Page 101 of Holding Onto Love

“Fine. Let’s get down from this rock.”

He clambered down, no worse for the wear except for his embarrassment, and helped her to follow. She moved slowly; her legs had all the stability of wet bread. At the bottom, on solid—if muddy—ground, Crispin glanced about, then cleared his throat.

“I wanted to ask if you would like to meet Jasper out here. Rather than in the house.”

Ah. He was orchestrating after all.

“Is that the reason you spent all day clearing this spot?”

Moonlight splashed across his face, illuminating his grin. It was a little weak with chagrin, from being caught out or perhaps still embarrassed over his stumble.

“One reason. But not everything I do is for Jasper.”

“No,” she said, her composure regained. “I imagine you do things for Reginald as well.”

“Hmph.” He pointed to her feet. “Splendid boots.”

“Thank you. The Comptons make them.”

“They make boots that are too expensive for the army, unfortunately.”

“They are trying a different avenue.”

“So Georgiana told me. I am not the only do-gooder here.”

She laughed. “The only thing you’re defensive about is your kindness. Why is that?”

“Brothers, I suppose.” He tugged out a piece of leaf that had somehow threaded its way into his hair. “Competitiveness. Jasper is innately kind. It’s his default behavior. And Reg could not be unkind if he tried. I’m terrible at kindness.”

“Oh, what a fudge.”

“I have to work at it. It is much easier for me to be resentful and mean-spirited.”

She stared at him. He meant what he was saying. Or believed he did.

“Well, if you are faking it, you do a very good job.”

“Thank you.” He started up the path, gesturing for her to follow. “But I don’t actually have time for this. If Jasper and you botch all my efforts tomorrow, you will see my true self.”

*

Crispin’s threat still rang in her ears the next morning when she came downstairs for breakfast. He could not bully her into returning to Jasper. Could he? Well, he wouldn’t. He had been joking. Sometimes with Crispin, it was hard to tell.

She’d slept poorly, tossing and turning and worrying about seeing Jasper again. She’d wanted to look her best and knew she didn’t, and was annoyed with herself that she cared.

She examined the offerings on the buffet. Tea. Milk. Sugar. Also, a bit of honey in a pot. Oh, Crispin. He remembered her off-hand comment about preferring it. There was not an overabundance of food, just a small selection of cakes that she recognized as being purchased from Mundy’s. She wasn’t hungry, but picked a cardamon cake and found it two-day-old stale. She envisioned Crispin making the trip into Binnings before her arrival, sparing Mrs. Badge the effort—supper last night had proved the woman was a barely competent cook—and yet he claimed he was not kind.

She poured herself tea, added a drizzle of honey, and then sat down, distracted and fidgeting from nerves. A few moments later, Crispin entered. He was dressed appropriately for a gentleman. He took only tea and drank it standing.

“I don’t know when he’ll arrive,” he said, without preliminaries. He sounded like a major, strategizing. “It will depend on where he timed his stops along the way. But I expect it will be earlier rather than later. I have a few letters to write, then I’ll take them to the post.” He sipped. “I’m stabling Mercury in town. I’ll take him out for some exercise. And it’s a long walk into town and back.” He set the cup down, studied the cakes a moment, and then picked his cup back up without choosing one. “I won’t be back until late.”

“I thought you said you would be on the property.”

“I changed my mind.”

“What if I asked you to stay?”

“Why?” He gave her a narrow look. “Jasper is an honorable man. You don’t need my protection. And I refuse to loom about as some sort of deterrent to your falling into bed.”