellow with ten thousand pounds a year to devote to her care and cosseting. Where’s the jam?”
Madeline retrieved the jam from the sideboard and plunked it down by her host’s elbow. “You are a solid fellow with the requisite
attributes.”
Sir Jack’s version of cosseting was unconventional—such as lending Madeline his slippers, which she’d yet to return—and he was
worth much more than ten thousand pounds a year, if gossip was to be believed.
“I am not a solid fellow, Miss Hennessey. Do not mistake me for such. Eat your eggs, lest they get cold.”
Not simply eggs, but a fluffy, cheesy, omelet served with golden buttered toast. “You might be in a hurry to avoid breakfast with your mother, but my
occupation at present is to provide her and Miss DeWitt companionship. Why don’t you and the reverend go shooting or something?”
Mr. Belmont wasn’t much of a sportsman, though he rode to hounds on occasion. He’d been more likely to disappear into the home wood or the
fields looking for botany specimens. He would return hours later in a fine humor, his boots muddy, his specimen bag full, and his belly empty.
Sir Jack, by contrast, apparently relied on his magistrate’s duties to roust him from his manor house on occasion. That and darts night.
“I do not engage in blood sports,” Sir Jack said. “If Mama were back in London, where she belongs, you would see far less beef
served at my table as well. How soon can you be ready to leave?”
Common sense said racketing about the countryside with Sir Jack was ill-advised. He hadn’t made any opportunities to kiss Madeline again, but
she’d lost sleep recalling his initial overture.
A lot of sleep.
“Give me ten minutes,” she said, finishing her tea. “I’ll meet you at the back door.”
He rose as she got to her feet. “Make it five.”
* * *
The house had become like a prison, with Mama or Miss DeWitt lurking in the locations where Jack usually sought solitude—the library, the estate
office, the family parlor. Mama claimed the estate office had the best light, the library the coziest hearth, the family parlor the softest sofa cushions.
Worse, Jack would catch Jeremy studying him, as if some sort of brotherly pronouncement ought to be forthcoming because Jack was the elder by nine years.
Those nine years, a few Continents, and an ocean or two meant Jack had nothing of substance to discuss with a sibling he barely knew.
“You are punctual,” Jack said, as Miss Hennessey came down the back steps. She’d donned the worn boots and the black cloak, though her
scarf was a sturdy brown wool article. Her gloves had been mended, but had no apparent holes.
“A half day is a half day,” Miss Hennessey said. “If I’m not back shortly after luncheon, your mother will have grounds to rebuke
me.”
“Can’t have that,” Jack said, tossing a scarf around his neck. “Come along, the sleigh should be ready.”
“We’re taking the sleigh?”
All Jack could see of Miss Hennessey’s face was her eyes peeking over her scarf. She had beautiful eyes, luminous blue, intelligent, and expressive.
Right now those eyes were wary, which was a rebuke in itself.
“We’re taking the sleigh,” Jack said. “
Now
, if you please, before Mama appears with yet another lecture on familial duty
and the joys of married life.” He opened the back door, and led Miss Hennessey into a painfully brilliant winter morning. A slow drip from the eaves
was counterpointed by a bitter wind, and the path to the drive was already dusted over with drifted snow.
Sir Jack sat back, the butter knife in his hand gleaming silver in the morning sunshine. “Oh, of course. Mama has been parading potential wives
before me since I came home. This is the first time she’s inveigled a young lady into impersonating a houseguest, though. Miss DeWitt is barely half
my age, and all she wants is a solid fellow with ten thousand pounds a year to devote to her care and cosseting. Where’s the jam?”
Madeline retrieved the jam from the sideboard and plunked it down by her host’s elbow. “You are a solid fellow with the requisite
attributes.”
Sir Jack’s version of cosseting was unconventional—such as lending Madeline his slippers, which she’d yet to return—and he was
worth much more than ten thousand pounds a year, if gossip was to be believed.
“I am not a solid fellow, Miss Hennessey. Do not mistake me for such. Eat your eggs, lest they get cold.”
Not simply eggs, but a fluffy, cheesy, omelet served with golden buttered toast. “You might be in a hurry to avoid breakfast with your mother, but my
occupation at present is to provide her and Miss DeWitt companionship. Why don’t you and the reverend go shooting or something?”
Mr. Belmont wasn’t much of a sportsman, though he rode to hounds on occasion. He’d been more likely to disappear into the home wood or the
fields looking for botany specimens. He would return hours later in a fine humor, his boots muddy, his specimen bag full, and his belly empty.
Sir Jack, by contrast, apparently relied on his magistrate’s duties to roust him from his manor house on occasion. That and darts night.
“I do not engage in blood sports,” Sir Jack said. “If Mama were back in London, where she belongs, you would see far less beef
served at my table as well. How soon can you be ready to leave?”
Common sense said racketing about the countryside with Sir Jack was ill-advised. He hadn’t made any opportunities to kiss Madeline again, but
she’d lost sleep recalling his initial overture.
A lot of sleep.
“Give me ten minutes,” she said, finishing her tea. “I’ll meet you at the back door.”
He rose as she got to her feet. “Make it five.”
* * *
The house had become like a prison, with Mama or Miss DeWitt lurking in the locations where Jack usually sought solitude—the library, the estate
office, the family parlor. Mama claimed the estate office had the best light, the library the coziest hearth, the family parlor the softest sofa cushions.
Worse, Jack would catch Jeremy studying him, as if some sort of brotherly pronouncement ought to be forthcoming because Jack was the elder by nine years.
Those nine years, a few Continents, and an ocean or two meant Jack had nothing of substance to discuss with a sibling he barely knew.
“You are punctual,” Jack said, as Miss Hennessey came down the back steps. She’d donned the worn boots and the black cloak, though her
scarf was a sturdy brown wool article. Her gloves had been mended, but had no apparent holes.
“A half day is a half day,” Miss Hennessey said. “If I’m not back shortly after luncheon, your mother will have grounds to rebuke
me.”
“Can’t have that,” Jack said, tossing a scarf around his neck. “Come along, the sleigh should be ready.”
“We’re taking the sleigh?”
All Jack could see of Miss Hennessey’s face was her eyes peeking over her scarf. She had beautiful eyes, luminous blue, intelligent, and expressive.
Right now those eyes were wary, which was a rebuke in itself.
“We’re taking the sleigh,” Jack said. “
Now
, if you please, before Mama appears with yet another lecture on familial duty
and the joys of married life.” He opened the back door, and led Miss Hennessey into a painfully brilliant winter morning. A slow drip from the eaves
was counterpointed by a bitter wind, and the path to the drive was already dusted over with drifted snow.
Similar Books
