No Proper Lady by Isabel Cooper Page A

Joan was around. Now she sat with folded hands and huge eyes.
    “I’m sure it will,” he said. “If you feel, ah, up to it, you might have a few of the village girls up to tea. With Joan. As a trial, I mean.”
    “Thank you,” said Eleanor. “I think she’s more than equal to the task now. And—”
    “And out here, gossip doesn’t travel as fast. At least it doesn’t get back to the city quickly,” Simon finished for her, watching her blush. He rose, looked down at her, and cleared his throat. “Well. Take care of yourself.”
    “And you,” said Eleanor.
    When she’d bowed and left, Simon turned to the window and stared out for a long time.
    ***
    Walking in, Joan didn’t quite slam the door, but she definitely closed it more loudly than the servants did. It gave Simon time to compose himself before he spoke.
    “You wanted to see me,” she said. She didn’t sit down.
    “I’m leaving for a few days.”
    Joan met his eyes. “Progress?”
    “Possibly. I wouldn’t—” Simon shook his head. “I wouldn’t jinx myself by being too sure. I know that sounds a bit ludicrous.”
    “Nope.” Joan grinned. “But then, I never knew a man who’d light three on a match.”
    “Three on a match?”
    “Bad luck. Especially for soldiers.”
    “Ah,” he said, and waved her toward one of the chairs. “Eleanor was thinking you might meet some of the village girls while I’m gone.”
    “While you’re safe in London, you mean?” The grin reappeared. Despite his mood, Simon found himself answering it with one of his own.
    “Chivalry forbids me to say. Ellie’s much better qualified to manage such a meeting, anyhow. You’ve certainly picked up enough.” He added, “And you’re looking well,” understating the case considerably and trying not to be aware of it. “A credit to my cook, I think.”
    She half winced and then laughed at herself. “Thanks. Sorry. Old associations.”
    “You weren’t that thin on purpose, were you?” he asked, horrified into tactlessness.
    Joan snorted. “Hardly. We do as well as we can. But there’s only so much food to go around, unless…”
    “Unless?”
    She didn’t even look upset. He’d carry the memory to London with him, the look of calm acceptance on her face. This is the way the world is. It’s too common to be worth crying over. “The Dark Ones are very good to their pets. Or their livestock. And if you don’t want to sell out to them directly—”
    “I think I can guess,” Simon said. A term floated through his mind, one he’d read long ago in a pirate story, long pork. He grimaced.
    “Yeah.” Joan made a face and then shrugged. “Anyhow. Most of me knows this isn’t that. Physically, I feel great. But it’s hard to shake what you grew up with.”
    It took a moment for Simon to find the thread of his conversation. “Tea,” he said. “I think you’ll enjoy it.”
    “I think you’re wrong,” she said, but cheerfully.
    “Look at it as a challenge.”
    “It’ll be that, all right.” She raised one hand and then stopped before she could run it through her hair and scatter the pins. “Besides, if Ellie suggested it—”
    Simon nodded. “That’s what I thought. And she seems to enjoy your company.” His best efforts couldn’t keep a hint of bitterness out of his voice.
    “That’s what you wanted.”
    “I know,” he said, and looked away, turning back to the window. “I’m sorry.”
    From behind him, he heard Joan’s footsteps. He couldn’t see her, but he knew that when she stopped, she was just out of arm’s reach. “I don’t think she blames you.”
    It was what he hadn’t asked. Hadn’t dared to. “She barely speaks around me. She’s never been alone with me since we came to Englefield unless I’ve requested it. You’re a stranger, to say the least—”
    “That’s probably why,” said Joan, and the mundane steadiness of her voice was soothing. “I’m not part of your world, and I don’t have its standards.