One Scandalous Kiss by Christy Carlyle

ravenous curiosity, kind toward others despite his quiet, taciturn nature, and whose most reliable trait was a fierce loyalty to his family. He seemed quite a precise gentleman too. Lady Stamford smiled when recalling Lord Grimsby’s insistence that everything on his desk remain in exactly the same position, that chairs in the sitting room be a specific distance apart, and that the art on the walls of the dining room be hung equidistant from one another. The countess spoke of her late husband too and occasionally of her son, who’d inherited his father’s earldom and was on the hunt for a suitable bride to become the next Countess of Stamford. It seemed to Jess that her employer was looking forward to becoming a dowager countess, and even more so to grandchildren.
    Jess listened quietly, only interjecting questions when it seemed appropriate, and above all attempting to appear as interested in stories of Lady Stamford’s son as she was in tales of her favorite nephew. It was silly to feel any kinship with the man she’d met on only two occasions and in the most awkward of circumstances, yet Jess found herself smiling more and fidgeting less when Lady Stamford described Lord Grimsby’s boyhood adventures. It was difficult to reconcile the serious gentleman she’d met with the young man the countess described so lovingly.
    “Anything interesting in yesterday’s post, Jessamin?”
    Lady Stamford spoke to her in familiar terms and had invited Jess to call her Augusta in return, but she’d yet to manage it.
    “Yes, actually there is, my lady. A letter from America that smells of roses.”
    “Do let me see that one, my dear.”
    Lady Stamford held out her hand and Jess glanced at the return address before handing the sealed letter to her. The name Sedgwick was embossed on the paper, and someone with a looping, feminine style of handwriting had addressed the letter. The script was so ornate, Jess struggled to decipher the words.
    Lady Stamford unfolded the letter and made a tsking noise as she skimmed the paper.
    “Oh my, this will be a challenge.”
    “A challenge?” Jess continued to slice open each letter in the small pile on the desk, though the dismayed tone in the countess’s voice set her on edge. In the short time she’d been in her employ, Jess had never known Lady Stamford to be anything but cheerful and carefree. The woman seemed to take everything as a pleasure to be enjoyed or a minor conundrum to be efficiently unraveled.
    Jess lifted a cup of tea to her lips and watched as the countess began to pace the length of the intricate floral rug that decorated her sitting room. Her peach-colored gown was a similar hue to one of the half dozen she’d ordered from her dressmaker for Jess. She’d insisted a lady’s companion must have a fashionable wardrobe, though her duties of fetching, writing, and reading to the countess required no such thing. Still, she couldn’t deny the pleasure of sorting through fabrics, sifting the luxurious textures through her fingers, and picking colors that reminded her of flowers she’d seen at the Botanical Garden or the riotous shades of a London sunset.
    “This letter is from Miss May Sedgwick. She’s the daughter of an old acquaintance and one of the richest heiresses in America. I met her father in London many years ago. I’ve yet to meet his daughter, but she’s reputedly quite lovely, and apparently very changeable. I expected her for a visit here at Marleston, but she says her heart is set on going straight to Hartwell.”
    Jess assumed Hartwell might be another of the countess’s estates, though she had no notion why anyone would need another. Marleston was lovely and spacious, so beautifully constructed and well-appointed that she couldn’t imagine anyone craving another home.
    Augusta looked at her expectantly.
    Jess raised her eyebrows, uncertain what to say.
    “Hartwell is my brother’s home.”
    “Ah, I see. Is it as lovely as Marleston?”
    Augusta sat