“It teaches about the sport of fly fishing and the significance of it,” she explained.
With a furrowed brow, Lord Bideford asked, “There is a book on that?”
Ellie laughed. “There is a book on everything, my lord.”
Lord Bideford cracked a smile at her remark. “I suppose there is, Miss Bentley.”
“I wasn’t particularly good at fishing,” Ellie said as she adjusted the reins in her gloved hand, “but I did enjoy spending time by the river with my father.”
“My father would go fishing at a pond near our country home,” Mr. Cosgrove shared, “but I was more interested in catching pollywogs and frogs by hand than fish.”
“Weren’t we all?” Lord Bideford asked.
Ellie glanced over at Lord Bideford. “I’m afraid I am having a hard time imagining you catching frogs by the water.”
Mr. Cosgrove laughed loudly. “Roswell used to put frogs in our tutor’s satchels when we were at Eton together.”
“Truly?” Ellie asked.
Lord Bideford nodded. “I only put frogs in the satchels of the tutors we didn’t like,” he smiled, without a hint of remorse, “which were quite a few.”
“When Roswell put a frog in the headmaster’s soup, I thought he would be expelled,” Mr. Cosgrove shared. “Instead, he just got ten lashes with the belt.”
“That sounds painful,” Ellie expressed.
Lord Bideford winced. “It most assuredly was,” he replied. “I’m afraid I couldn’t sit for days.”
“Yet that didn’t stop Roswell from getting into trouble,” Mr. Cosgrove joked, “and his pranks continued even when we went to Oxford.”
“I was not the only one who got into trouble at Eton,” Lord Bideford revealed.
Mr. Cosgrove gave her a rueful smile. “I had no qualms about sneaking out with the other boys. We would go drinking in the woodlands near our dormitory.”
“Weren’t you afraid of getting caught?” she asked.
“We did, all the time, in fact,” Mr. Cosgrove replied, his smile growing. “I still wouldn’t go back and change a thing.”
Lord Bideford chuckled. “We were quite the troublemakers back in the day.”
“That we were,” Mr. Cosgrove agreed.
Ellie’s horse whinnied, drawing her attention. “It seems my horse is anxious to stretch her legs.”
“By all means, lead the way,” Mr. Cosgrove said.
11
With the afternoonsun streaming into his study, Roswell sat at his desk as he reviewed the pile of correspondence in front of him. He was continually amazed by the sheer number of missives he received each day. Some requested his time, others requested his money, but they all seemed to want something from him.
He wished he could forget all this nonsense, but knew he was unable to do so. His title came with great responsibility, and he strived to take that seriously. Even then, he always had a gnawing voice in the back of his head that told him he wasn’t good enough, that he would fail spectacularly. He doubted he could ever become the man his father had envisioned him to be.
As much as Roswell hated going on a ride with Miss Bentley earlier, it wasn’t as terrible as he’d thought it would be. She was quite lively, and he found himself engaged in whatever she was saying. Frankly, it was the respite he’d needed.
If Cosgrove decided to offer for her, it wouldn’t be the most foolish thing he had done. But the thought of Miss Bentley accepting Cosgrove’s offer did not sit well with Roswell, though he wasn’t sure why. He knew that Miss Bentley needed to marry, and quickly, but was Cosgrove the right man for her?
Thorne stepped into the room. “Mr. Manley has arrived to speak to you,” he announced.
“Send him in,” Roswell ordered.
