Freddie smiled, his eyes sliding shut again. "You haven't checked on me since Mummy and Daddy died."
"I didn't know you saw me do that."
Covers rustled as Freddie shrugged. "I figured you wanted reassurance that you weren't alone. I didn't mind. It made me feel safe."
"You are safe. I'll always keep you safe."
Freddie laughed under his breath.
"Can't promise that, old man.
You ain't God yet, though I know you'll try." His singsong tone told Edward he still felt the morphine. He'd have to warn Jenkyns to watch the dose. He didn't want Freddie getting used to it.
"She did it for you," Freddie said, his fingers plucking idly at the sheet.
"Who did what for me?"
"
Florence
," he said.
"Asked me for riding lessons.
She didn't say so, but I know it was you she wanted
to impress."
Edward's breath caught. Was it true? Did
Florence
value his opinion? He'd thought today, when she stroked his face, that she must hold him in some esteem. But how could he know? She was a
sympathetic soul. Perhaps she'd have touched anyone as tenderly. Surely after all he'd done she
couldn't still care what he thought.
Freddie laughed again.
"Thinks you don't like her.
Big old grouch."
"
Florence
called me a big old grouch?"
But Freddie's drug-fogged mind had already wandered on. "You'll have to take over for me. Teach her yourself." He smacked his lips and burrowed deeper in the pillows. "Be like when you taught me how
to swim."
Alarmed by the suggestion, Edward stood. Be alone with
Florence
? Teach
Florence
? Not on his life.
Not unless he wanted his brother to marry a ravaged bride.
CHAPTER 8
According to Jenkyns,
Freddie couldn't be moved until his bones had a chance to set. Nigel was seeing
to his meal when
Florence
knocked.
"I don't want your blasted broth," she heard Freddie snap. "My leg is broken, not my stomach." Clearly, his pain had made him peevish. Despite his discomfort, he brightened when he saw her.
"At last.
A
kindly nursemaid.
Tell this loathsome bully to take his nursery food away."
Florence
kissed his brow without a blush. "I'm sure Mr. West is only following doctor's orders."
"Bloody horse doctor," Freddie muttered, then squeezed her hand in apology. "You should go, sweetheart. Have your own breakfast. I'm a bad invalid.
Always have been.
I'm afraid if you stay,
you'll throw me over for a banker."
Florence
clucked her tongue and roundly denied the charge. She did as Freddie asked, though, for he
was obviously not in a humor to see her. He and Nigel were squabbling again as soon as she shut the door.
Poor Nigel, she thought. She was glad the steward had taken him in hand. Freddie would have talked
his way around any of the maids. She proceeded to the breakfast par
lor, a pretty yellow room with a
view of the breeze-ruffled lake. To her dismay, only Edward sat inside.
"Is Aunt Hypatia—?"
"Sleeping," he said, as short-tempered as ever.
So, she thought, the grumpy earl returns. She filled her plate at the sideboard: eggs, sausage, a freshly baked roll, and strawberries. Refusing to give in to fear, she took the seat around the corner from his.
For long minutes, the only sound was the clink of china and the rasp of a snore issuing from the ground floor bedroom next door. Never an early riser, Edward's aunt must have been exhausted by the previous day's excitement.
Florence
wanted to smile, but she doubted Edward would appreciate the jest. His mood was blacker
than Freddie's—and both his legs were sound. She was beginning to think she'd dreamed the man she'd seen the day before.
"Do you think we ought to call a real doctor?" she asked, perversely wanting him to look at her. Even
his scowl was preferable to being ignored.
Edward set down his knife and fork. When the morning sun struck his eyes, they glowed like clear blue gems. His riding coat was for once not black, but a soft brown tweed. His shirt was white and collarless. He looked wonderful: big and broad-shouldered and country-squirish. Not relaxed though. She couldn't imagine Edward ever being relaxed. A short, deep line appeared between his heavy brows. For him, the expression was friendly.
"I'm afraid the doctor in town is a bit decrepit. Jenkyns knows more about broken bones than he does.
If we encounter complications, I'll send to
London
for my physician."
<>
His gaze remained on
Florence
even after he finished speaking. She'd wanted him to look at her but
now that he was, she could barely sit still. His regard, steady and inscrutable, inspired a powerful urge
to squirm. When he tipped his coffee to his mouth, his lips drew her eyes like a magnet. Those sensual lips, so at odds with his forbidding face, stirred memories better left alone. He licked them as he set
down the cup.
Those lips had kissed her, and those hands, those big, sun-darkened hands had held her head, had ran down her spine and cupped her bottom. The last time they'd done it he hadn't had drink to excuse him. He did desire her, even if he didn't like her. Perhaps, she thought, he remembered their kisses as vividly as she did. Perhaps he wanted to kiss her now. The possibility made her shiver. She did squirm then,
just a little.
"
Florence
," he
said,
his voice deeper than usual.
Startled, she glanced guiltily back at his face. "Yes, Edward?"
"I'm arranging for Merry Vance to visit Greystowe, so you won't be bored while Freddie's
laid
up."
"Oh," she said, surprised he would concern himself with her comfort. "That's very kind, but won't she mind leaving
London
during the Season?"
His laugh was dry. "She's only seventeen. I suspect she wouldn't be out at all if she hadn't wrapped her father around her finger. I thought she could take over training you from Freddie. By all accounts, she's quite the horsewoman."
"Oh," said
Florence
, the only word she could think of. Her tea and sausages sat like stones in her belly. Suddenly, the reason for Edward's consideration was clear.
He didn't want to teach her himself.
She looked at her lap, where her traitorous hands were twisting her napkin into a ball. She swallowed.
She was being ridiculous. She shouldn't let him hurt her. It wasn't as if having him teach her would be fun. More often than not, he wasn't nice to her at all. Against her will, she thought of Freddie's swimming trophy, the one Edward kept in the cabinet by his bed. She knew then; couldn't deny it any longer. She wanted more than Edward's respect. She wanted him to like her, to care as deeply for her as he did for his brother.
"I'm sure you'll do well," he said, the assurance uncustomarily soft. She had the impression he was leaning to
wards her, though she didn't dare lift her head. "I'm sure Freddie will be proud."
"Thank you," she managed to say. "I liked Merry Vance very much. It was kind of you to think of her."
"You are easy to be kind to."
Florence
couldn't help widening her eyes. Did he mean to remind her of her words to him in the garden? He'd behaved as if he wanted to forget his confidences, and expected her to do the same. But perhaps
the reminder was unintentional, or some obscure setdown she was simply too thick to fathom. Oh, she would never understand him, never!
Unfortunately, knowing that did not keep her from wanting to try.
* * *
The rose garden buzzed with dragonflies and bees. Two days had passed since Freddie's accident and
Florence
was taking tea with Aunt Hypatia. According to the duchess,
Florence
's simple flowered cotton gown—one of her own—was woefully inadequate.
"You look like a farmgirl," she complained.
Florence
did not take offense. The duchess liked complaining as much as cats liked cream. She hid her smile behind the gold-plated rim of her cup. "I thought tea dress was meant to be more comfortable."
"It is, but in a picturesque and romantic manner. Here." With the agility she displayed when she chose, she pushed from her chair and snipped two budded yellow roses. The small silver scissors that hung
from a cord at her waist made quick work of the thorns.
That done, she removed one of her hat pins
and fastened the flowers, leaves and all, to
Florence
's bodice.
"There. Marginally better. We won't
always be taking tea alone, you know. I do have acquaintances here."
"I'd forgotten that,"
Florence
admitted. "You were born in this house, weren't you?
With Freddie's father."
"Wonder is, I survived it," the duchess grumped, though the sparkle in her eye led
Florence
to believe
her memories weren't all unpleasant. "My brother, the thirteenth earl, was the worst scamp you could imagine. The trouble that boy got me into!"
"I thought he was very stern."
"Not until he got the title. Then he had to be a 'Greystowe man.'
" She
pulled a face
Florence
suspected was an imitation of the haughty earl. "The peerage ruined him. Destroyed every shred of humor and humanity he had. After that, nothing mattered but the family honor. He threw over a girl he'd been seeing for well on seven years. Everyone assumed they'd marry. But a baron's daughter wasn't good enough for him. He had to take up with the boys' mother and make her miserable, too." She shook her head. "Suzanne was as sweet as spun sugar and about as tough. I doubt anyone had raised their voice to her before her marriage. As for me, when Stephen gained an earldom, I lost a friend. Didn't so much as pat my back until the day I married my duke. That earned me a brother's embrace.
That made him love
me again."
Florence
reached past the tea things to clasp her hand. With a fond smile, the duchess returned the pressure.
"No, dear.
You mustn't pity a rich old lady. All that happened long ago."
But it wasn't the duchess who worried
Florence
most.
"Aunt Hypatia," she said, "you don't think Edward is in danger of..."
"Becoming like his father?"
Aunt Hypatia laughed. "It's good of you to concern yourself, but there's not much chance of that. Sometimes—I fear this will sound callous, but sometimes I think it's better my brother died young.
Certainly better for Freddie."
Her face softened as people's tended to at his name. "Freddie was raised with love. He'll be a good father someday because Edward was everything my brother should have been. Edward still has his heart."
Did he? Sometimes
Florence
thought so. Other times, she doubted it very much. She would have liked
to sit quietly then, to mull over what she'd heard. Her wish was not to be, however, because
Mrs. Forster, the housekeeper, chose that moment to announce the arrival of Merry Vance.
When she stepped onto the terrace she looked a different creature from the impeccably dressed young lady
Florence
had known in
London
. Her hair was disheveled, her color high, her smart yellow gown wrinkled and dulled by the dust of travel. Her grin, however, was as wide and engaging as ever.