sake.” Archer marched across the room to bat Hazlit’s hands away. “You tie a university boy’s knot when what’s wanted is a little style.”
“A little simple style.” Except Archer’s sense of fashion was impeccable, so Hazlit held still.
“Simple yet elegant, like me.” Archer slipped a jeweled pin into the middle of a deft knot, leaving gold and amber winking out of the creamy linen. “You’ll do.”
“My thanks.”
The mirror suggested Archer was, as usual, correct. The amber was just a hint of style. It picked up on brown eyes and skin a little darker than was fashionable, but did so subtly.
“Really, Benjamin, what would you do without me?”
“Probably retire to Blessings and dandle Avis’s offspring on my avuncular knee.”
Archer moved around the room, tidying up the bath accessories and folding damp bath sheets. “Would you really? Cumbria can be deuced damp and far from civilization, and something suggests dandling might not be your forte.”
“Cumbria can be lovely, which is why all London flocks there of a summer. It’s gorgeous, the fells so striking they make Kent look like the most tame garden, the light so pure and the air so bracing… what?” It was quite possible Archer was regarding him with pity .
“You’re homesick, Benjamin. You worry about your sisters as much now that they’re married as you did before they tied their respective knots. You worry about your estate, and you racket around here poking your nose into everybody else’s business because it distracts you from your worrying. Find a wife, go home, and leave the snooping to fellows like me who can view it as pure sport.”
“I am not homesick.” Though he did worry about his sisters.
“My mistake.”
“Don’t wait up for me.”
“I never do.” Archer waved him on his way, leaving Hazlit to glance one more time in the mirror: That was the nose Maggie Windham found arrogant, and handsome .
“Archer?”
“Dear heart?”
“If you haven’t any other plans tonight, do you suppose you could take care of a small errand for me?” It was a whim, a hunch, but cracking a case often turned on such inspirations—and it was for the lady’s own good, of course.
“I’m not working tonight, Benjamin. I need my beauty sleep, too.”
“It involves keeping an eye on a pretty lady.”
A little flicker of interest passed through professionally guileless blue eyes. “Then I’m your man.”
***
When Old King Hal acquired the papal abbeys and monasteries, he’d simultaneously made a bold statement regarding his opinion of Rome and enriched his own coffers immeasurably.
He had also paved the way for Londoners to enjoy the hundreds of acres of bucolic beauty that came to be known as Hyde Park. As far as Esther, Duchess of Moreland, was concerned, it had been one of Henry’s few commendable moves.
A lady could maneuver in the Park, spying out those Eligibles worthy of consideration for addition to the Windham family. For that’s how it would be: When the girls married, they would bring a husband into the family.
Not the other way around.
“Each year this place gets more crowded,” Evie muttered from her perch beside her mother. The other girls had begged off, leaving their youngest sister pride of place beside Her Grace in the curricle.
“All the more gentlemen from which you might pick your husband,” Esther said, smiling serenely. “Chin up, dearest. If Papa gets wind you were acting mopish, he’ll fret.”
It did the trick, as Esther had known it would. Evie’s chin came up, and a smile worthy of her charming papa graced her features.
“Your Grace, Lady Evie.”
Lucas Denning—a scamp if ever there was one—rode along beside the carriage. He tipped his hat and flashed them a smile. He might do—he was wealthy enough, newly titled with a marquessate, and Percy approved of his politics, more or less.
“Deene.” Esther nodded and returned the smile while Evie held out a gloved
“A little simple style.” Except Archer’s sense of fashion was impeccable, so Hazlit held still.
“Simple yet elegant, like me.” Archer slipped a jeweled pin into the middle of a deft knot, leaving gold and amber winking out of the creamy linen. “You’ll do.”
“My thanks.”
The mirror suggested Archer was, as usual, correct. The amber was just a hint of style. It picked up on brown eyes and skin a little darker than was fashionable, but did so subtly.
“Really, Benjamin, what would you do without me?”
“Probably retire to Blessings and dandle Avis’s offspring on my avuncular knee.”
Archer moved around the room, tidying up the bath accessories and folding damp bath sheets. “Would you really? Cumbria can be deuced damp and far from civilization, and something suggests dandling might not be your forte.”
“Cumbria can be lovely, which is why all London flocks there of a summer. It’s gorgeous, the fells so striking they make Kent look like the most tame garden, the light so pure and the air so bracing… what?” It was quite possible Archer was regarding him with pity .
“You’re homesick, Benjamin. You worry about your sisters as much now that they’re married as you did before they tied their respective knots. You worry about your estate, and you racket around here poking your nose into everybody else’s business because it distracts you from your worrying. Find a wife, go home, and leave the snooping to fellows like me who can view it as pure sport.”
“I am not homesick.” Though he did worry about his sisters.
“My mistake.”
“Don’t wait up for me.”
“I never do.” Archer waved him on his way, leaving Hazlit to glance one more time in the mirror: That was the nose Maggie Windham found arrogant, and handsome .
“Archer?”
“Dear heart?”
“If you haven’t any other plans tonight, do you suppose you could take care of a small errand for me?” It was a whim, a hunch, but cracking a case often turned on such inspirations—and it was for the lady’s own good, of course.
“I’m not working tonight, Benjamin. I need my beauty sleep, too.”
“It involves keeping an eye on a pretty lady.”
A little flicker of interest passed through professionally guileless blue eyes. “Then I’m your man.”
***
When Old King Hal acquired the papal abbeys and monasteries, he’d simultaneously made a bold statement regarding his opinion of Rome and enriched his own coffers immeasurably.
He had also paved the way for Londoners to enjoy the hundreds of acres of bucolic beauty that came to be known as Hyde Park. As far as Esther, Duchess of Moreland, was concerned, it had been one of Henry’s few commendable moves.
A lady could maneuver in the Park, spying out those Eligibles worthy of consideration for addition to the Windham family. For that’s how it would be: When the girls married, they would bring a husband into the family.
Not the other way around.
“Each year this place gets more crowded,” Evie muttered from her perch beside her mother. The other girls had begged off, leaving their youngest sister pride of place beside Her Grace in the curricle.
“All the more gentlemen from which you might pick your husband,” Esther said, smiling serenely. “Chin up, dearest. If Papa gets wind you were acting mopish, he’ll fret.”
It did the trick, as Esther had known it would. Evie’s chin came up, and a smile worthy of her charming papa graced her features.
“Your Grace, Lady Evie.”
Lucas Denning—a scamp if ever there was one—rode along beside the carriage. He tipped his hat and flashed them a smile. He might do—he was wealthy enough, newly titled with a marquessate, and Percy approved of his politics, more or less.
“Deene.” Esther nodded and returned the smile while Evie held out a gloved
Similar Books
