Page 12 of What the Heart Knows

“Have you no desire for a London Season, a chance to try your luck on the marriage mart?”

“As an unusual lady, why would I seek something else, when I am happy as I am?”

“Quite practical.” And completely opposite from the life he’d lived since joining the army. Military service offered opportunity and excitement unlike his staid childhood. Hence, his ‘breakneck’ nickname. War increased his opportunities but killed any desire for excitement. The quiet rural life Miss Margaret Fenneman described appealed greatly.

“Why shouldn’t I be practical?” she said. “Father, who provides well for me, has only a perfunctory interest in me.”

Her wistful tone and a slight narrowing of her eyes made Kit wonder what she wasn’t saying. He wished she’d not mentioned her father. His knowledge of the man’s crimes brought suspicions about his daughter to the fore. Avoiding Miss Fenneman might be best. Alternatively, perhaps he’d learn more of her father’s activities by cultivating her acquaintance.

And what would she think of that if she ever learned she’d been used? Uncertain of his course, he decided to keep his options open.

“Father has tried once or twice,” Meg continued, “to create a match between me and one of his associates, but I’ve managed to convince him I prefer a spinster’s life.”

Such an attitude was outside Kit’s experience of well-born fathers. Certainly, the man who raised him controlled nearly every aspect of Kit’s life. Not until the earl died, was his heir—Kit’s cousin—able to help Kit purchase an ensign’s post in the army and allow him to go his own way.

“What of your own upbringing, Mr. Copefort?”

Her question returned him to the present. “Totally unremarkable.”

“Oh, surely not,” she scoffed. “Why even I’ve heard of Breakneck Copefort.”

“To my endless embarrassment,” he murmured.

“I apologize. I thought your earlier denials were simple modesty. I see now you truly do not wish to trade on your history. Forget I asked. Please.”

“Thank you.” As he spoke, a pair of wrought-iron gates came into view. Each marble gatepost was topped by a snarling lion rampant adorned with a gilded mane. Kit blinked at the sight of the grandiose display in the middle of nowhere. “How… impressive.”

Beside him, Meg giggled. “Atrocious, isn’t it?”

“This is the entrance to Sea Grange?”

“The one most people use. Father decided he needed these pillars and lions to impress his importance upon all who entered the property.”

“So, they weren’t part of the original estate.”

“Oh dear, no. I was here when they were installed.”

“You’ve my sympathy.”

“You’re not impressed.”

“Oh, I am, but perhaps not in the way your father intended.”

“Would you like to come up to the house? Father must be home as he’s expecting me.”

“Which is why I shall decline your kind offer and ask if I may visit another day, perhaps when you and your father are not occupied.”

“As you will.” She nodded. “I’ll bid you good day, to you as well George.”

“Likewise, Miss Fenneman.” George saluted.

“Until we meet again, Miss Fenneman.”

“Indeed, sir.” She smiled then turned her mount, entered the open gates, and disappeared down a curve in the gravel drive.

“What say we return to the Queen’s Barque, young George?”

“Yes, sir.”