Page 61 of Counting on Love

Chapter Seventeen

Georgiana was not, by habit, an early riser, but one would never guess this by her behavior at Chaumbers. She could not sleep. She intended to wait for Alice to wake too, but peckishness overcame her nerves.

She had hoped she would not stumble upon Reginald in the breakfast parlor again. Even so, she was disappointed to find that he wasn’t there. Rather, it was Crispin she found lounging at the table with a newspaper. He didn’t even rise when she came into the room. Odd man. She put a bread roll and a spoonful of berries on her plate, then sat down.

“Good morning,” Crispin said, without looking up.

She noted he was drinking weak tea. His plate held an apple core, which was somehow appropriate.

“Good morning,” she replied, wincing inwardly to hear her voice’s false brightness. She was still unsettled by the Taverston brothers’ own strange performance the night before. Although she did not believe Jasper had been mocking her singing per se—he couldn’t have been that ill-mannered—he had certainly been making fun of something. Crispin obviously knew what it was, and if it was what Georgiana thought…

He folded the newspaper and laid it on the table. “You sing beautifully. I meant to say so last night, but everyone else was telling you that, so I thought it would make more of an impression to wait.”

She blinked at him. It had seemed strange that her accompanist had been mute, even when she’d thanked him and told him he played well. “You are an odd man.”

He laughed. “I suppose I am.”

“I thought it was your habit to go walking in the mornings.” She put a berry in her mouth and looked up at him.

“I’m not odd enough to go out walking in this downpour.” He sipped his tea. “I’m afraid there will be no excursion today to the village shops.”

“We can go another day.”

“How very rational of you.”

It was hard to tell if he was in a good humor or a grumpy one. She decided to assume it was good. If she could have only one of her questions answered—the one that had kept her up last night—she would consider herself satisfied. And Crispin was the only one she dared approach.

“May I ask you something?” It was important that she know.

He set down his teacup and ground his jaws. Then he said, “I have a delicate digestion. I am on a program to see what agrees with me and what doesn’t.”

She stared at him, agape.

He put his thumb under her chin and pushed her mouth shut.

“I answered the wrong question.”

A huff of laughter popped out before she stifled it. “Good Heavens. You can’t possibly think me so rude.”

His face reddened. “Well, I’ll thank you not to refer to it again.”

She nodded.

“Ever again.”

“I won’t!”

“Then what was the question you were going to ask?”

She took a breath and dove in. “Why did you throw an apple at Jasper?”

“Because he was being an arse. Excuse my language.”

“Was he…was he making fun of me?”

Startled, Crispin looked her full in the face. “Of you! How could he possibly make fun of you?”

She had given the evening a good deal of thought and it was the only answer she had. She’d seen Jasper’s expression after she’d finished singing. It was not only mocking but a little bit mean.