Page 62 of Counting on Love

“Because,” she said, almost whispering now in her embarrassment, “I wore that frightful dress, and sang an aria, and he said,” her voice got even quieter, “there was a girl.”

Fury whisked across his face. “Georgiana, no. No one would ever compare you to an opera singer.” Then his laugh rang out but even that sounded angry. “Well, that came out wrong. You have a superb voice. And your dress was stunning but perfectly proper. Jasper was not making fun of you. He was making fun of—” He halted abruptly, blinked a few times, and finished—“of me.”

“Of you?”

“Well.” He rose from the table and poured himself more tea from the pot on the buffet. Behind her back, he continued in a calmer tone, “There was a party and there was a girl who sang, and I found her very pretty. And that is all I will say on the matter.”

“Oh.” She let out a long sigh of relief. So Crispin had once been enamored of an opera singer. And he was embarrassed to be teased about it. “Well.” She pulled off a piece of her roll. “I should imagine you won’t be joining me for breakfast again any time soon.”

He sat back down beside her, grinning broadly.

“No, next time I’ll take my chances with the weather.”

He drank his tea while she ate her roll.

“These are so good!” she exclaimed. Their own cook’s rolls were not half so delicious.

“Oh, God.” He groaned. “Yes, I know.”

Her eyes widened. “I’m so sorry,” she said, mouth full.

“Georgiana, do me a favor. Reginald is almost certainly in the library. Go pester him.”

She swallowed. “I shouldn’t.”

“Yes, well, you shouldn’t be eating Cook’s rolls under my nose, either, but you’re doing that.”

She scrambled to her feet. “But I can’t bother him if he’s working.”

“Go. Go.” He shooed her. “Take all the rolls with you.”

“There are half a dozen!”

“That will make him very happy.”

She hurriedly piled six rolls on a large plate and scurried away. As she left, she heard Crispin snap his paper back open behind her and she felt fortunate he had not smacked her with it.

*

The library door was wide open. And so were the curtains. Reginald was seated on a spindly chair that matched the one in the second little nook. Georgiana knocked lightly on the doorframe, then went in. Reginald’s head came up from his ledger. He didn’t look particularly happy to see her, but neither did he look displeased.

She held up the plate. “Crispin was in the breakfast parlor, trying to read a newspaper. He sent me here with these for you. I must have been annoying him.”

“Crispin is shockingly easy to annoy. Come in. Come.” He stood up. “Whereas I am pleasant to anyone bearing Cook’s rolls.”

She crossed the carpet and joined him in the nook. Then she realized at once that she shouldn’t have. Especially because he wasn’t wearing a neckcloth, and the top button of his shirt was undone. She set the plate down, intending to leave directly. But the ledger over which he had been hunched was surrounded by scratch paper and scribbled calculations, and she couldn’t tear herself away.

Reginald noticed her lingering, though she imagined it was hard for him not to—leaving a plate of rolls should only have taken a moment. He picked up a bread roll and gestured to the papers. “Does this mess make your head hurt?”

She knew he was not referring to the splash of papers but rather the inefficient figures upon them; but she refused to be so thin-skinned as to now imagine he was mocking her.

“I confess it does. Why are you spending so much time on accounts? Surely you have a steward.”

Good Heavens. Intrusive questions were now rolling easily from her tongue.

He rubbed his stubbled cheek. This sleepy, somewhat rumpled look was oddly attractive on him. Of course, she’d never seen a gentleman, or any man, so…mussed. Yet somehow, she didn’t believe she’d find dishevelment attractive in any other man. Faith! This train of thought was terribly inappropriate. She forced herself to focus on his words. “We did. The man passed recently and hadn’t been keeping up for several months. I don’t think it was topmost in Jasper’s mind until he saw how muddled it had become.”

“But surely he doesn’t expect you to be his steward!”