“It’s my favorite waistcoat,” protested Emrys.
“That’s as maybe, my lord, but the ink stain won’t come out. I have tried every weapon in my arsenal, and nothing will budge it.”
Emrys sighed. “I’m a sore trial to you, aren’t I? Why do you stay?”
Felton took the offending waistcoat, folding it carefully. “I live in hope, my lord.”
“Of what? Me suddenly turning into a dandy?” Emrys grinned. “Not until hell freezes over, my friend.” He loosened his neckcloth and ripped it off, heaving a sigh of relief.
“Not a dandy, my lord,” said Felton, with all signs of revulsion.
“Of what then?” asked Emrys, pulling his shirt over his head.
“If my lord would just permit me to shine your boots occasionally?” begged Felton.
Emrys shrugged, unbuttoning his breeches. “If you insist, but it’s not necessary.”
“It is, my lord, very necessary,” said Felton feelingly, taking each item of clothing Emrys carelessly tossed onto the floor and folding them up carefully into a pile.
Emrys turned to the water bowl and began to give himself a quick wash. He ran his hand over his chin, encountering the scritch of bristles. He probably should have a shave in the morning.
“That really will be all. Thank you, Felton,” he said with a smile, as the man gathered up the pile of clothing and gave him a correct little bow.
“Good night, my lord.”
He left, and Emrys dried himself off and crawled beneath the sheets. It was too hot for much in the way of coverings, and he always slept naked anyway, which seemed to offend Felton’s delicate sensibilities. He would insist on asking if Emrys wanted a night shirt, when the man knew he didn’t wear them unless it was very cold or he was ill.
He tried to settle himself, but sleep eluded him, and he lay staring up at the large fourposter’s canopy, vaguely visible in the still burning light of the bedside candle. He should get out his book if he couldn’t sleep—it was better than letting the thoughts come. Surprisingly, however, his mind wandered to the day’s events instead of the dark channels they had been occupying of late. It had been an interesting day and more enjoyable than he had expected.
When he had volunteered to help Miss Pringle, it was from a sense of obligation. The poor woman was saddled with all these children to look after, and it was partly his fault. The least hecould do was bear her company with them. That her company had proven so pleasant was a bonus he hadn’t looked for.
He recalled that strategically placed brooch in the center of her bosom and the unaccustomed flush of heat that had accompanied it. Embarrassment made his cheeks burn. He should not think of the governess like that. She was a lady and deserved his utmost respect. What ailed him? He hadn’t entertained lewd thoughts of any woman since Caro had destroyed his world.
He sat up and reached for his book, determined to think no more disturbing thoughts about the governess—or any other woman, for that matter.
Chapter Four
10th July 1790
My headaches continue, I am tired and listless, and my concentration continues to be poor since the accident. My missing memories also continue to elude me. I think I dream them sometimes, but when I wake, the dreams evaporate like mist before I can capture them. It is very frustrating.
My father is pressuring me about an alliance with the Godfrey family. He has been friends with the Earl of Grenville since they were at school together and nothing would give him greater pleasure, so he tells me, than to see the two houses united.
Lady Damaris Godfrey is a well enough looking girl, she has nice manners, there is nothing in her appearance or demeanor to repel, and yet I cannot muster an inclination.
If I am honest, I do not care. I must marry someone, I suppose. I am eight and twenty. The earldom needs an heir if the name is to be carried on, for I have no brothers and am unlikely to at this late stage. My mother is gone, and father is showing no signs of wanting to replace her.
I know not the source of my reluctance, unless it is this damned lethargy that dogs me. I have no appetite foranything much these days. I am not myself. I wonder if I ever will be again.
I am forced to conclude that father is right. To continue in this fashion is unacceptable. I need to be getting on with my life. I shall offer for Lady Damaris. It will keep my father happy, if nothing else.
It is the least I can do for giving him such a fright. My disappearance was hard on him. It turns out that we had some difference of opinion prior to it, though my father refuses to discuss the subject of the disagreement. He says what is done is done, and he will not revisit it.
Chapter Five
Emrys descended fromthe barouche and turned to hand his ladies down onto the pavement. First Lady Ava, then her sister Lady Heather, Miss Mary Watson, and lastly Miss Pringle. He had spent the carriage ride to the village with his knees virtually touching Miss Pringle’s and trying to avoid looking at her. She was wearing that damned brooch again, and he was acutely aware of its situation in a most disturbing way. Today’s dress was the same cut as yesterday’s, just in a dark maroon. It ought to be plain and drab, in fact it was, but the bodice cupped her tempting breasts so neatly, he couldn’t shake the flush of heat he felt just looking at them. Which forced him to look anywhere except at her.
“This way,” said Ava, twirling her parasol and leading off. They were standing in the main street of Kegworth and were bent on a shopping expedition for lace and silk stockings, for which the village was famous. Sarah had volunteered to keep an eye on the children for the morning, ably assisted by the duke, to Emrys surprise, and to him had fallen the task of escorting the ladies.
