fourth.”
“Lady Strathford, are you in there?” Without warning, a male voice called through the foliage.
CHAPTER 9
Sarah startled at the voice. A moment passed before her lips drew into a tight line. “Lord Lumsley. What brings you to Strathford Hall?”
“Your brother and I popped by to brighten your Sunday.” His words seeped through the leafage in a rather muffled wheeze. “We hoped you’d accompany us to a Mr Maynard Smythe’s edifying lecture regarding his climb up Mt Kilimanjaro. Might you care to join us, my lady?”
Both Sarah’s head and fan shook in opposition, silently voicing the negative. “Thank you for your kind offer, my lord, but at present I’m occupied with dear friends.”
“Oh, how jolly. May I join you, then?”
She sighed and gazed round the table. Miss Collins deferred to the countess who gave her a look of resignation.
Damen ground his teeth and decided it best to study his glass of lemonade
. Dash it all.
He needed to speak with Sarah privately and couldn’t very well do it with her friends hovering. Plus, somehow he’d already put her into a miff. Now Lumsley was here? This wasn’t working out at all as he’d hoped.
“Very well,” Sarah blew out a breath. “Do mind the roots and uneven ground, my lord.”
Rather than pull the boughs neatly aside as Megpeas had done, Lumsley pushed on through. Limbs caught on his clothes and somehow latched on to his whiskers. In his frenzy to untangle himself, he tripped over a root and nearly went sprawling.
At the last moment, he managed to right himself, straighten his jacket and smoothed back what Damen’s nose identified as bear-greased strands. The sweet-smelling unguent, claimed by barbers to nourish the scalp and regrow hair, now threatened to overwhelm the cigar smoke.
Something about the man’s eyes tweaked a long-ago memory.
Lumsley didn’t seem bothered by his graceless entrance and smiled broadly. “I say. You have a veritable garden party in here?” When his gaze landed on Damen, he guffawed. “And already a fox has snuck into the hen house. Haha, haha. I seem to have arrived in the nick of time.” With a stubby finger, he brushed down each side of his bushy mustache.
Sarah made introductions again and motioned to the empty chair between Miss Collins and the countess. “May I pour you refreshment, my lord? We have a little lemonade left.”
Inwardly, Damen smiled.
“Yes, I could do. And how about sharing one of those cigars, Ravenhill?”
Damen bit the inside of his cheek and cut a quick glance to the ladies who all suddenly found something very intriguing about their manicures. He made a show of patting his pockets. “Terribly sorry, my lord. I seem to be out.”
“A shame. The fragrance is quite appealing.”
Sarah handed Lumsley a lemonade. He took a slurp, smacked his lips and grinned round the table like it was the tastiest thing he’d ever swallowed. “Playing cards, are we? What are we wagering?”
“It is Sunday, my lord.” Miss Collins clutched her collar primly. “We do not bet in observance of the Sabbath. Of course, in some denominations card playing itself is frowned upon and strictly forbidden on Sunday.”
She said this with her brows pulled into a line, but Damen thought he saw one lip twitch.
Lumsley didn’t seem to notice, grinned like a walrus and rubbed his hands together. “Deal me in.”
“We were discussing places of amusement.” The countess took a sip of her lemonade. “Do you have any suggestions, my lord?”
“Well, let me see.” He sank his fingers into the hairs on his cheek and pulled. “There’s always the opera. Perhaps the theater?”
Miss Collins wound one of her curls around her finger. “I was thinking more along the lines of a boxing tournament.”
“Oh,”
cough,
“that’s not…” – Lumsley gazed between the women – “…suitable for gently bred women.”
“How about a music hall performance, then?” Miss Collins gazed around the
“Lady Strathford, are you in there?” Without warning, a male voice called through the foliage.
CHAPTER 9
Sarah startled at the voice. A moment passed before her lips drew into a tight line. “Lord Lumsley. What brings you to Strathford Hall?”
“Your brother and I popped by to brighten your Sunday.” His words seeped through the leafage in a rather muffled wheeze. “We hoped you’d accompany us to a Mr Maynard Smythe’s edifying lecture regarding his climb up Mt Kilimanjaro. Might you care to join us, my lady?”
Both Sarah’s head and fan shook in opposition, silently voicing the negative. “Thank you for your kind offer, my lord, but at present I’m occupied with dear friends.”
“Oh, how jolly. May I join you, then?”
She sighed and gazed round the table. Miss Collins deferred to the countess who gave her a look of resignation.
Damen ground his teeth and decided it best to study his glass of lemonade
. Dash it all.
He needed to speak with Sarah privately and couldn’t very well do it with her friends hovering. Plus, somehow he’d already put her into a miff. Now Lumsley was here? This wasn’t working out at all as he’d hoped.
“Very well,” Sarah blew out a breath. “Do mind the roots and uneven ground, my lord.”
Rather than pull the boughs neatly aside as Megpeas had done, Lumsley pushed on through. Limbs caught on his clothes and somehow latched on to his whiskers. In his frenzy to untangle himself, he tripped over a root and nearly went sprawling.
At the last moment, he managed to right himself, straighten his jacket and smoothed back what Damen’s nose identified as bear-greased strands. The sweet-smelling unguent, claimed by barbers to nourish the scalp and regrow hair, now threatened to overwhelm the cigar smoke.
Something about the man’s eyes tweaked a long-ago memory.
Lumsley didn’t seem bothered by his graceless entrance and smiled broadly. “I say. You have a veritable garden party in here?” When his gaze landed on Damen, he guffawed. “And already a fox has snuck into the hen house. Haha, haha. I seem to have arrived in the nick of time.” With a stubby finger, he brushed down each side of his bushy mustache.
Sarah made introductions again and motioned to the empty chair between Miss Collins and the countess. “May I pour you refreshment, my lord? We have a little lemonade left.”
Inwardly, Damen smiled.
“Yes, I could do. And how about sharing one of those cigars, Ravenhill?”
Damen bit the inside of his cheek and cut a quick glance to the ladies who all suddenly found something very intriguing about their manicures. He made a show of patting his pockets. “Terribly sorry, my lord. I seem to be out.”
“A shame. The fragrance is quite appealing.”
Sarah handed Lumsley a lemonade. He took a slurp, smacked his lips and grinned round the table like it was the tastiest thing he’d ever swallowed. “Playing cards, are we? What are we wagering?”
“It is Sunday, my lord.” Miss Collins clutched her collar primly. “We do not bet in observance of the Sabbath. Of course, in some denominations card playing itself is frowned upon and strictly forbidden on Sunday.”
She said this with her brows pulled into a line, but Damen thought he saw one lip twitch.
Lumsley didn’t seem to notice, grinned like a walrus and rubbed his hands together. “Deal me in.”
“We were discussing places of amusement.” The countess took a sip of her lemonade. “Do you have any suggestions, my lord?”
“Well, let me see.” He sank his fingers into the hairs on his cheek and pulled. “There’s always the opera. Perhaps the theater?”
Miss Collins wound one of her curls around her finger. “I was thinking more along the lines of a boxing tournament.”
“Oh,”
cough,
“that’s not…” – Lumsley gazed between the women – “…suitable for gently bred women.”
“How about a music hall performance, then?” Miss Collins gazed around the
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