A Lord Rotheby's Holiday Bundle (110 page)

He lifted a brow. “That was very
generous of them.”

“
I paid my own way. It was
not charity.” She bristled at the defensive sound of her own
words.

“
I never assumed otherwise.
And how, pray tell, did you afford to pay for your lessons? I
imagine, based on the expense of my sisters’ governess, it would be
difficult for a country vicar’s daughter to manage.”

Could he truly be
interested?

But there was nothing he could gain
from such knowledge. No reason for him to ask other than his own
interest or perhaps a healthy dose of curiosity. She might as well
tell him, since no harm could come from it. “I sewed.”

“
Sewed? Well, of course. I
assume it would be imperative for ladies of the gentry to have such
a skill. But really, how could you afford an education through
sewing for your family?”

“
Well, that
would
be quite a feat,
wouldn’t it?” She laughed at the impossibility of the thought. “But
I sewed for far more than only my family. Lady Hinkley hired me to
sew garments for her and her daughters, since we lived so far from
London and the modistes here. I sewed for Mrs. Zachariah once her
arthritis became too painful for her to handle the needle and
thread. Before long, word of my skills spread through the village
and I had developed quite a patronage for my sewing.”

“
You are rather skilled
with your needles, then. But if you have such talent, why on earth
did you arrive in London in those...er...well, those
rags?”

Jane grinned. “You may have noticed
that Mr. Cuddlesworth tends to pull at my clothing with his claws.
He doesn’t mean to be destructive—not truly—but it’s simply how he
is.”

Peter’s jaw dropped a bit over that
statement. “Your cat? You claim to know what your cat intends to do
and what he doesn’t?”

“
Of course.” Good grief,
Mr. Cuddlesworth had been with her for years. She’d be a truly poor
companion for him if she didn’t understand him by now.

“
But it’s an animal. It
can’t speak.”

“
Of course he can’t speak.
But he lets me know what he’s thinking and feeling—what he likes
and dislikes.” How obtuse could the man be?
“I see.” The furrow of his brow told her the opposite of his words,
but she decided to let that pass. At least for now. “But back to
your sewing—after you completed your education, did you continue to
sew for the ladies?”

“
Of course, I did. The
ladies in Whitstable still needed gowns. None of that changed just
because I’d finished with my schooling.”

Peter narrowed his eyes shrewdly. “So
what’s happened to the money you earned from that work? Have you
used it to help your family? I imagine a vicarage in such a small
village must find ways to stretch his income a great
deal.”

And just
why
was he so curious
about that, all of a sudden? Her money was her own. A duke
certainly had no need for it, not with his abundance of estates
earning him more money than a man could ever use in his
lifetime.

Jane shook her head to clear the
suspicions from her thoughts. Really, there was no reason not to
tell him. She needed to stop being so distrustful. “Papa would
never allow me to use my money for family expenses. I’ve been
saving my income for several years now…setting it aside, should I
need it.”

“
That sum could provide you
with a respectable dowry now, if you chose to use it as
such.”

Jane frowned at him. “That it could,”
she murmured. Was he trying to get her to offer it for a dowry?
Would he rescind the offer he’d made to her suitors for a dowry and
insist she use her own monies? And for what purpose? Perhaps his
efforts these last few days at keeping her under a short rein were
for some purpose other than what he suggested.

Still, maybe there was a suitor who’d
spoken to him and Peter was attempting to protect her reputation
from any of her usual social blunders.

Oh, drat. Thankfully, the appointment
Sophie arranged for Jane with a solicitor was only two days away.
She would finally be able to make some headway on setting up her
shop.

“
Well, there will be no
need for that now, Jane,” he said, a curious expression dusting his
brow.

“
No.” If only she
understood what that meant. Good Lord, she wished she knew what the
man was thinking.

But then the music came to an end, and
the dancing stopped. He placed her hand in the crook of his arm and
led her from the floor in the direction of the dining room. “I
believe supper is served.”

“
Indeed.”

The next day couldn’t arrive soon
enough. Jane wanted more than ever to get to work. One meal seated
next to Peter wouldn’t kill her.

She hoped.

Chapter
Eleven

The next morning, Peter awoke with a
smile.

It might have been due to having spent
a pleasant waltz and supper with Jane last night. Or perhaps it was
because he had succeeded in yet again avoiding a dance—or even a
conversation—with Lady Broederlet, who had been chasing after him
about the entire Season instead of spending time with her husband.
Possibly it was because he intended to have a picnic with his
family in the gardens behind Hardwicke House early that afternoon
to celebrate Joshua’s birthday. Even Jane would be there, and
likely her silly cat as well.

Any way he looked at it,
Peter
would
have a
perfect day today. He was determined to enjoy himself, even if Mama
started in on him again about finding a woman to take to wife. No
one would spoil his mood.

When he passed by the breakfast room
on his way to his library, he did so with this very determination
at the forefront of his mind and a smile on his face.

Until his mother called out
to him from the breakfast room with: “Oh, Peter? You remember we’ve
agreed to an evening at Vauxhall tonight with Lady Veazey, don’t
you?” She gave him a rather pointed,
do-not-dare-to-come-up-with-an-excuse look over her cup of morning
chocolate. “It’s to be a small gathering—only a few guests. We
do
not
wish to
disappoint.”

It was just his luck that he had
forgotten. However, not even this would dampen his good mood. Not
today.

“
Of course I’ll be there.
I’ve been looking forward to it all week.” Blast. That last bit was
likely a touch too much, since she clearly believed he’d forgotten
or else she wouldn’t have reminded him in such a manner.

Mama didn’t give his little slip any
moment, though, and turned to admonish one of his sisters for some
unknown offense. Peter took that opportunity to sneak out of sight
and get to work before the picnic.

Yeats had sent him home with a report
from Carreg Mawr the day before, and Peter wanted to see what it
had to say.

When “A breakfast tray in my library,”
Peter said as he passed Spenser in the halls. “With coffee. As soon
as possible, please.” He waited only for the incline of his
butler’s head before barreling through the doors to his
library.

Sparing not a moment, he grabbed the
report from the bookshelf—the one designated for work yet to be
done (which, he was proud to note, was much less full than any
other shelf in his library)—and settled in at his desk.

He pulled the papers out and began to
read.

And read.

And still read some more.

After finishing the entire stack,
Peter cursed aloud. “Deuce take it, Phinny.” Why had he been so
blind? And how long had it been going on under his nose?

One thing was certain. The next time
he saw Utley, he would be hard-pressed to refrain from planting the
bastard a facer, if not strangling him. Phineas Turnpenny had
certainly not acted alone.

~ * ~

Six-year-old Joshua, Peter’s heir and
the reason for the day’s celebratory picnic, flailed himself across
the lawns with his almost-four-year-old sister Sarah following as
close behind as her legs would carry her.

The orange cat, which Peter rarely saw
anywhere other than either firmly attached to Jane or fast asleep
in its ratty basket, was chasing behind the children, Sarah in
particular, and largely ignoring the rather-less-than-exciting
adults seated on blankets beneath trees. The animal was
unexpectedly agile and lithe, considering that Peter had rarely
seen it move, other than the day it had arrived with Jane and
nearly mauled his daughter.

The cat’s fascination with Sarah—and
likewise Sarah’s fascination with the cat—had only grown since that
first day. From Sarah’s recounting, “Mr. Cuddlesworth” often took
naps with the children in the nursery both when they were napping
and while they played.

He sighed as he watched his daughter
collapse atop his son, and then the cat atop them both, eliciting
the usual peal of giggles that only a little girl can produce.
Having a cat in the house for a pet, he had to admit, had not
turned out to be the worst thing Peter could imagine. It seemed
none-too-inclined to bother him at all, and had left no permanent
marks on either child.

And the joy on Sarah’s face when she
was near the animal certainly made up for the misgivings Peter
initially held about allowing it into his home.

His mother interrupted his pensive
mood. “Such a lovely day we’re having today, with no rain. I do
hope we are as lucky this evening to have such favorable weather.
Vauxhall is lovely any time, but how could we enjoy the fireworks
and explore the walkways if it rains on us?”

“
Lady Veazey should have no
concerns about her entertainment tonight, Mama,” Charlotte said.
“Why, there’s hardly a cloud in the sky for miles. Surely it will
hold up.”

Then she turned to Jane. “This ought
to be an evening for you to remember, for certain. I cannot think
of the last time I was at Vauxhall Gardens and we had such lovely
weather.”

“
Are they as beautiful as I
have been told? The gardens, that is.” Jane’s eyes, Peter noticed,
shone a lighter than normal shade in the sunlight, with amber
flecks scattered amongst the usual, rich brown.

“
Quite,” Sophie said. “I
daresay you’ve seen nothing to match the splendor of the pleasure
gardens. And the fireworks!”

Jane flushed slightly
before stammering out: “And what, precisely,
are
fireworks? I’ve heard them
mentioned now countless times, but I honestly have no idea what to
expect. I don’t wish to make a cake of myself in front of the
whole
ton
.”

Peter choked out a laugh on a sip of
lemonade. How could a woman who was already old enough to be
considered a spinster have never seen fireworks before?

His choke was met with the
most foul glare he imagined Jane capable of producing. “They are an
extravagance to which I’ve never been exposed,
Your Grace.
I hardly think it’s quite
so amusing.”

“
I apologize,” he stammered
out, still attempting to calm the coughing in his throat. “It is
not amusing—simply surprising, is all. I would have thought they’d
have fireworks at least occasionally in the country.”

She crossed her arms, which had been
holding her up as she leaned back against the blanket, across her
chest in a huff. “Well, you would have been wrong,
then.”

“
Clearly.” Good Lord, why
was he so bloody attracted to the minx when she pouted at him with
such an annoyed expression like that?

“
You could explain them to
me, to help me avoid further embarrassment, you know,” she
said.

“
I could.”

Several beats passed, with no one
saying a word. His mother and sisters looked from one to the other,
plainly waiting for one of them to sort their tiff out.

He was in no hurry. She was damnably
intriguing to him, sulking the way she was.

“
Well?” she asked and
raised an eyebrow at him.

“
Well, what?”

Her arms flew to the sky in
exasperation. “Well, are you going to tell me what they are or
not?”

Peter merely smiled.

Which was apparently not the reaction
she wanted. She rose to her feet and stormed away after his
children and her cat, who had moved off to a nearby oak tree Joshua
was attempting to climb, while muttering something about, “Drat
that bleeding imbecile of a man,” beneath her breath.

All of which made him smile all the
more. He was becoming quite a dolt. But what a lovely sight it was,
to see Jane’s hips swaying as she marched along the walkway, the
fine lawn fabric of her afternoon dress swishing from side to side
in time with her stride.

“
Peter,” Charlotte said,
breaking his concentration on the sight slipping further away from
him, “that was inordinately rude.”

“
Stop chiding your
brother,” Mama said to Char before turning to him. “But your
sister’s right. That was terribly rude. I should be
appalled.”