A charging Benjamin practically fell over his feet to hand the captain his cane and hat. Not a word of thanks or coin was produced; instead, he shooed the lad away with a dismissive flick of wrist and Ben bowed his way from the hall, nose in belly.
Gads, if he tried that with Miggens or any other servant of his employ, he’d end up with cold bathwater and salt in his tea.
“Well. Don’t let me keep you,” Jack drawled.
“Not at all, Lord Winterbourne.” The captain smiled, although it was difficult to tell beneath all that moustached bushiness. “Miss Penrose has just accepted my invitation to a picnic two days hence.”
Hell. First point to soldier boy.
“Splendid idea, Captain Lynch. I’d be glad to accept also as I do so adore a picnic,” Jack replied, bringing forth his most benign grin as Miss Penrose’s eyes widened to lakes. “I’ll supply the potted goose meat.”
The moustache drooped.
Second point to the rogue.
“Let’s invite the whole household,” joined in Miss Penrose, lips twitching. “Lowdy, the professor, Mr Sewell and anyone else who would care to join us.”
Game to the lady of the house.
∞∞∞
“Handsome is that handsome does,” muttered Tamsyn as she reordered her wardrobe of grey from light to dark.
“What does that actually mean?”
Tamsyn spun to her companion who sat on the bed sorting through the button box. “I’m not sure, but it sounds apt.”
Truly, how could the arrival of one marquess turn an entire household on its head?
The maids were all aflutter, requiring every one of Mrs Mildern’s dire future warnings to control them. The professor had commandeered two footmen for the alphabetical rearrangement of the library at Lord Winterbourne’s suggestion, and the research assistant Mr Sewell had disappeared to Helston with Samuel – that may not have been due to their new house guest but he received the blame nonetheless.
The disruptive gentleman had also run roughshod over poor Captain Lynch.
“He invited himself to the captain’s picnic.”
“Hmm. More the merrier. Lynch can be rather…pompous.”
“Lowdy!”
“I know, I know,” she said, looking up with a rueful smile. “But there it is. You like him, so I won’t say another word.”
Did she like him? He was the only man to show her any attention…or the only one she had allowed. Most probably because he would understand. He would understand how it felt to be flawed.
But Tamsyn often wondered if the captain would click his fingers and expect a wife to come running. With tea or biscuits. To sing or dance. Or to his bed.
Yet a gentleman like Lord Winterbourne was simply someone to admire from afar with his aquiline nose, silken hair and…lips. Yes, she remembered them on the back of her hand – perfectly dry and so very soft.
She shuddered and sought a different topic.
“I saw you talking with Lord Winterbourne’s manservant earlier.”
A vibrant flush flooded Lowdy’s cheeks. “He’s just a…a valet.”
“You seemed cosy.” Indeed, she’d spied them from a window, walking the grounds, and noted the valet’s attentive manner. He’d even shortened his stride to accommodate Lowdy’s stature – such a thoughtful action as men oft strode on oblivious, leaving a lady to rush along in skirts and silk slippers.
“We were merely discussing old times.” Lowdy made herself uncommonly busy with a gold button, until it spun from her hand and rolled under the bed. “Mr Miggens worked in my cousin’s household whilst I was there.” She picked at the coverlet instead, unravelling a loose thread.
“And?”
