“Oh, but to leave Felix here with no one to watch him.”
“We’ll keep an eye on him until we get him saddled with a clever wife. Bratty Hall is not your responsibility, my dear.”
“I daresay he can’t do much harm at present, with the trustees handling the money. I just don’t know.”
“What would your papa want? For you to sacrifice your youth, or for you to be happy?”
She thought a moment, then a smile slowly eased away her frown. “Of course. You’re right,” she said. It was what her papa would want, if he were in his own mind. “When will you return?”
He drew her fingers to his lips and kissed them. “As soon as humanly possible. Sooner! I shall be on thorns, worrying about what new mischief you are up to.”
“Mischief?” she exclaimed, pouting. “I was doing my father’s work.”
“And wearing the elegant duds of your papa’s backhouse boy,” he added, fingering the lapel of her jacket.
She looked down at her soiled fustian jacket and trousers. “I meant to change,” she said, with an air of apology.
His saturnine face softened to amusement. “Don’t change yourself. Just the rags. I must go now, my dear.
A bientôt.
“
He took a last kiss and left. Amy went to her room and changed into her nightdress. She went to her papa’s room. He was sleeping like a child, with faithful Tombey beside him on the truckle bed. They would take Tombey with them to Cheyne Bay. Not much would really change for her papa. Oh, but how different her life would be!
Copyright © 2009 by Joan Smith
Electronically published in 2009 by Belgrave House/Regency Reads
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This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.