Page 70 of Counting on Love

With his hand on his cheek, which bore a reddened mark from her palm, he looked as mortified as she felt.

“I beg your pardon,” he said stiffly. He rubbed his cheek once, then dropped his hand. “I didn’t mean to take advantage. I thought a kiss would not be unwelcome.”

Well, obviously, he’d thought wrong! She didn’t need to reprimand him further. The slap had taken care of that. “We should rejoin the others.”

“All right.” He gestured for her to proceed. He followed. As they neared the main path, he offered her his arm and said, “Please?”

They could not storm back from a private meander crab-faced and at odds. It would make what had happened obvious to everyone. At least her slap mark had faded. Not gone, but it was not an obvious handprint. She hadn’t meant to hit him that hard. She took his arm.

“I am sorry,” he murmured.

“Yes,” she said, because she could not think of a suitable reply, but wanted him to know that she had heard.

Maybe that would be the end of it. Surely he would not ask for her now. Mama would be disappointed, but Georgiana would be relieved.

*

Reginald gritted his teeth and took his place at the table. Because tea had been substantial, dinner would be light and informal. Mother said she was remaining upstairs with Father. However, there were still eight at the table because Jeffrey had joined them. Adam would be supping with Jeremy. No one pointed out that that was odd.

Reginald would rather be anywhere but here. It seemed a preview of the rest of his life, sitting “below the salt,” with Jasper as head of the household and Georgiana at his side.

The garden walk had been bad enough. Reginald would have given his right arm to be the one leading Georgiana off alone to stroll along quiet paths. Jasper had acquired that right, somehow, over the course of a week, while the best Reginald could hope for was an hour or two squirreled away in the library with a pile of dusty ledgers forming a wall between them, door wide open. And even that was not strictly permissible.

No! It was not permissible at all! Involving Georgiana in the task Jasper had assigned to him, displaying the family’s crooked books—good God. What had he been thinking?

Thankfully, he had no opportunity to sulk and stare. He was seated beside Olivia, who had him on one side and Jeffrey on the other. The misadventure must have knocked sense into the boy, because he now was shy and embarrassed around her, rather than slavish and show-offy. Reginald thought it a sad state of affairs when the flow of light dinner conversation depended upon him. Even tasking himself with this, he could not rein in his too-frequent glances at Georgiana. She spoke more to Crispin than to Jasper, but that could be because Crispin, eating so little, talked so much. If Reginald didn’t know better, he would say Jasper was brooding, but Jasper didn’t brood.

After the last course was served and tasted, Jasper sent the ladies off, suggested Jeffrey go relieve Adam, and asked his brothers to join him in the study. When Reginald waved off a glass of brandy, Jasper did not pour himself one either. He sat glumly in his chair.

Crispin sat. Reginald followed suit.

“What’s wrong?” Crispin asked.

“What’s right?” Jasper replied.

“That bad? Has this sulk anything to do with the imprint your cheek acquired during your little detour?”

“Imprint?” Reginald asked. He hadn’t a clue what his brothers were saying.

“She slapped him.”

“Slapped him?”

“Stop echoing me!” Crispin laughed. “Yes, you dolt. Why do you think Jasper has been acting like a whipped dog since we left the garden?”

“What did you do?” Reginald demanded, whirling to face Jasper. He started to rise from his seat, but Crispin pressed a hand on his leg.

Jasper said, “It was stupid. I rushed things. She’s a lady, and painfully innocent, and I tried stealing a kiss.” He huffed. “You’d think I’d torn a button off her bodice.”

It took every ounce of reserve not to draw Jasper’s cork. Reginald didn’t trust himself to speak. He didn’t dare move, he was so furious.

Jasper said, “This is farcical. I’m not terrifying. She didn’t have to hit me.”

“Never been slapped before?” Crispin teased.

“Of course not.” He put his elbows on the desk, scowling, then said, “I wasn’t anticipating a slap this time.”

“Why did you rush?” Crispin asked. “It’s only been a week. Or were you overcome with longing?”