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“Yes,” Jasper said. He took up a long-handled brush and ran it across the top of his toe. “Like the one I had a fortnight ago when I wagered half a reegered hguinea on that long-necked chestnut.”
Pynch cleared his throat. “I believe the chestnut came up lame.”
“Did it?” Jasper waved a hand. “No matter. One should never compare ladies to horses, in any event. The point I’m trying to make is that we are already three hours engaged, and Miss Fleming hasn’t yet called it off. You’re impressed, I’m sure.”
“A positive sign, my lord, but may I point out that Miss Templeton waited until your wedding day to break the engagement.”
“Ah, but in this case, it was Miss Fleming herself who brought up the idea of marriage.”
“Indeed, my lord?”
Jasper paused in scrubbing his left foot. “Not that I’d want that fact to leave this room.”
Pynch stiffened. “No, my lord.”
Jasper winced. Damn, he’d insulted Pynch. “No good would come of hurting the lady’s feelings, even if she did rather fling herself at my feet.”
“Fling, my lord?”
“In a manner of speaking.” Jasper gestured with the long-handled brush, spraying a nearby chair with water. “She seemed to be under the impression that I was desperate to be married and therefore might take a chance on her.”
Pynch arched an eyebrow. “And you didn’t correct the lady?”
“Pynch, Pynch, haven’t I told you never to contradict a lady? It’s ungentlemanly and a waste of time to boot—they’ll just go on believing what they want anyway.” Jasper scrunched his nose at the bath brush. “Besides, I have to get married sometime. Wed and beget as all my noble forefathers have done. It’s no use trying to avoid the chore. A male child or two—preferably with at least half a brain in their head—must be fathered to carry on the ancient and moldy Vale name. This way it saves me months of having to go out and court another chit.”
“Ah. Then one lady would do as well as any other in your view, my lord?”
“Yes,” Jasper said, then immediately changed his mind. “No. Damn you, Pynch, for your lawyerly logic. Actually, there’s something about her. I’m not sure how to describe it. She’s not exactly the lady I’d choose, but when she stood there, looking so very brave and at the same time frowning at me as if I’d spat in front of her . . . Well, I was rather charmed, I think. Unless it was the lingering aftereffects of the whiskey from last night.”
“Naturally, my lord,” Pynch murmured.
“Anyway. What I was trying to say was that I hope this engagement ends with me safely wed. Otherwise I shall very soon have a reputation as a rotten egg.”
“Indeed, my lord.”
Jasper frowned at the ceiling. “Pynch, you are not to agree with me when I compare myself to a rotten egg.”
“No, my lord.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, my lord.”
“One can only pray that Miss Fleming will not meet any curates in the coming weeks before the wedding. Especially yellow-haired ones.”
“Quite, my lord.”
“D’you know,” Jasper said musingly, “I don’t believe I’ve ever met a curate I liked.”
“Indeed, my lord?”
“They always seem to be lacking a chin.” Jasper fingered his own rather long chin. “Perhaps it’s some type of necessary requirement to enter the English clergy. Do you think that’s possible?”
“Possible, yes. Likely, no, my lord.”
“Hmm.”
On the other side of the room, Pynch transferred a stack of linens to the top shelf of the wardrobe. “Will you be at home today, my lord?”
