Seated at the table was St. Albans. “Good morning.”
He raised his head and gave her a distracted smile. “Good morn to you.”
Alice scanned the shelves for volumes on sheep. “Do you happen to know which sheep are used for making carpets?”
“Scottish Black-face, Welsh Mountain Sheep, and Piebald. Which breed you want depends on where you are.”
She almost dropped her jaw. Just a day ago, he said he knew almost nothing about them. “How did you learn so much in such a short time?”
He tapped the book. “Reading. I have a great deal of opportunity for it.” He’d risen when she entered the space. “What brought on your interest?”
“My sister Theo wanted me to bring her some information on sheep for rug making.”
He frowned. Did he not like ladies involving themselves in the subject? But that did not make any sense. He had asked Alice for help. “How old is she?”
Laughter burbled up inside. “Fourteen. Mary is eleven. They surprise me as well. Sometimes they remind me of older people in young bodies.”
“I understand what you mean.” He took two books down from the shelves and placed them on the table. “This will get you started.”
Alice took the chair opposite St. Albans. “Thank you.”
His green eyes danced with mirth. “It is my pleasure. After all, where would we be without sheep?”
She chuckled lightly. He really was fun to be with. “A most erudite topic of conversation. I wonder how it would be received during morning visits.”
“You would no doubt have the other ladies wishing they had thought of the subject. Gentlemen would hang on your lips waiting for pearls of wisdom to drop.”
The burble of laughter threatened to become a peal, and she covered her mouth to hide the sound. Tears blurred her vision by the time she got herself under control. “Oh, dear. You should not make me laugh so hard.”
His eyes widened as he assumed an innocent look. “I? Why, my lady. I would never do such a thing. I of all people know one is only supposed to laugh with closed lips.”
That set her off again. He handed her his handkerchief to dab her eyes. “Stop. Show me the sheep.”
For some reason, that caused him to start laughing. If anyone came by they would think they were ready for Bedlam. Alice handed St. Albans her lace-trimmed handkerchief. Accepting it, he bowed. “As you wish. Sheep it is.”
They spent the next hour comparing not only sheep, but the crop differences between the Highlands and England.
Was he preparing to take over Whippoorwill Manor? Had he a lady in mind to wed? Could she ask him? If they were truly friends the answer was yes. She had rejected him after all. “I take it you have found a lady you are thinking of marrying.”
“I have.” He gazed into her eyes, and her awareness of him grew. Alice did not understand what was happening. “Although, it is early days.”
“I see.” Yet, for some reason, it did not make her happy. She should want him to gain the estate he should have already been given. “I suppose having inherited your uncle’s estate has obviated the need you felt before.”
St. Albans leaned back in his chair and seemed to consider her. “Yes. I still want it, but I now have an estate of my own to see to. In effect, I no longer feel as if I have a sword hanging over my head. Or that my life has little meaning.”
He understood. Did he know she felt the same? “That is it exactly. A lady’s life does not begin until she is wed. Unless, of course, she has a cause. In that case, marriage is needed for having children and a life partner, but it is no longer needed to find meaning.”
He studied her for a few moments. “Have you found your purpose?”
Alice blew out a breath. “Not yet. My sisters have.”
“You mean particularly Lady Montagu and Lady Madeline?”
Alice nodded. “Yes. Eleanor has her coal mine, and Madeline focuses on helping people any way she can.” She told him about the changes at the mine and the boy and girl Madeline and Harry found and saved. About the charities of their older sisters and what her brothers-in-law do. “I do not seem to be able to focus on just one thing.”
St. Albans leaned forward, closing the distance between them, enabling her to breathe a scent that was all him. Clean and masculine. Not to mention the tingles. Why were they still affecting her when she now liked him? “Is there a reason you must you pick one endeavor. Can you not do bits of everything?”
What an interesting idea. “What do you mean?”
