“I’ll write to Evans and let him know. He’ll want to catch up as well. When will they arrive?”
“Thursday next,” Harriet said.
Wilson entered the parlor. “Luncheon is served, Lady Dalling.”
George held out his arm to Lady Dalling. “Shall we, my lady? If I don’t eat soon, I’m afraid I might perish on the spot.”
Marian chuckled as she looked over his well-muscled form. “My lord, I don’t believe that will happen anytime soon.”
As if to support his assertion, George’s stomach chose that moment to grumble loudly. He looked at Marian with a smirk.
She chuckled. “Lead the way, my lord.”
The rest of the day passed without incident. They enjoyed a lovely visit to a tea shop in Bath and walked along the boardwalk. The ocean was churning as the waves crashed along the shore, and it reminded her of Hartley’s distress. She couldn’t help but wish, with all of his soldier friends in attendance, that perhaps he would agree to a visit as well. She dared not speak her thoughts out loud. She would have to leave any plans for avisit up to the earl’s friends, who might be able to convince him that it was indeed time to rejoin Society.
She could only hope they would be successful.
Chapter 7
It took Jon a fullday to feel comfortable leaving the sanctuary of his bed, recovered enough from the latest panic, which had been crippling this time. He’d been ready to talk to the young lady when that clap of thunder upended his wits. What would she think of him? It hadn’t been his most courageous moment; he cringed, knowing how weak he must have looked in front of her.
He could hear Seaford in his dressing room, filling the tub with hot water. A bath would be most welcome for his sweat-soaked body, and he threw off the covers before peeling off his clothes. He walked into the dressing room, not the least bit shy about his nudity. His body was lean and well-muscled, and he kept up his training sessions with Seaford on a regular basis. At first, when he came to Bath, he felt lost and drank to excess every day, until one day, Seaford had tossed a sword at him. He’d reacted more by instinct than anything else when he caught the blade and took a fighting stance. He remembered that day well because it was the beginning of him taking control of his life back instead of merely waiting for the next event that could set off another panic attack.
“Good. I see you can still hold a sword,” Seaford said.
“Bloody hell, Seaford. You could have killed me!” Jon screamed.
“I didn’t doubt your expertise for a moment, Lieutenant, although you’re getting soft around the middle.”
“What? You dare to speak to me thus?”
“I suppose someone has to. Shall we meet in the ballroom later for a round of swordplay?”
Jon wanted to say no and dismiss any notion of training from his mind, but as he held the familiar blade, he knew his valet had hit upon the one activity that would move him out of his self-pity.
They’d been sparring three or four times a week since that day nearly two years ago, and he would be forever grateful for Seaford’s insight. The man was truly a treasure.
“Good morning, my lord. Your bath is ready,” Seaford said.
Jon merely grunted but wasted no time getting into the tub. The hot, rosemary-scented water soothed not only his tight muscles but his riotous mind. Now that he was feeling more like himself, he let his mind wander to what he should do about the young woman from the meadow.
He was intrigued by her and wanted to know her identity and speak with her again, although the only words he’d spoken to her so far had been in anger. What would it be like to have a normal conversation with her? If their shared waltz was any indication, she seemed intrigued by him as well.
Seaford, or even Greenfield, could probably find out her identity, but he didn’t want either of them to know that he was interested in the dark-haired beauty.
By the time he emerged from the bath, Seaford had laid out fresh clothes and taken away the soiled ones. Jon dressed and went downstairs to his study. He’d only been in the room for a few moments before Seaford came in with a pot of coffee and a tray of toast.
“Would you care for Mrs. Bentley to make you up a breakfast tray?” Seaford asked.
Jon nodded. “Yes. I find myself quite famished this morning.”
“I shall see to it immediately,” Seaford said, leaving Jon’s study as quietly as he’d entered.
For the first time since Seaford had joined his staff, Jon wondered about the man’s life or, to put it mildly, lack thereof.His valet had never expressed any interest in the fairer sex, and he wondered if Seaford wanted to ever marry and have a family of his own. Had he left a beloved behind when he joined Jon at his country estate? He’d been so wrapped up in his anger and self-pity that he hadn’t given any thought to the man who so graciously attended him every day. It was time to break out of his self-isolating bubble and think more about his staff.
Seaford soon returned with a full plate of eggs, bacon, and kippers. The aroma filled Jon’s senses, and his stomach rumbled in reply.
“Will there be anything else, my lord?”
