“Oh?” Jonathan cleared his throat. “Mentioned me, did he?”
She smiled sidelong. “He spoke of little else.” Deepening her voice like a man’s, she added: “‘These tremendously important shards were assembled by young Jonathan.‘“
He laughed heartily at that. “You do a fair impersonation.”
Her eyes twinkled. “‘Young Jonathan reckoned this heap of rocks was a stable, though it’s clearly a garden shed.‘ ‘And we discovered our seven-hundredth hypo-whatsit the day Jonathan fell through the floor.’”
“Bah, treachery!” he cried, wiping tears of laughter. “He promised to keep that secret! And the word is hypocaust.”
“La! If you say so.” When her mirth subsided, she added more soberly: “Jokes aside, Mr. Lysons spoke of you like a son. One who made him quite proud.”
Jonathan’s pleasure mingled with a familiar feeling of guilt, for he was all too conscious he’d been a poor ‘son’ to Mr. Lysons this year. While the old scholar kept up their longtime correspondence, the young protégé, mired in gloom and self-pity, never found the will to answer his letters.
And then it was too late.
But after talking with Claire, he felt a little better. He liked picturing the two of them—the love of his life and the father he’d never had—together, on a fine spring day in Mr. Lysons’s favorite place. “I’m so glad he got the chance to meet you, Claire.”
As soon as the tender words left his mouth, he threw her a look, for he hadn’t meant to say them aloud.
Had he crossed the bounds of friendship already? Were things spoiled between them? She gazed back at him warily, perhaps asking herself the same questions.
His musings were interrupted by a piercing laugh. Heads whipped round, till most everybody was staring at Elizabeth’s friend, Miss Harris, who, unaware, continued her fit of hilarity. When Jonathan looked to see who’d sparked her amusement, he was surprised to find none other than Milstead, stretched out by her side and flirting outrageously.
If Claire felt equal shock, she had more success hiding it. The only visible change was a slight compression of her lips.
What did that signify? Jonathan wondered. He was wild to unravel the mystery. Had he witnessed a proposal?
Or something else entirely?
Either way, Milstead was a bounder to flirt with Miss Harris after his marked attentions to Claire. Why in blazes would he do that?
The last question was easily answered. Milstead’s smug glances in Claire’s direction made his intentions clear enough: He meant to make her jealous. But she refused to take the bait.
Jonathan could not but admire such dignified restraint. His pride in her was almost as fierce as his desperation to learn what had happened on that sleigh.
Apparently Miss Harris finally realized everyone was gaping at her, for she checked her laugh—while still remaining intently focused on Milstead. She had to be aware of his entanglements (and surely knew he’d crossed the border of impropriety), but she appeared far too diverted by his scandalous behavior to think of curbing it.
Which seemed to embolden Milstead even further.
At a rather unnecessary volume, he asked: “Shall we make ourselves a tour of the villa, Miss Harris?”
Noah’s eyes blazed in defense of his sister’s honor. “Now wait a minute, Milstead. My sister intends for us all to go about together with Mr. Hawkins. It would be ill-mannered of you to break up the party.”
Milstead turned to Claire. “Surely you can spare the two of us, Lady Claire?” he said with polite venom. “For Miss Harris and I wish to walk on our own.”
A corner of Claire’s mouth twitched. “If Mr. Hawkins has no objection.”
Mr. Hawkins replied that he had none, provided the unchaperoned explorers took care.
Silence reigned as a leisurely Milstead climbed to his feet, straightened his clothing, and offered Miss Harris his arm. The young lady accepted it, visibly vibrating with excitement, and ran away with her scoundrel.
Captain Talbot broke the silence. “As it happens, Lady Elizabeth and I were also contemplating a solitary ramble.” He looked to Elizabeth. “Were we not?”
She glanced from his beseeching face to Claire’s, which was starting to turn red.
“Only if my sister truly doesn’t mind,” Elizabeth said, sounding guilty—for it was plain that her sister minded very much.
Jonathan had seen Claire lose her temper just a handful of times. It was a rare occurrence, but once she’d crossed the Rubicon, the resulting outburst could be every bit as violent and ungovernable as the Roman Civil War. Now he saw signs of danger, and he could tell by their panicked faces that her siblings saw them, too. As Elizabeth froze up and Noah looked to Jonathan, he found himself obliged to take charge.
