tomorrow and begin preparations for Miss Sedgwick’s arrival.” Augusta reached out and patted Jess’s arm before giving it a gentle squeeze. “I’m so grateful to have you with me. There is much to do.”
Jess smiled at her employer even as her stomach churned. She could only imagine Lord Grimsby’s reaction when he found the woman who’d accosted him taking up residence in his home. Would he curse her? He certainly wouldn’t kiss her, though she couldn’t resist imagining it. Lifting her hand, she stroked the flesh near her ear, tracing the spot where he’d pressed his mouth to her skin and whispered those three haunting words. I can’t forget.
She shivered and anticipation rushed through her, as if he might walk into his aunt’s sitting room at any moment. As if he would greet her with pleasure. As if the man had given her two minutes of consideration since walking out of her failed bookshop.
Despite his parting words, he would have forgotten her. Surely he’d forgotten. He was a viscount with an estate to run and an ailing father to care for. If he simply didn’t loathe her, that would be enough. But more likely, he’d demand his aunt dismiss her on the spot, and Jess wouldn’t blame him for it. After hearing of his protective nature, especially when it came to his family, she envisioned a dismissal as the probable outcome of her trip to Hartwell.
Then a thought struck her. “My lady, why is Miss Sedgwick so keen to go to Hartwell?”
The countess didn’t meet her gaze, merely slid her hand across Castor’s fur, as if contemplating how to respond.
When Lady Stamford looked up, her mouth was tight, mirthless, but her lips trembled as if she was attempting to force a pleasanter expression. “She intends to marry my nephew, my dear.”
Chapter Nine
“M Y LORD, WE’LL do all we can, but it will take weeks to prepare all of the rooms and stock the kitchen. We’ll make do with the suites in the west wing. Cook wishes to know how many we can expect.”
Hartwell’s housekeeper, Mrs. Penry, spoke in her usual pleasant tone, yet even that sound grated on Lucius’s frayed nerves. His first cup of tea had done nothing to clear the fog from his brain. Nor had his second, or the third. His eyes itched when they weren’t blurring the figures before him, the joints of his arms and legs protested when he moved after too long a spell at his desk chair, and every noise set him on edge. Sleep continued to elude him, coming only in miserable fits and starts after weeks back in his own bed, and all the usual duties and minor troubles associated with running the estate seemed suddenly insurmountable. Focused thought eluded him too, unless it involved contemplation of a certain young woman’s lips.
And now his aunt proposed a house party the day after Mrs. Penry reported that a part of the east wing’s third-floor ceilings had begun to crack and leak. The exterior masonry and slate tile roofs, deteriorating and untended for years, had apparently decided now was as good a time as any to crumble away completely. He told himself that part of the estate, unsheltered by Hartwell Woods on the west, was more exposed to the wind and rain. But less rationally, gut deep, he wondered if the rancor between his parents, who’d slammed doors and shaken the walls with their shouting in that portion of the house for years, had somehow taken its toll. Whatever the cause, the cost of repairs, in addition to the interior updates the house required, was quickly piling up.
A lavish house party, confined to the renovated west wing and public rooms, would further diminish Hartwell’s coffers, but it might help him woo the young woman Aunt Augusta thought most promising among his prospects. Miss Sedgwick was the daughter of American business mogul Seymour Sedgwick. As Augusta told it, she’d met Miss Sedgwick’s father during her first season, when he’d married one of her dear friends, a viscount’s daughter. Since she
Jess smiled at her employer even as her stomach churned. She could only imagine Lord Grimsby’s reaction when he found the woman who’d accosted him taking up residence in his home. Would he curse her? He certainly wouldn’t kiss her, though she couldn’t resist imagining it. Lifting her hand, she stroked the flesh near her ear, tracing the spot where he’d pressed his mouth to her skin and whispered those three haunting words. I can’t forget.
She shivered and anticipation rushed through her, as if he might walk into his aunt’s sitting room at any moment. As if he would greet her with pleasure. As if the man had given her two minutes of consideration since walking out of her failed bookshop.
Despite his parting words, he would have forgotten her. Surely he’d forgotten. He was a viscount with an estate to run and an ailing father to care for. If he simply didn’t loathe her, that would be enough. But more likely, he’d demand his aunt dismiss her on the spot, and Jess wouldn’t blame him for it. After hearing of his protective nature, especially when it came to his family, she envisioned a dismissal as the probable outcome of her trip to Hartwell.
Then a thought struck her. “My lady, why is Miss Sedgwick so keen to go to Hartwell?”
The countess didn’t meet her gaze, merely slid her hand across Castor’s fur, as if contemplating how to respond.
When Lady Stamford looked up, her mouth was tight, mirthless, but her lips trembled as if she was attempting to force a pleasanter expression. “She intends to marry my nephew, my dear.”
Chapter Nine
“M Y LORD, WE’LL do all we can, but it will take weeks to prepare all of the rooms and stock the kitchen. We’ll make do with the suites in the west wing. Cook wishes to know how many we can expect.”
Hartwell’s housekeeper, Mrs. Penry, spoke in her usual pleasant tone, yet even that sound grated on Lucius’s frayed nerves. His first cup of tea had done nothing to clear the fog from his brain. Nor had his second, or the third. His eyes itched when they weren’t blurring the figures before him, the joints of his arms and legs protested when he moved after too long a spell at his desk chair, and every noise set him on edge. Sleep continued to elude him, coming only in miserable fits and starts after weeks back in his own bed, and all the usual duties and minor troubles associated with running the estate seemed suddenly insurmountable. Focused thought eluded him too, unless it involved contemplation of a certain young woman’s lips.
And now his aunt proposed a house party the day after Mrs. Penry reported that a part of the east wing’s third-floor ceilings had begun to crack and leak. The exterior masonry and slate tile roofs, deteriorating and untended for years, had apparently decided now was as good a time as any to crumble away completely. He told himself that part of the estate, unsheltered by Hartwell Woods on the west, was more exposed to the wind and rain. But less rationally, gut deep, he wondered if the rancor between his parents, who’d slammed doors and shaken the walls with their shouting in that portion of the house for years, had somehow taken its toll. Whatever the cause, the cost of repairs, in addition to the interior updates the house required, was quickly piling up.
A lavish house party, confined to the renovated west wing and public rooms, would further diminish Hartwell’s coffers, but it might help him woo the young woman Aunt Augusta thought most promising among his prospects. Miss Sedgwick was the daughter of American business mogul Seymour Sedgwick. As Augusta told it, she’d met Miss Sedgwick’s father during her first season, when he’d married one of her dear friends, a viscount’s daughter. Since she
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